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I’m not ready to leave.
I only know he’s back because I wake when he slides in next to me, surrounded by darkness and cool AC. I freeze, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing slow. I want him to think I’m asleep because as much as I want to pick up where we left off, I’m not ready to face what we did, especially after he left me for hours by myself.
My back is to him and he softly presses a hand to my spine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s so unlike him that I don’t even know how to feel, let alone what to do. We stay like that for a long time, and I wonder if he knows that I’m pretending to sleep. It makes me question what else I could be pretending . . . that he actually cares for me? That he’s secretly a good guy? And that this is going to end in a fairy tale? All of the above.
By the next morning my jellyfish sting is feeling good enough that I can walk on my foot again. Ethan is nowhere to be found and I can’t sit around in that bed for another day, especially not by myself. It was different when he was watching movies with me, but after the events of last night, I don’t think that’s going to happen again. Because there’s something going on here besides fooling around. He’s avoiding me.
He said it himself. He’s sorry.
Sorry that we ever did anything? It sounded like it.
So I get myself showered and dressed, and I head down to the kitchen to make breakfast.
“What are you doing up?”
I whip around to find Ethan coming in from a run, shirtless and sweat glistening on his body like it’s a second skin. Have I ever been jealous of sweat? Only when it comes to Ethan. He tugs his headphones out and glares at me through thick lashes. “You need to stay off your feet.”
“I’m feeling much better.” I shrug, then turn back to the toaster to retrieve my toast and get to buttering it. And honestly, I am feeling a lot better. The pain isn’t totally gone, but it’s about eighty percent better already.
“Let me see.” He marches around the kitchen island and I stick out my injured bare foot as proof. I’m wearing a little cotton dress today and I may or may not have chosen to forgo any underwear. I smile boldly when the fabric rises high on my thigh.
“It looks a lot better,” he agrees. “But you should still be careful with it for the next few days. It could take a while to heal. Sometimes weeks.”
I tut. “It won’t take weeks.” Then I return to preparing my breakfast and Ethan comes to stand behind me. Close. Too close. Who am I kidding? There’s no such thing as too close when it comes to this man.
“You smell good,” he murmurs into the back of my neck, then picks up my hair and places a kiss on the top of my spine. My body reacts instantly and I try to twist around, but he’s got me pinned to the countertop. I can feel his erection growing against my ass and I part my legs ever so slightly. I can’t even help it. I’m like an animal in heat for him.
I may smell good, but he smells like he’s just been running for an hour. I don’t even care though. I just want him to keep touching me, to pick up where we left things last night.
He must feel the same, because he slides his hand down under my dress. “You’re obviously not wearing a bra. Are you wearing any panties?”
“Find out for yourself.” I’m brave with him standing behind me where I can’t actually see him.
“Oh, you do want to be bad, don’t you,” he growls, finding that I am, in fact, not wearing any underwear.
His hand skirts close to my pussy and I arch into him, ready for this. But then he does the most teasing move imaginable. He removes his hand and grabs a slice of my toast instead, steps back, and walks away eating it.
What the hell?
“That was mine,” I argue.
He looks back with a smirk, his eyes lingering on me. “Everything in his house is mine, Arden. Everything.”
Is he toying with me? If this is a game then I’m playing right into his hands. I’m like putty between his fingers but I can’t help it. I need to do better. Two can play at this game. So I take my remaining toast and head out to the back patio where he’s stretching. He’s already scarfed down his piece in all of three bites.
He gives me a sideways glance as I sit in the nearest chair, letting the fabric of my dress rest way too high on my thighs. I take my time eating, licking my lips between bites and murmuring about how good it tastes. It’s stupid, nobody likes toast this much, but Ethan catches the bait anyway. He’s staring at my mouth and then my legs and back again, like he doesn’t quite know where to look.
“What are you doing?” He steps closer, eyes narrowing.
“Enjoying my breakfast.” I lick an invisible crumb off my fingers and moan. “What are you doing?”
“Enjoying you enjoy your breakfast.” He smirks, and then he drops to his knees in front of me and presses his hands against my inner thighs. “Maybe I didn’t get enough to eat.”
Oh good lord. Did he just say what I think he just said?
I’m frozen, my plate in one hand and the last edge of the toast in the other as I stare at him. His eyes are locked on mine as he spreads my legs, as if challenging me to tell him to stop. Despite the nerves rioting in my belly, despite my reddening cheeks, despite the fact that he’s probably used to perfectly waxed girls and I only shave down there, I don’t stop him. I can’t.
His eyes flicker to my exposed skin, feral desire bared in his gaze. Grabbing hold of my thighs, he yanks me to the edge of the chair and I yelp. I’m practically falling off but he doesn’t let that happen. He hooks my legs over his shoulders.
