Addicted(38)

I can feel it in the hands clutching at me, pulling at my chignon so that my hair tumbles down around my shoulders, holding me so tightly that I know I’ll have bruises in the morning. I can see it in the tenseness of his shoulders, like he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I can hear it in his ragged breathing, in the soft words that skim across my skin like a benediction.

Ethan loves me.

Ethan Frost loves me.

Ethan Frost loves me the same way I love him. Wildly, completely, absolutely.

It’s a sobering realization, the knowledge that I hold someone else’s happiness so totally in my hands. But it’s comforting, too. Soothing. Because I know how I feel about him, know that I would rather cut off a limb than hurt him the way he so obviously has been hurting these last couple of weeks. Knowing that he feels the same way about me, that he’d do anything to keep me safe—keep me whole—is freeing in a way I never could have imagined before this moment.

Pleasure thrums through my body, crashing over me in messy waves not unlike the ones rolling toward the shore at this very moment. I shudder, arch against him, and somehow Ethan must know what’s happening to me because the touch of his lips against my breast grows much firmer, as does the stroke of his thumb over my clit.

I ride the orgasm out, body and soul wrapped around Ethan as he pulls every ounce of ecstasy he can from me. When it’s over, when I can think and breathe and maybe even stand again, I press my lips against his ear and whisper, “I love you, baby. I love you so much.”

I know we have a lot of awful things to work through, know that we have a lot of history between us that can never be undone. Two weeks ago, that history seemed insurmountable, absolute. But two weeks without him in my life, two weeks without seeing him, touching him, holding him, has given me a new perspective on what I can handle.

I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. I’m not saying we aren’t going to have some bad moments. But are those bad moments worth giving up all the good ones, as well? Are they worth spending the rest of my life like a member of the walking dead?

I don’t think so. Not after everything I’ve gone through these last two weeks. Not when I look into a future filled with emptiness and agony without him.

“I love you,” I tell him again, because I can’t not tell him. Not when I’m filled to bursting with the feelings ricocheting around inside of me.

Ethan freezes at my words, his whole body turning to stone even as his cock twitches against me. “Chloe. Baby.”

His voice is choked, quiet, devastated, and it gets rid of the last of my doubts. A better woman than I might have been able to hold out, but then that woman wouldn’t have Ethan and he’s worth a little sacrifice, worth a lot of compromise.

Honestly, he’s worth everything.

“I love you,” he tells me. “I love you so much.” And then he’s tearing at his fly, ripping his zipper open with a desperation that could be dangerous if he isn’t careful. Seconds later, he’s doing the same to my pants, throwing them onto the wet sand seconds before sheathing himself in a condom. Then he’s lifting me up again, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist before pressing slowly, steadily, inexorably inside of me.

It’s only been two weeks, yet it feels like forever, and I gasp as he fills me up. Gasp again as he bottoms out and then starts to move gently, carefully, inside of me.

Despite the urgency I can see in his eyes, he starts slowly, giving me time to adjust to his body after going so many days without it. As always, I’m thankful for his care—between the physical sensations swamping me and the emotions washing over me, I’m drowning in sensation.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my cheek, my jaw, my lips.

“Yes. God, yes.” It’s only been minutes since I came and yet the need is already building inside of me again, my body starving for Ethan and the pleasure he brings me with every squeeze of his hand, every press of his body. I skim my hands over his shoulders, down his heavily muscled back, stroke my fingers over his waist before sliding them lower to cup his ass.

Ethan groans at the contact, gasping as I yank him hard against me, inside me.

The last tenuous grip he has on control shatters and he slams into me again and again and again. I meet him thrust for thrust, my body arching against his as he devours me—hands everywhere, mouth everywhere. On my neck, my shoulders, the sensitive skin of my elbow. He skims his lips across my breasts to toy with my nipples, rubs glancing caresses against my clit before sliding his thumb between my ass cheeks and pressing it slowly, carefully, against my anus.