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“Don’t tease,” he gasps, his hands tightening in my hair. Sweat is pouring off him now, his body a taut, quivering mess beneath me. “Do it. Please. Just do it.”
His face is all harsh planes and sharp angles and for a moment I want nothing more than to lick my way along that jaw, those cheekbones. But his voice—low and growly and desperate, so desperate—is just as compelling as the look on his face. Just as compelling as his fingers twisting in my hair and I know that Ethan’s not the only one who’s suffering.
The need running through me is just as deep, just as desperate.
Leaning forward, I put my mouth on him again. Start to take him deep, to take him over the edge. But even as I slip my lips over the head of his cock, even as I lick long, slow stripes along the length of him, I make sure it’s not quite enough. Not quite what he needs to get off.
Maybe that makes me a little bit cruel, but I can’t help it. I’m not yet ready for this to end, not yet ready to relinquish this sexual power I have over Ethan. Usually I’m the one begging, the one who loses all control of her mind and her body as he pushes for more. As he takes everything. The fact that it’s him on the brink this time, that he’s the one who is moving restlessly under my mouth, that he’s the one who can’t quite catch his breath and is begging me to end it, gives me a different kind of satisfaction than the orgasm I know is waiting for me the second I cede control back to him.
And so I continue tormenting him, taking him deep and circling my tongue around him as he groans and gasps. Over and over I take him right to the brink, only to pull off just as he’s about to come. Each time I do, the fingers in my hair get a little more desperate and his heartbeat gets just a little higher.
The power is a beautiful thing and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him and the knowledge that he needs me as much as I need him. It’s what I’ve wanted more than anything these last few weeks, the knowledge that Ethan is as addicted, as exposed, to me as I am to him.
The fourth time I do it, Ethan groans deep in his throat. Then he slides his hands out of my hair and down my cheeks to cup my jaw and tilt my face up this. Our eyes meet and for a moment, I nearly drown in the turbulent blue of his gaze. In the desperate desire, the desperate love, that he makes no attempt to hide. The force of it hits me like the ocean back home, in storm-tossed waves that swamp me, pull me under. That make it impossible for me to breathe.
“I love you, Chloe,” he tells me, all deep and gravelly as his thumb strokes along my jaw. “I adore you. I worship you.” His voice goes lower with each syllable, until the words are almost indistinguishable. Almost.
The words, his voice, the feel of him against me, take me higher. Make it impossible for me to wait any more. I press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his abs, his thighs, his dick, his balls. Then I lick at the space behind them with hard strokes of my tongue that have him arching and trembling against me.
With thoughts of finally finishing it dancing around the edges of my mind, I move back to his dick, start to take him into my mouth again. But he’s done waiting.
With a growl that comes from deep inside of him, he pulls me off, whirls me around so that I’m bent over the desk, stomach and breasts pressed to the cold wood, ass in the air. He does it so smoothly that it takes me a moment to even register that it’s happened, to understand that he’s the one back in control.
By the time I do, his fingers are sliding along my sex, testing my readiness, and all thoughts of who’s in control vanish inside the maelstrom of pleasure taking me over. I arch my back at the first touch of his finger on my clit, push my hips back against him in silent desperation.
Ethan groans, presses his hand firmly between my shoulders to keep me in place. And then he’s right there, his cock sinking inside of me slowly, slowly, slowly.
“Do it!” I plead, unconsciously echoing his words from a few minutes ago as I try to thrust backward, to take more of him—all of him—inside me.
But he’s got his other hand wrapped around my hip, his thumb digging into my ass as he holds me in place. I’m totally at his mercy now, spread out before him like some pagan offering for him to toy with at his whim.
Ethan’s not in the mood to play right now, though. Instead he’s focused, intense, trembling. As close to the breaking point as I am.
It’s that knowledge that has me going pliant beneath him as he slides deeper and deeper into my body.
When he’s all the way in, so deep that I swear I can feel him in every part of me, he stops. Waits for my body to adjust to the length of him inside of me. But I adjusted to the feel of him weeks ago, my body so attuned to his that I don’t need the extra seconds. Don’t need the consideration.
I just need him, moving against me, pounding into me. Sending me careering into an orgasm that seems like it’s been forever in the making.
I slide a hand out from beneath myself, wrap it around his left hip and pull him hard against me even as I shove back against him.
That one move is all it takes to shatter Ethan’s tenuous grip on control. And then he’s slamming into me, harder and harder. His chest is pressed to my back now and he’s growling low in his throat, muttering filthy, dirty, sexy things into my ear. His words take me higher still, send pleasure coursing along my every nerve ending even before his hand slips beneath me, his finger circling my clit once, twice.
He lowers his head, presses hot kisses along the love bites he’s left on my shoulder, my back. It’s the last straw, this reminder of his claim on me, of the fact that I belong to him in every way a woman can belong to a man, that sends me spiraling up, up, up into an orgasm so intense that the room goes black around me.
Chapter 6
When I can breathe again—think again—I scoop Chloe into my arms and carry her into the bathroom for a quick shower. She’s soft and pliant, her body melting against mine under the warm spray, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have n
ot to take her again.
And again.
But Tori is waiting downstairs to help her pick out a wedding gown and the longer I keep her in this room, the longer it will be before I can make her my wife. And while, logically, I know it won’t be a big deal if we don’t end up getting married until tomorrow, I also know I don’t want to wait that long. I’m determined to put a ring on Chloe’s finger, to tie her to me forever, before something else goes wrong.
With our rocky history, I think my concern is justified.
Not that I think anything bad is going to happen, but if it does—if it does, I want the reassurance that Chloe belongs to me, no matter what.
