Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(48)

And then he’s shredding the delicate lace of my underwear, ripping them off my body with a curse that sounds an awful lot like a prayer. He rests one hand against my stomach, pressing my ass into the wall, then grabs my right thigh and lifts my leg up until it’s draped over his shoulder.

“Ethan!” This time it’s a high, keening cry as my consciousness—my whole world—is reduced to those two syllables.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” He’s nibbling at my inner thighs now, swirling his tongue after each small bite to ease the sting. Again and again he nips at me, leaving a trail of love bites from my knees to my sex.

“Please!” I clench my fingers in the cool silk of his hair, pull his head up so that I can see his face. So that he can see mine, and the desperation that is slowly, steadily, eating away at my sanity. “I need you. Ethan. I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he answers, sucking hard at a spot on my mons this time, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to scream. Shocks of electricity arc straight from his mouth to my clit, drowning me in sensation. Making me crazy.

Then his tongue darts out and traces along my sex in one long, slow sweep that makes everything that came before look like nothing.

“Ethan!” The cry is low, desperate. It’s a plea for him to stop, for him to continue, for him to do something—anything—to lessen the sensual desperation sweeping through me.

But he ignores my cries, ignores my desperation, ignores everything but the wetness of my sex and the way my entire body is trembling.

“You okay?” he whispers against my clit, his tongue snaking out to circle it once, twice.

“Do something!” I whimper. “I’m begging of you, do something. Do. Anything.” Without conscious volition, I rake my nails down his scalp to his shoulders and dig in.

“Fuck!” His control breaks—finally, finally—and he clamps his hands on my thighs, spreads my legs farther apart. I’m already off-kilter, one leg draped across his shoulder and as he opens me up I lose whatever precarious balance I can claim.

I grab at him again, dig my nails in, and he curses, long and low and desperate. “I’ve got you,” he snarls. And he does, he really does. Ethan would never let me fall.

The thought rips away my last vestige of nervousness and it’s like he knows it, because suddenly he’s reaching for my second leg and draping it over his bent elbow so that I’m completely open to him, completely vulnerable. Completely dependent on him to keep me from falling. To keep me safe.

And I let him because I can’t not let him.

Because he’s Ethan and I trust him.

Because he’s Ethan and I need him more than I need my next breath.

Because he’s Ethan and I love him.

He senses my surrender—or maybe he feels it in the sudden relaxation of my body, the sudden acceptance of his control despite the need spiraling up, up, up inside of me.

“I’ve got you,” he tells me again. And then he leans forward and plunges his tongue as deeply inside of me as he can reach.

I go wild as pleasure swamps me, my body wigging out in twenty-seven different directions and begging for more. Begging for everything. I arch against his mouth, press my sex against him as he licks and strokes all the right places deep inside of me.

“Ethan!” I’m nearly sobbing now, so close to the edge that waiting is almost more torture than pleasure. Almost.

We’ve only been together a little while, but already Ethan knows my body as well as I do. When it registers just how close I am to coming, he swirls his tongue inside me, hitting every sensitive spot I have.

And then he’s pulling out and I’m sobbing, pleading, begging him to end it. He murmurs softly to me, nonsense words I’m too far gone to even register. Slipping his hands beneath my ass, he lifts me up more, opens me wider, and closes his teeth gently around my clit.

I slam over the edge, my body arching, shaking, bucking wildly as I lose all sense of myself, all sense of everything but Ethan and the pleasure coursing through my body. It goes on and on and on, until my head is fuzzy and my body aches. And still Ethan pleasures me, still he licks and sucks, kisses and strokes.

He slides one finger inside of me, then a second and a third even as he continues to circle my clit with his tongue. He finds my G-spot, rubs softly and I bite my lip, try once again to stop the screams rising inside of me. But this time, it’s no use. I’m going insane, Ethan driving me completely crazy as he uses his fingers and tongue and body—his beautiful, strong, sturdy body—to drive me from one orgasm to the next.
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It’s never-ending, the pleasure coalescing inside of me until I’ve gone beyond individual orgasms, riding one endless wave of pleasure without beginning or end.

As afraid as I am awed, I dig my fingers into Ethan’s shoulders and hold on. I just hold on as the pleasure starts to destroy me. I lose the ability to think, to talk, to breathe. Lose the ability to do anything but feel Ethan all around me and the pleasure he is wringing from me over and over again.

There’s a part of me, one small, cognizant part that’s holding on to reality even as the rest of my brain lets go. That part is screaming at me to stop, screaming at me that Ethan is wrecking me, destroying me, taking me over completely until there will be no more Chloe without him. Until the addiction we feel for each other is no longer just a flame in our blood, but a raging forest fire that threatens to level us both.