12. Natalie
Natalie
Sunlight streams through my bedroom curtains, and I stretch lazily, my body deliciously sore.
For a moment, I'm disoriented, still caught in the haze of sleep and the traces of a dream. Then the memories flood back. Ethan at my door. The necklace. His mouth on my neck. Sex. Amazing, perfect, life-altering sex.
I turn my head and find him asleep next to me, his face nestled against my shoulder. He’s beautiful like this: unguarded and soft. I reach out, my fingers trailing the strong angle of his jaw.
His brows furrow, and he stirs, blinking at me groggily. Once he’s fully awake, the corner of his mouth curves with a gentle smile. There's a softness to his expression that I've never seen before. “Morning.” His voice is a low rumble that sends warmth pooling in my belly.
I can’t believe he’s in my bed. I bite back a smile. “Good morning.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“Just woke up, but got bored,” I answered, grinning.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. His hands slide over my body under the covers. “Bored, huh?”
“Yeah,” I rasp.
My thighs fall open, his hand slipping between them. A wave of pleasure rolls through me when his fingers graze my clit, still sensitive and sore from last night. “I might be able to help with that,” he says, planting kisses down my neck and chest.
“We should probably talk about what this means,” I say, even as my body arches toward him.
“Later,” he murmurs against my breast, before swirling his tongue around my nipple.
He moves down my body, and using his shoulders, he pushes my thighs apart.
“Right now I need to taste you.” He peers up at me from between my legs, those steely blue eyes piercing. “Think that’ll entertain you, Nat?”
“Yeah.” I nod quickly. “I think so.”
He lets out a rough, sexy chuckle before leaning in. The first swipe of his tongue has me gasping, and my hands fly to his hair, gripping the dark strands as he devours me.
His tongue slides through my folds, circling my clit, then dipping inside me to taste where he spilled himself last night. “You taste so fucking good, baby.” He groans against my pussy. “I could do this for hours.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, then two fingers push inside me, and curl against that spot that makes my vision blur. He's relentless, his tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm, driving me higher and higher until I'm sobbing his name.
It doesn’t take long before an orgasm tears through me, and I clamp his head with my thighs. Ethan doesn’t stop. He keeps licking and sucking and fucking me with his fingers until I'm boneless and trembling.
When he finally lifts his head, his chin is glistening with my arousal.
I push him onto his back, mindful of his injured knee as I sit between his thighs.
Ethan’s body is a work of art, all hard muscle and golden skin, but it's his cock that captures my attention. It juts up from his body, thick and veined and impossibly large. I wrap my hand around the base, and his hips jerk.
I lower my head and lick a long stripe from base to tip. Then I take his head into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the sensitive tip. He's so thick that my jaw aches, but I don't care. I want to make him feel as good as he made me feel.
“Fuck, baby.” His hand comes to rest on the back of my head. “Your mouth is incredible.”
I take him deeper, inch by inch, until he hits the back of my throat. I gag and pull back, then try again. And again. Each time I take him a little further, my throat relaxing around his girth.
“There you go,” he says between heavy breaths. “That’s it.”
My hand works the inches I can't fit in my mouth, and my other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, and his hips start to thrust in small movements.
“I'm close,” he warns me. “If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you need to stop.”
I don't stop. I suck harder and faster, hollowing my cheeks and taking him as deep as I can. Seconds later, he explodes. Hot spurts of cum flood my mouth, and I swallow it all.
I crawl up his body and collapse beside him.
“You're going to kill me,” he says.
“What a way to go.”
He laughs and pulls me close. Then he's kissing me again, slower this time but no less intense. I can taste myself on his tongue, the mix of us perfect.
“I need to be inside you again,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Your knee.”
“Will be fine if you ride me.” His eyes darken with desire. “I want to watch you take my cock.”
Heat floods my core at his words. I straddle his hips carefully, positioning myself over his cock, which is already hardening again.
“Tell me if your knee hurts,” I say.
“Baby, I could have two broken legs right now, and I'd still want to be inside you.”
I sink down onto him slowly, savoring every inch. The stretch is easier this time, but still intense. When I'm fully down, I pause to catch my breath.
“You feel even bigger like this,” I tell him.
“You look so fucking beautiful sitting on my cock.” His hands grip my hips, his eyes fixed on where we're joined.
I start to move, lifting myself up and sliding back down. His hands roam from my hips to my waist to my breasts, squeezing and kneading as I ride him.
Ethan cups my breasts in his large palms. “I've been dreaming about these tits since the first time I saw you in that swimsuit.”
He sits up suddenly, his mouth finding mine, and the change in angle makes me gasp into the kiss. “Ethan.”
“I’ve got you, baby. Come for me.”
I move faster, chasing the pressure building inside me. My breasts bounce with each movement, and his eyes are glued to them, his expression one of pure satisfaction. His hands grip my ass, helping me move and taking some of the strain off his injured knee.
He pinches my nipple, and I cry out. “Yes, Oh God, yes.”
I come with a shrill cry, and Ethan follows seconds later with a groan, his hips jerking as he fills me up. I collapse against his chest, utterly spent.
We lie there until our breathing slowly returns to normal. My stomach growls loudly, breaking the spell.
Ethan laughs, his chest rumbling beneath my cheek. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Let's make breakfast.”
I groan and roll off him, careful not to jostle his knee. “I need to change first.”
“No. You're perfect just like this.”
“Ethan, I can't cook breakfast naked,” I say with a laugh, though I’m pleased that he doesn’t want me out of his sight.
He reaches over the side of the bed and grabs his shirt from where it landed last night. “Wear this.”
I pull it over my head, and it falls to my mid-thighs, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips. I have to roll them up three times before my hands are free.
“You look good in my clothes,” he says, his eyes traveling down my body with obvious appreciation.
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look like mine.” He stands carefully, testing his weight on his injured leg before grabbing his cane from where it's leaning against the nightstand. He pulls on his boxers and gestures toward the door. “Come on. I'll make you pancakes.”
We move to my kitchen, and I perch on a stool at the counter while Ethan takes over. He finds ingredients in my cabinets and fridge, and mixes the batter. He keeps most of his weight on his good leg, using the counter for balance when needed.
“I didn't know you could cook,” I say, watching him work.
“I can’t, but pancakes are easy.” He pours batter into the pan, and it sizzles. “My mom taught me when I was a kid.”
“Your mom seems wonderful. She was so warm when I met her at the building.”
“She liked you.” He flips the pancake. “She texted me after, asking all kinds of questions about the pretty physical therapist.”
I laugh, but my cheeks heat at the thought. “I loved how positive she was about your recovery.”
“That's Mom. She's positive about everything.” He plates the pancake and pours more batter.
“It used to drive me crazy, especially after Dad's diagnosis.
She just kept saying everything would work out and that we'd find a way. I wanted to shake her and tell her to be realistic about what we were facing.”
“How old were you when he was diagnosed?”
“Twelve.” He stares at the pan, his jaw tight. “Old enough to understand what it meant. Young enough to think I could somehow fix it if I just tried hard enough.”
“That must have been incredibly hard for all of you.”
“It was. Dad had to stop working a few years later. He was a foreman at a manufacturing plant. He loved his job and took pride in it. And suddenly, he couldn't do it anymore. His body was failing him, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it.
“Mom became his full-time caregiver. We didn't have much money, and what we had went to his treatments, his medications, and the equipment he needed as things progressed.”
“Where did hockey come in?” I ask.
“I've loved the game since I was a kid, would have played no matter what. But when I got drafted, I made a promise to myself. I would take care of them. All of them.” He slides a stack of golden pancakes onto a plate.
“My sisters, too. Bella and Lucy. I paid for their college, their textbooks, their housing. Everything.”
“You mentioned Bella is a nurse now?”
“Yeah. She works in the ER back home. She's the calm one in the family, never gets rattled by anything.
Lucy just finished her teaching degree. She's the opposite, loud and dramatic and always in the middle of some crisis or another.” A fond smile crosses his face.
“They drive me crazy, but I'd do anything for them.”
“You're a good brother. A good son.”
“I try to be.” He hands me the plate of pancakes along with butter and syrup.
“One more season. That's all I need. One more season with a full salary and I can set them up for life.
A trust fund for my dad's ongoing care. Pay off the mortgage on their house. Enough money that my mom never has to worry about bills again.”
“That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”