Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(30)

“It’s only been two weeks,” I tease him softly, reveling in the feel of his warm breath mingling with mine. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to do this already?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” He steps closer, walks me backward across the sand until I’m once again trapped between the cold, hard restaurant wall and his hot, unyielding body. But he lifts his mouth from mine, looks straight into my eyes as he says, “Including the fact that you said you couldn’t be with me. That it hurt you too much.”

I stand on my tiptoes, then wind my arms around his neck and try to pull him in for the kiss I so desperately crave. But Ethan’s got a will of iron and despite the very impressive erection I can feel pressing against my stomach, he’s not budging until I say what he needs to hear.

Most days, I would appreciate his restraint—and his obvious concern for me. But right now, all I want is for him to kiss me, to touch me, to make love to me the way he used to, like I’m the most important thing in his world.

“Yeah, well, it turns out that it hurts way more to be without you than it does to be with you.”

He closes his eyes at that, rests his forehead against mine. We’re pressed together now from head to hip and I can’t help but feel the tremor that runs through him at my words, can’t help but feel the way his big, strong body is shaking against my own.

“Are you sure?” he asks hoarsely, his breath hot and cinnamon scented against my cheek. “You have to be sure, Chloe, because I can’t—”

“I’m sure, baby. I love you. I need you. Please—”

Before I can finish the plea, his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and hard and desperate. So desperate. He bites at my lips, thrusts his tongue into my mouth, licks at my own tongue, my teeth, the roof of my mouth.

He’s claiming me, taking me, using his lips and tongue and teeth to brand me in a way I won’t soon forget. In a way I’ll never forget.

And I let him. More, I beg him for it.

For the pleasure he gives me with each stroke of his tongue and press of his hands.

And for the peace he brings me with the strength of his body and the beauty of his soul. All around us, the wind picks up, whipping the ocean into a frenzy and sending grains of sand skittering on the breeze. It works me up, too, the cool brush of it against my skin only adding to the pleasure and the pain of being touched by Ethan again after what feels like forever.

“We should go home,” he says, without lifting his mouth from mine. “The things I want to do to you can’t be done against a dirty wall on the beach.”

“They’re going to have to be, because I can’t wait that long,” I whisper back. I shove his suit jacket off his shoulders, then tug and yank at his dress shirt until I can run my fingers along his narrow waist and flat stomach.

“Damn it, Chloe,” he growls even as he does the same to my suit, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on my blouse. “We’re in public. Anyone could walk by.”

“Then you’d better be quick,” I tell him, reaching for his belt.

“More like, you’d better be quiet,” he teases, slipping my shirt down my arms. “Because if we do this here, I’m not leaving until you come at least twice.”

“Hey, I can be quiet!” I complain, even as a heady wave of arousal skitters down my spine.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Then he’s pushing my bra out of the way and drawing my nipple into his mouth with a suction so strong that I feel it in my knees. With a sob, I reach for him, my fingers tangling in his dress shirt in a futile effort to keep myself from crumbling into a heap at his feet.

“Relax,” he tells me, his lower body pressing me into the wall, holding me upright even as my knees buckle. “I’ve got you, baby. I won’t let you fall.”

“Right. Like relaxing is even an option here.”

I feel him grin against my breast before his tongue darts out and circles my nipple once, twice, then again and again. I whimper despite my promise to myself to stay silent, my body spinning out of control as need rips through me, takes me over.

Above us, lightning streaks across the sky—powerful, primitive, and so, so beautiful. Seconds later, thunder booms and a warm summer rain starts slamming against the sand.

Ethan hunches into the rain as it slides over us, and then he’s licking the drops from my breast, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. I arch my neck to give him better access, and in doing so press my sex directly against his cock.

We both moan then, and it’s my turn to rip at his shirt, to shove it down his arms and onto the sand below us. I have one moment of concern—it’s a thousand dollar dress shirt, custom-fitted for Ethan by one of the finest tailors in Europe—but then he’s running his tongue along my throat, sucking at the sensitive spot behind my ear, and any worries I have drown in the passion and the pleasure sweeping through me.

“Ethan, please,” I plead, wrapping my legs around his waist and pressing myself against him again. I need him inside me like I’ve never needed anything in my life, and he’s too busy teasing me—torturing me—to give me what I’m all but begging for.

He laughs then, his mouth skimming back down to my breast even as he rocks against me. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but I’m too far gone to care. Too far gone to do anything but take whatever he wants to give me.