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A couple members of the setup crew come through carrying yet another food station and one nearly trips in his effort to keep from bumping into us. Of course, it’s our fault as we are pretty much standing directly in his way.
There are more people behind him, carrying boxes of glasses and dishes and table linens, so Ethan wraps a hand around my arm and pulls me gently back into the house where there’s a much smaller chance of us causing mayhem or injury.
“You know,” he tells me, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses in a line across my jaw. “We have nearly three hours before people start arriving. And the caterers seem to have things well in hand.”
“They do, don’t they?” I tilt my head back, bare my throat to him. In seconds, he’s kissing and licking and nibbling his way down my neck to the hollow of my throat. It’s one of his favorite places to kiss and one of my favorite places to be kissed, and so I bring one hand up to tangle in the silky strands of his hair as I give myself up to the heat sparking to life inside me.
Only Ethan can do this to me. Only he can turn me on with a simple look or touch or kiss. And only he can make me want him so completely, so absolutely, that I all but forget we’re making out in the middle of our family room while literally dozens of people buzz around us, getting the house ready for this evening.
He groans a little as my fingers tug on his hair, and the eyes he turns to me are as blue and wild as the waves crashing just outside our windows. I study them for a second, trying to gauge what kind of day this is. Trying to figure out how he’s feeling.
He smiles like he knows what I’m doing, but he doesn’t turn away, doesn’t try to hide. And that’s when I know it’s a good day. One of the first good days in a long time. It’s more than I had hoped for when I got up this morning and happiness floods me as I pull him into my arms and press kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear.
“You know,” I whisper to him as another wave of workers comes through carrying boxes. “We do have a perfectly good bedroom with a perfectly good bed in it. I know we rarely make it there for round one, but maybe we could try it out today. I mean, since the house is filled with impressionable college kids we don’t want to shock.”
“More like impressionable college kids who would love to sell a picture of us making out to a gossip rag,” he tells me as he walks me out of the family room and down the long hall to the master bedroom.
“Well, there is that, too.” But to be honest, it hadn’t even occurred to me. I’ve been Mrs. Ethan Frost for six weeks now and it’s still weird to think like that. To imagine that there’s enough interest in me to warrant paparazzi photos and dedicated Tumblrs and fans. I have fans even though I never do anything particularly interesting.
“Besides,” he tells me once we’ve made it to our room and the door is safely closed behind us. “You’re still an impressionable college kid yourself. Which, if I’m honest, makes me feel like a dirty old man every time I think about it.”
It surprises me to see that he actually does look uncomfortable at the thought. I roll my eyes at him, press kisses against his darkly stubbled jaw. “You’re still in your twenties. I think you’ve got a few years before you need to worry about being a lech.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He unties my halter top, watches with dark intent as the fabric falls to my waist. “I’m feeling pretty lecherous right about now.”
I laugh as I tug his T-shirt free of his jeans and pull it over his head. “You’re not the only one.”
“Is that right?” He undoes the buttons on my shorts before dropping to his knees in front of me and tugging them down and off. Then he slides a finger inside the elastic leg of my silk panties, groans as he feels how wet I am. “Fuck, Chloe. You feel so good.”
I widen my legs to give him better access, then grab on to his shoulders for support when he yanks my underwear down my thighs just far enough to bare me to his gaze.
“Fuck,” he breathes again. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
And then he’s leaning forward, wrapping an arm around my upper thighs even as he uses his other hand to splay me wide open for his gaze…and for his tongue.
I whimper at the first touch of his tongue on my clit, clutch at his hair, his shoulders, his beautiful, well-muscled chest. It doesn’t take long before I’m calling his name in a kind of litany, begging for the orgasm he’s deliberately keeping just out of my reach as he flicks his tongue over me again and again and again.
“Ethan. Ethan, please! I want, I want—”
“What?” he whispers, as he slips two fingers inside of me, crooks them slightly and starts to stroke. “What do you want, love?”
“You!” I cry out as the orgasm breaks over me, pulling me under, under, under like a riptide I just can’t break free of. “I want you. I want—”
I break off as he sucks my clit between his lips, his tongue circling it in a way that only takes me higher. Wave after wave of pleasure swamps me until I can barely breathe, barely think. Until the only thing keeping me grounded is the feel of Ethan against me, around me, inside me.
When it’s over, when the pleasure has dimmed to a dull thud inside of me and I can breathe again, think again, I clasp his hand in mine, move the few steps backward until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of the bed. “I just want you. I’ll always want you.”
He smiles then, even as he climbs to his feet and prowls across the few steps separating us. Then he’s climbing on top of me, gently pushing me down so that my back is flat against the cool silk of the sheets and he’s above me. “You’ve got me, Chloe. You’ll always have me.”
I already know that—he’s proved it over and over again in the months we’ve been together—but still it hits me hard when he says it. Because until now, until Ethan, I’ve faced everything alone. I’ve carried all the pain, all the loss, all the disappointment by myself. The fact that I don’t have to now, the fact that I can share my pain with him and he can share his pain with me…it seems like a miracle. One I will be grateful for every day for the rest of my life.
“I love you.” I cup his face in my hands, pull him down for a kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
And then he’s stripping out of his own jeans, shoving them down h
is legs and onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He stretches over me, lowers his mouth to mine. Kisses me so tenderly that tears of joy, of love, of gratitude, bloom behind my closed eyelids.
