Addicted(57)

I can’t help myself. He looks hot. I mean, he looks really, really, really hot. He’s wearing a pair of massively ripped jeans and a tight black T-shirt that shows off the curves of his biceps and the powerful muscles of his chest. And he’s got a look on his face that I’ve never seen before, like a starving man … or a dying one. Desperate, depraved, maybe even a little delusional. And I swear, my mouth actually waters.

And then, it’s on.

He grabs my upper arms.

Yanks me to him.

Shoves the door shut behind him.

Slams his mouth down on mine.

Pushes me against the door.

And then, he takes. He just takes and takes and takes.

He’s ravenous, his mouth skimming from my lips to my jaw to the long column of my throat. He latches on just where my neck meets my shoulder and sucks so hard that I know there will be a bruise there tomorrow.

He moves to the other side, does the same thing, before grabbing my shirt and yanking. It rips straight down the center, buttons flying in all directions.

Then he’s on his knees in front of me, biting and nibbling and sucking a path straight down the center of my body. He pauses at my breasts for a few breathless seconds, shoving my bra down and sucking love bites into the soft undersides of my breasts.

“Ethan,” I half-sigh, half-moan. My head is rocking back and forth against the wall, my fingers tangled in his hair and my body—God, my body feels like it’s about to go supernova. Like it’s going to spontaneously combust in a pillar of flames that burn so hot it just might incinerate my whole world.

“Chloe,” he growls back as he undoes the button on my jeans and yanks them down and off.

His mouth is on my hip, and this time he sinks his teeth in. Hard. I yelp even as I burn hotter and then he’s burying his face in the juncture of my thighs, eyes closed and hands cupping my ass.

“Ethan,” I gasp again, rocking my hips against him. I’m desperate for his mouth, for his hands, for something—anything—for whatever he wants to give me.

He doesn’t answer. For long seconds, he doesn’t do anything—doesn’t speak, doesn’t bite, doesn’t move. Instead, he just breathes me in, short, shallow, shuddering breaths that somehow only ratchet up my desire.

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.