Chapter 23 #2
It didn’t even take a second for Ethan to join her at her feet, still fully clothed though thoroughly disheveled, and draw her closer to him.
The look of it—her bare form, pale against the dark bench, sprawled out in front of him, pink and gasping, sweat beading on her body and wetness forming between her legs, while he loomed over her, large and imposing and so familiarly handsome, in his white T-shirt and dark jeans and that look in his eyes—it made her heart race and her thighs shake.
The vulnerability of her position and the apparent control of his, especially as she watched his eyes darken as they took her in, from her tight, peaked nipples to the soft, warm center of her open legs.
Yours, she thought, because she could see the twin word in his own eyes: Mine.
Then he ducked his head, gripping her thighs so tightly, they were almost enveloped by his large hands, and put his mouth right on her, in the pink heat, the throbbing area that needed his touch the most.
She let out a cry that she could only pray was muffled by the ongoing downpour outside, because in here, in that warm, damp shed, she was no longer in control of the sounds she made.
He, too, seemed to be on the verge of losing control as he licked and caressed her with his tongue, taking her fully into his mouth at some points, then teasing and bestowing featherlight touches at others.
He moved one hand from her thigh to play with her, a single finger teasing the turgid bud and toying with her entrance, thrusting shallowly in and out with the rhythmic movement of his tongue.
It didn’t manifest as a surprise to her, the crashing, shattering orgasm that followed his ministrations. She had already been halfway there from the moment she’d removed her bra, so the actual climax was inevitable.
The wrenching, fitful, quavering, all-encompassing nature of it did shock her, though.
White-hot lightning zapped through her, electric and intense, causing her to cry out and sob and jerk her body upward in ways she had almost no control over.
Movement that caused him to place a steadying hand on her chest between her breasts, even as he worked her down from what was one of the more profound experiences of her life.
She shook and sweated, her body cooling dramatically and rising in goose bumps all over as she came down, chest still heaving with gasping whimpers from the aftermath.
“Ethan,” she whispered finally, hoarsely, running shaky fingers through his hair from where it rested on her thigh. “Ethan, please.”
He grunted in response, not moving, as though trying to get himself under control.
“I need you,” she said eventually, swallowing her pride against the words, speaking her truth. “I need you inside me.”
His body stilled, and she worried it had been the wrong thing to say for a fraction of a second, when suddenly he surged forward, capturing her mouth with his and kissing her. Kissing her so thoroughly, she could taste herself on his tongue, his passion evident in every stroke.
Realizing he was still fully dressed, she began to tug at his T-shirt while he undid his pants, pushing them down as she pulled his shirt off.
In short order, he was nude before her, and she took him in, impressed by how the body of an athletic teenager had become that of an extremely fit man—no paunch to speak of, just cut sinew, rounded shoulders and pecs, broad and mouthwatering, somehow tanned underneath all his clothes as though he sunbathed in the nude, which would be wild but not completely uncharacteristic if that were the case.
Most prominently displayed was, of course, his massive erection, which he palmed, flustered and clearly aroused, the color high in his cheeks under dilated pupils.
“Thank you,” she murmured stupidly as he stood there…waiting? For her to make the first move? To give him some sort of green light?
Or maybe he was just taking it all in, the way she was, or at least was trying to, this absurd rightness, a welcome insanity.
“Condom?” she asked, her voice coming out in a croak, and it felt weird, this question, as though she were interrupting the flow or the passion of the moment.
The haze of lust lifted from his gaze, and he looked bemused, anxious.
“No,” he said, his voice raspy. “I mean—yes, I think, but it would be in my room—”
“Can we not?” she whispered, and he looked taken aback. “Use them, I mean? I—” She swallowed. “I haven’t—” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “It’s been a while.”
“I mean, I—” Had it been a while for him? His face seemed to indicate perhaps it hadn’t. Could she trust him? “I’m okay with…not using one. You don’t have to worry about anything from me, I’ve been checked out recently and, uh…” He laughed hoarsely, uncomfortably. “This is awkward.”
“Yeah,” she agreed softly, though she could feel affection seeping through as he blushed and fumbled his way through this uncomfortable but necessary part of their moment. “It is.”
“But are you—can you—?”