Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(35)

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I’m nearly as turned on as he is now and I reach up, fumble with his belt and the fastenings on his suit pants. He’s thrusting against me, lifting and lowering his hips in a desperate attempt to feel my hand against his cock.

I tease him for a few moments, lightly skimming my fingers over his flat stomach, around his belly button, down the light dusting of hair that stretches from his navel to his groin.

“Stop playing,” he grounds out, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his dick.

“Stop?” I whisper, slowly pulling my mouth off his long, slick finger. “Baby, I’m just getting started.” I lower my mouth to his hip bone, nuzzle the sharp line of his Y-cut.

Ethan’s breath catches in his throat, his hand falls away from mine. I take advantage of his lapse of attention to take my hand away and he groans. “Chloe, f*ck, you’re killing me. I need … I need …”

I press my mouth to him then, soft little kisses and long, leisurely licks that have his cock twitching and his hips arching off the seat in an effort to get more.

“Shit, damn, f*ck!” Ethan’s hands are in my hair again, pulling, twisting, tugging hard enough to cause little frissons of pain to shoot through my scalp.

It’s the roughest he’s ever been with me and a sign of just how far gone he is at the moment. I love it. Love the little shocks of pain, love even more what they signify. That I’ve managed to drive this gorgeous, disciplined man to the brink of his control.

Usually, it’s the other way around—he’s in control and I’m the recipient of all his hot, sexy attention. I’m the one who’s begging and pleading for more as he drives me completely around the bend.

I don’t know why, but tonight I need it to be the opposite. Maybe it’s because of Brandon, and how powerless I felt when I opened the door to find him on Ethan’s doorstep. Maybe it’s because of the two weeks I spent without Ethan, feeling empty and out of control.

Or maybe it’s just because I have this beautiful, amazing man in my arms, so filled with remorse and regret that he’s willing to let me do anything I want to him.

I want to do a lot, starting with making him lose that indomitable control of his. I want to take him outside of himself, to make him forget—even for a moment—all the strikes we have against us.

With that thought in mind, I shift my hands, slide them under him to cup his ass and hold him in place. And then slowly, so slowly that I can feel every clench of his muscles, every shudder of his strong, powerful body, I take him deep.

He’s huge, hot, hard, and I love it. Love the feel of his body trembling against mine, love the sound of his broken breaths as he gasps for air. Love even more the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth.

I relax my throat, take him even deeper as my tongue swirls around him. He tastes like the ocean even here—sweet and salty and storm-tossed—and I can’t get enough of him. Can’t get enough of the sounds that he makes or the curses that he mutters.

The closer he gets to the edge, the more intense the need that thrums through me, making me hot and wet and desperate for the feel of him inside me. But for that, I’d have to let him go and I’m not ready to do that, not ready to relinquish the pleasure that comes from taking Ethan apart, one jagged piece at a time.

Desperate to give him as much pleasure as he always gives me, I move my fingers behind his balls, stroke the sweet spot there. He stiffens, gasps, calls my name as he frantically tries to pull out of my mouth.

But I don’t let him go. I keep him deep, savoring the tangy drop of pre-cum he can’t hold back and the response he doesn’t even try to hide. He’s on the brink now, about to lose control, and I can’t wait to drive him over. To watch him as orgasm takes him and he’s consumed by the same need, the same addiction, that has sunk its talons so deeply into me.

“Chloe, baby,” he gasps out, his fingers stroking along my jaw, my neck. “Stop. Please. I want to be inside you when I come.”

I shake my head just a little, then take him deeper, my tongue running up and down his cock in the rhythm he taught me weeks ago. He’s thrusting frantically now, low, animalistic sounds coming from deep in his chest and I know—I know—it’s only a matter of time until he shatters.

Desperate to send him careening over that edge, I lean back for a second, leave him hanging halfway between heaven and hell.

Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips, once, twice, following his response as I do. His eyes are dark and dazed, but he watches the move like a parched man watches water. Carefully. Completely.

When I’m sure I have his attention, I stroke a finger over the tip of his cock, gather the drops of pre-cum resting there. Then I bring my finger to my mouth and suck gently, thoroughly.

Ethan makes a tortured sound deep in his throat and I lean forward then, press my breasts to his chest and my lips to his. “I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I love you.”

“Chloe—f*ck—I love—I love you—so much—baby, please—I love you so—”

He’s all but incoherent with need now and it’s what I want, what I’ve been waiting for. Sinking back down, I run my tongue over his balls and whisper, “Come for me, Ethan. Come now.”

He groans, tries to pull away, but I hold him tight, swallow him down. Then I stroke my tongue along the underside of his cock, dig my nails into the sensitive skin of his hips. When he’s gasping for air, trembling and shaking and calling my name, I hum low in my throat.