Addicted(41)

“No, they won’t miss me. You, Mr. Frost, they will definitely miss.” I press kisses against his face to punctuate the point.

“There’s good food and plentiful drinks. What else could they want?”

“You, Ethan. They’ll want you.”

“Yeah, well, they can’t have me. Not tonight. Tonight I want to be with you. Only you.”

I melt. I can’t help it, my whole body going soft and gooey at the warmth in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. Though I know it’s a bad move for him not to show up—half the party probably saw Ethan come onto the beach after me, guaranteeing new office gossip in the morning—for right now, I don’t give a damn. Not about work, not about Brandon, not about anything that might take me out of Ethan’s arms.

There are a million problems lurking right below the surface, waiting to drag us under as soon as we acknowledge them. Tonight I want to pretend they don’t exist. Tonight I want it to be just the two of us and the feelings we just can’t get away from.

“That sounds really nice,” I tell him, licking my way down his neck to his still rain-slicked collarbone.

He groans, tilting his head back to give me better access. “It does, doesn’t it?”

I’m too busy kissing him to answer, trailing my lips from his broad shoulders and heavy biceps to his lean neck and well-muscled chest.

I take my time with him, tasting him, touching him, savoring every inch of his beautiful body that I can reach.

He smells like the ocean, tastes like the rain. Dark and sweet and wild, so wild. After the days and weeks I’ve spent without him, I can’t get enough.

I’ll never get enough.

If I’ve learned anything these past couple of weeks, I’ve learned that.

Ethan Frost is my addiction. He’s the itch just below my skin. The fire that skates along my every nerve ending. He’s the craving I just can’t shake.

The knowledge burns deep inside me, turns me on, takes me over until all I can smell or see or feel is him. I don’t want to shake this feeling, don’t want it to go away.

His hand comes up to cup my jaw and I turn my face into his touch, press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his palm. He growls, deep in his throat, but I just shift against him, reveling in the way he responds to me. So openly. So freely.

He’s guarded with everyone else in his life. Reserved. Careful. I’ve watched him for weeks, have seen the way he keeps a distance between himself and everyone else—business associates, friends, staff. Everyone except me.

With me, he’s always right here in the moment, his body and mind and soul mine for the taking. It’s only fair, since I’m the same way for him and have been practically since the day we met. Laid open. Laid bare.

“Chloe,” he whispers, his head moving back and forth against the seat. “I need—”

“I know, love. I know.”

I slide off his lap slowly and he groans, his strong, calloused fingers reaching for me in an effort to keep me in place. I twist my hips, do a little shimmy that has me slipping through his hands. And then I’m kneeling in front of him, my long blond hair hiding my face while his suit jacket gapes open to reveal my naked body.

It’s a strange dichotomy, to be so covered and yet so revealed at the same time. It turns me on, has my nipples peaking and my breath catching in my throat. I don’t know what it is that does it for me, but Ethan notices—of course he notices—and he brings his hand up to tangle in my hair, rubbing the strands roughly over my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth.

I nip at him then, sinking my teeth into his fingertips before pulling his index finger deep into my mouth.

“Fuck, Chloe,” he grinds out, free hand clenching against my scalp as I stroke my tongue down and around his finger.

I don’t answer him. I’m too busy sucking his finger deep, licking and sucking and stroking it until Ethan is yanking at my hair and ordering me to “Do it!” in a voice made harsh with desire.




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.