Chapter 14 Ethan
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ETHAN
The morning sun comes up slow, like it’s not sure it should be here yet.
The rain stopped. The storm’s gone. At least the one outside is.
Because whatever happened last night was its own kind of disaster— a beautiful, impossible, completely wrong mess.
And yeah, I should probably hate myself for it.
I should be full of guilt and logic and all the good reasons why this can’t happen again.
But I’m not. Not even close.
She’s lying on her side, one leg kicked out from under the blanket, the sheet twisted around her waist. Hair everywhere.
Her face is half-buried in the pillow. Completely wrecked and beautiful.
For a minute, I just stand there, watching her breathe, that soft rise and fall that makes my chest feel tight.
She looks peaceful, and I know it’s temporary.
Any second now, she’ll wake up, and reality will crash back in.
I scrub a hand over my face, sigh, and look around.
The place smells like rain and old carpet. I need coffee.
The motel machine is a relic, the kind that gurgles and wheezes like it’s dying, spitting out something that technically qualifies as caffeine.
I fill it up with tap water, drop in one of those sad little packets, and hit “brew.” It starts dripping, slow and uneven.
I lean against the counter, watching the steam rise, trying not to think.
But of course, I think about last night.
About how she looked at me like she wanted to hate me and couldn’t.
About how I told myself to stop, and didn’t
The smell of coffee must’ve woken her. I hear the sheets rustle behind me, but I keep my eyes on the sink, pretending I didn’t notice. The air feels heavier with her awake.
I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
The pipes groan for a second before the water evens out.
Steam starts to fill the small space, curling up the mirror until my reflection disappears.
For a few seconds, the sound of the water is the only thing that makes sense.
Then there’s a knock—soft, hesitant. “Can I come in?” Part of me wants to say no, because that would be the smart move.
But of course, she can come in. I tried to play it cool earlier, but I’m dying to kiss her again, to touch her.
I smile. “You’re already halfway there.”
The door creaks open. She steps inside, barefoot, one hand rubbing at her face, hair a wild mess of sleep.
“Just need to wash my face and my mouth,” she mutters.
The shower’s already running; water drums against my shoulders and the tile.
I nod toward the sink. “It’s all yours.” She’s looking at me, and I’m letting her.
She leans over the basin, splashes her face, and glances up, catching my reflection in the fogged mirror. “Room for one more?”
I tilt my head, grinning. “Get in.” Her breasts bounce as she lifts the hoodie over her head.
My cock twitches immediately. She’s not wearing panties, and I don’t know what to look at, so I settle for her eyes.
She gets in, ignoring me and going straight to the water.
I stand behind her, and as soon as I kiss her neck, she twists and meets my lips.
And while I’m craving her kisses, I’m dying to be between her legs again.
“I want to taste you,” I say while I drop to my knees.
I pull one of her legs over my shoulder and spread her open.
Eyes on hers the whole time, I want her squirming.
As soon as my tongue touches her, she rocks into my mouth.
I slide one finger into her and curl it up; she nearly collapses.
“Ethan, fuck—” This is precisely how I want her.
I stand up, lift her fast, her legs around my waist. My cock presses against her, hard and ready.
She’s soaked. I slide into her slowly and deeply, and we both groan. She clenches around me instantly.
This time is rough; neither of us is stopping to even think about the next move.
Every thrust tighter than the last. Her nails dig into my back, her mouth finds my neck, her breath is ragged.
She comes hard, head back, eyes shut, my name on a gasp.
I don’t last long after that. I bury myself deep and groan her name, hips stuttering as I let go inside her.
We stand there for a while, pressed together under the water, breathing each other in.
We finish our shower, dry off, and get out. She’s about to walk back to the bed to get dressed when I stop her with a hand on her wrist. “Drop the towel.” She freezes. “Lay down,” I say, voice low. “Spread your legs.” She nods, drops the towel, and sits on the bed with her legs wide open.
Now, this is a view.