43. Ethan #2
“Oh God—” Her hips are rocking on my hand, riding my fingers, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. “Ethan, I want—”
“I know what you want.” I curl all three fingers and press my thumb to her clit and she comes—hard, sudden, her body convulsing, her walls clenching around my fingers in rhythmic pulses.
I work her through it, my fingers slowing but not stopping. Then I turn her face to mine and kiss her softly.
“You okay?”
She nods, still breathing hard.
“Come up for me, sweet girl.” I brush my hand over her hip. “Hands on the edge.”
She rises on shaking legs, water cascading down her body, and braces her hands on the wide marble edge.
She bends forward, her back arched, her ass glistening with water, and the sight of her like this—waiting for me, trusting me—makes my cock throb so hard I have to grip the base to keep from coming.
“Tilt your hips for me, sweet girl,” I murmur. “That’s it. Show me all of you.”
She does. Her back dips, her hips angle upward, and I can see everything—her pussy lips swollen and flushed, slick glistening between them, and above it, the tight, perfect ring of her ass.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You look so beautiful like this, Sophie.” My voice barely holds as my hand traces the curve of her ass. “You have no idea what this view does to me.”
I kneel behind her in the water. Press my lips to the small of her back. Kiss down her spine, one vertebra at a time, feeling her shiver under my mouth. Lower. The curve of her lower back. The dimples above her ass. And then lower still.
I spread her with both hands and press my mouth against her ass, kissing the soft skin, licking along the curve, and the sound she makes is startled and desperate and so fucking beautiful that I growl against her skin.
“Ethan—oh my God—”
“I’ve wanted to do this,” I say between kisses, my tongue tracing along her skin. “Since I had you on my desk and my hands were right here while my tongue was inside you. I’ve been obsessed with this ever since.”
My mouth moves lower, to her pussy, licking through her folds from behind, tasting her slick mixed with the warm water, and she cries out.
Her arms nearly give out and I grip her hips and hold her up while my tongue works her, lapping at her clit, pushing inside her, and she’s saying my name over and over, pressing back against my face.
“Please,” she gasps. “Ethan, please, I need you inside me. I need your cock. Please.”
I stand. The water shifts around us and I position myself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding my cock to her entrance.
The head presses against her and she tenses.
“Breathe, sweet girl,” I whisper, my hand stroking her hip. “I’ll go slow. Let me ease you into it.”
I push the head in and she gasps—the girth of me stretching her completely, parting her until her hands grip the marble and her back arches and a sound comes out of her that is somewhere between pain and desperate, aching pleasure.
“Oh—fuck—Ethan, you’re so—”
“I know.” I hold still, giving her time, my hands stroking her sides. “Breathe. That’s just the head. You’re doing so well.”
She breathes. I feel her body relax around me, the tight grip easing slightly, and I push deeper. Another inch. She whimpers, her thighs shaking, and I can feel the one thick vein along my shaft pressing against her walls and she moans at the texture of it.
“More,” she whispers. “I can take more.”
I push deeper, watching us in the mirror as her body takes more of me. I can see my cock disappearing into her in the reflection, stretching her wide, and the sight of it nearly ends me.
I bottom out and we both go still.
“Ethan.” Her voice is wrecked. “I can feel you everywhere.”
“I know, sweet girl.” I lean forward and press my lips between her shoulder blades. My cock is buried so deep inside her that I can feel her heartbeat around me. “You took all of me.”
I kiss her neck, my mouth open and hot on her skin, and my hands slide around to cup her breasts, the weight of them filling my palms, her nipples hard beneath my fingers.
I roll them gently and she moans and pushes back into me, taking me even deeper.
I turn her face toward me and kiss her—slow, deep, tasting her from behind, my tongue sliding over hers while my cock pulses inside her.
“Fuck, Sophie,” I growl against her mouth. “Your pussy is gripping my cock so tight. You take me so fucking well.”
I lean back and grip her hips with both hands, and I start to move.
Slow, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out so she can feel the girth of my head stretching her open again with each thrust, and the wet, obscene sounds of her pussy gripping my cock fill the bathroom alongside the sloshing water and her cries.
“Harder,” she begs. “Ethan, please, harder—”
I drive into her, deeper, harder, and the sound she makes ricochets off the tile. I watch us in the mirror, her body moving with mine, her face flushed and wrecked with pleasure.
“Look at the mirror, Sophie.” My voice is barely steady. “Watch. Watch what I’m doing to you.”
Her eyes lift to our reflection and widen. She moans as my cock slides in and out of her, thick and slick, stretching her wide with every thrust.
“That’s it. You see how well you take me? You see how perfect you look with my cock inside you?”
“Ethan—oh God—I can’t—”
“You can. Keep watching.”
“You feel so good around my cock, sweet girl,” I growl, and my voice sounds nothing like mine. “So tight. So wet. Taking all of me so fucking well.”
“Don’t stop, Ethan.” Her voice breaks. “Please, don’t stop.”
“I won’t, sweet girl.” I lean forward, my chest against her back, my mouth at her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re ours.”
“Yours,” she cries. “I’m yours, Ethan, I’m yours—”
I feel my knot start to swell, stretching her wider until she cries out, her walls clamping around it as it locks us together.
Sophie comes the moment it settles inside her, her whole body seizing around me, her pussy tightening around my knot in rhythmic waves that pull my own orgasm out of me so hard my vision blacks out.
I come inside her with a groan that doesn’t sound human, my hands tightening on her hips, and I can feel every pulse of my knot flooding her with warmth while her body clenches around me, taking everything I have.
“You’re safe,” I whisper against her skin, my arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back to my chest while we’re still locked together. “You’re with me. Breathe, sweet girl.”
I lower us back into the water carefully, keeping her in my lap, my knot still swollen inside her. She’s trembling. Her head falls back onto my shoulder, her eyes half-closed, looking thoroughly satiated.
“Ethan,” she whispers.
“Mm.”
“I can feel your heartbeat inside me.”
I press my lips to her temple. She’s right. I can feel hers too—around my knot, a steady pulse that matches mine. The intimacy of it, two people locked together with their heartbeats synchronized, makes my throat close.
“I can feel yours too.”
She turns her head and looks up at me, her green eyes wet and bright. “No scientific explanation?”
There’s probably a scientific explanation for it.
But for once, I don’t want one.
“Not this time.” I brush a strand of damp hair from her face. “This one I just want to feel.”
She reaches up and touches my face. Her wet fingers trace my jaw, my cheekbone, the bridge of my nose where my glasses usually sit.
“I love you, Ethan,” she says softly. Like it’s the most obvious conclusion she’s ever drawn.
For a second, I can’t speak.
“I love you, Sophie.” My voice comes out rough and unsteady and I don’t try to fix it. “I have loved you since you picked up my petrified protein bar and told me it was a weapon.”
She laughs, and the sound fills the bathroom. I can’t help but smile at the memory. “I’ve loved you since you smiled at me for the first time and I just—” I swallow. “I just knew.”
She turns her head and finds my mouth, her wet hand reaching back to rest against my jaw. Her kiss is soft and unhurried, and there is nothing urgent about it this time.
We stay in the bath until the knot subsides and the water goes cool.
Then I carry her to the bed where Max and Finn are waiting, set her down between them, and watch her curl into the warmth of our bodies, and I think—for the first time in my precisely ordered life—that some things are better left unanalyzed.
Some things you just feel.