Chapter 28 #3
“Ethan—please,” I beg, voice breathless, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.
The counter edge bites into my ass, but I don't care; all I want is him inside me, filling the ache that's building with every flick of his tongue.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and stormy, locked on mine with that intense, possessive gaze that makes my heart stutter.
“You want my cock, darling? Right here on this counter?” His voice is low, gravelly, laced with that protective edge that says he's checking, even as his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise.
“Yes,” I nod frantically, reaching down to palm him through his briefs.
He's thick, throbbing under my touch, and I stroke him from base to tip, feeling the damp spot where pre-cum has leaked through.
He hisses, thrusting into my hand, and then he's yanking the waistband down, freeing his erection.
It slaps against my inner thigh, hot and heavy, the head nudging my folds.
In one swift move, he shoves my t-shirt all the way off, tossing it to the floor.
Now we're both bare, skin to skin in the sunlit kitchen, nothing between us but need.
His hands cup my ass, lifting me slightly off the counter as he lines himself up.
The tip of his cock parts my lips, sliding through my wetness, teasing my entrance.
“Tell me you're mine,” he demands, voice rough, forehead pressed to mine as he holds still, torturing us both.
“I'm yours,” I whisper, nails digging into his shoulders. “All yours, Ethan. Take me.”
That's all he needs. He thrusts forward, burying himself deep in one long, smooth stroke. I cry out, the stretch burning so good, my walls clenching around his thickness as he fills me completely. He's so big, hitting every sensitive spot, and I rock my hips to meet him, urging him on.
He starts moving, slow at first—pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the slap of our bodies echoing in the quiet kitchen. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, angling me so he can drive deeper.
“So tight,” he growls, lips brushing my ear. “This pussy was made for me. Gripping my cock like you never want to let go.”
I moan, head falling back against the cabinet behind me, the wood cool on my heated skin.
The morning light dances over us, illuminating the sweat beading on his chest, the way his abs tense with each thrust. My breasts bounce with the rhythm, and he leans in to capture one in his mouth again, sucking hard as he fucks me relentlessly.
Pleasure coils tight in my belly, building fast under his assault. One hand slips between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing firm circles that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Come for me, darling,” he murmurs, voice strained, hips snapping harder. “I want to feel you squeeze me.”
It's too much—the possessive tone, the way he watches me like I'm the only thing in his world, the relentless pressure on my clit combined with his cock pounding into me.
I shatter, orgasm crashing over me in waves, my pussy fluttering wildly around him, juices soaking us both.
I scream his name, legs trembling, clinging to him as he holds me through it, never stopping his thrusts.
“That's it, luv,” he praises, his British accent coming out hot and thick on my neck. “So fuckin’ perfect.”
A few more deep strokes, and he's following me over the edge, groaning low as he spills inside me, hot pulses of cum flooding my core. He buries his face in my shoulder, body shuddering, arms wrapping around me like he'll never let go.
We stay like that, panting, tangled together on the counter as the world slowly rights itself. His cock softens inside me, but he doesn't pull out, just holds me close, pressing soft kisses to my damp skin.
“I've got you,” he whispers, that protective rumble in his chest making my heart swell. “Always, Lucky. Right here.”
I nod against him, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, the morning light wrapping us in its warmth. Right here, with him still buried deep and his arms my safe harbor, everything feels right—raw, real, and utterly ours.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Just breathing.
Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
Just the morning light catching dust motes drifting lazily in the air.
Then Ethan lets out a low, winded laugh against my neck.
“Well,” he murmurs, voice rough, “that’s one way to start a day.”
I swat his shoulder—weakly, because my fingers are still trembling. “You scared a year off my life. I thought you were still asleep.”
“Yeah?” He nuzzles my jaw, smug. “And here I was thinking I woke up to coffee. Turns out I woke up to you calling me emotionally constipated.”
I groan. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Oh, I heard it,” he says, pulling back enough to look at me. His eyes are warm, amused, still a little dark from what we just did. “I’ll recover. Eventually.”
I snort, cheeks flushed. “You? Recovering? You’re the most dramatic non-dramatic man I’ve ever met.”
“Well, I had to defend my honor.” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. “Fairies, lumberjacks… emotionally constipated. I’m getting hit from all sides.”
I giggle—actually giggle—and he smiles like it’s his new favorite sound.
He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. “You okay?”
I nod, letting my fingers trail down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under my touch. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
Ethan exhales softly, almost a sigh of relief. “Good. Because I’m gonna need about five minutes before I can pretend I’m functional again.”
I grin, dropping my forehead to his. “Five minutes? Wow. I must’ve really done some damage.”
He gives me that slow, dangerous half-smile. “Lucky… you have no idea.”
I kiss him, soft and lingering, and he wraps his arms around me again—strong, safe, a little breathless.
The world outside is still quiet.
The lake is still shining.
And for the first time in a long time, so am I.