Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(58)

His mouth is everywhere, his hands everywhere, and I don’t know what to think, what to say. All I can do is feel. And I do, God, I do.

I feel the press of his lips against my collarbone as his tongue dances lightly over the pulse point in my neck.

I feel the rough caress of his hands as they slide under my tank top to stroke their way over my ribs, up my spine.

I feel the hard thrust of his cock against my sex, my clit, as he rocks against me in a slow, gentle rhythm that brings me right to the brink of orgasm.

“I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning,” he murmurs as he nips softly at my throat. “I want to hold you when you cry, to taste your joy when you laugh.

“I want to shelter you, to hold you so deeply inside me that no one will ever hurt you again.” His hands move around to my front, and his thumbs hook around my belly chain, tug lightly at the platinum links. It’s a reminder that he’s already claimed me, already branded me.

“I want to love you, Chloe. I just want to love you.”

His words take me higher, stoking the flames inside of me until all I can feel, all I can see, all I can breathe is him.

“I know you’re young. I know you’re not ready to talk about forever with me—especially with everything that’s happened—but I want you to know that that’s where we’re headed. That’s what I want from you. That’s what I want to give to you.” It’s what I want, too. What I’ve wanted since he made love to me so tenderly, so honestly, after I told him about the rape. What I’ve felt from the moment he slid this belly chain around my waist and claimed me so completely. It’s why our breakup devastated me so completely, why it ripped my heart out and left me a trembling, self-destructive mess. Why what I feel for him is so much more than need, so much more than addiction.

“Ethan, I—” There’s so much I want to say to him, so much I want him to know about how I feel and what I want, but the words are stuck in my throat. They’re stuck deep inside of me, and I can’t force them out.

I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m not committed. It’s not like I don’t love him. I do, God, I do. It’s only … what? I don’t know. I spent that whole run trying to figure it out and I’m no closer to knowing now than I was when I took off, hours ago.

All I know is that finding out about Brandon broke something inside of me. Seeing Ethan standing next to him, laughing and joking and celebrating with him, cracked me wide open and ripped me apart all over again. It destroyed something I’m not sure can ever be put back together again.

And I know, Ethan didn’t know. I believe him when he says that fund-raiser took place before he realized who Brandon was to me. And it should matter—it does matter—and yet there’s this lump of ice inside of me that I’m terrified will never melt. It’s like this is just one thing too many. One kick too many. One strike too many.

One betrayal too many.

Of all the men out there in the world, I had to fall in love with this one.

It doesn’t make sense. Am I really that ruined, that addicted, that I can’t find my way clear? Of him. Of this. Of the dangerous emotions battering me from every side.

Or is it that I’m not ruined at all? Damaged, yes. Hurt, absolutely. But loving Ethan—being loved by him—feels like the cleanest, purest thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.

“It’s okay, baby,” he tells me as he brushes, soft silky kisses against my throat, down my shoulder, over the slopes of my breasts. “I know it’s too soon. I know you don’t trust me anymore.”

“It’s not—”

He kisses me then, soft and sweet and gentle. So gentle. “It is. And that’s okay. I get it.”

But it isn’t okay. Even in the dark, I can see the look in his eyes. Can see the way I’ve hurt him. The way I’m breaking him even now.

The knowledge does something to me on a visceral level. It turns me inside out, makes me hurt in a way nothing ever has before and that I pray never will again. I love this man, I love him even through the pain, even through the fear, even through the betrayal, and the idea that I’m wrecking him as I’ve been wrecked—it shatters me.

“I love you,” I tell him, grabbing his face in my hands and pulling his mouth back to mine. Only this kiss isn’t soft and it sure as hell isn’t sweet. It’s deep and dark and damaged, so damaged. It’s tongues and teeth, pleasure and pain, heaven and hell. It’s everything Ethan and I are laid bare between us and nothing has ever felt so right.

“Fuck, Chloe!” Ethan rips his mouth from mine even as he throws open the car door. Then he’s levering his hands under my ass and climbing out of the car with me still in his arms.

I expect him to carry me into the house, but he doesn’t get any farther than the front porch before slowly sliding me down his body. And then he’s turning me so that I’m facing the porch railing, my hands planted firmly on the wrought iron.

“What are you doing? We’re on the front por—” I break off when he snaps his teeth against the nape of my neck hard enough to leave a bruise.

Heat courses through me and I gasp, tremble. Then he’s between my legs, pushing down my yoga pants with one hand while his other hand fumbles his jeans out of the way.

He presses me forward, grazes his teeth along my neck one more time, even as he reaches between my thighs to test my readiness. I’m hot and wet, my body aching and clenching with the need to feel him inside me.