Addicted(70)

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.

“Ethan, please. I need—” My words turn to dust in my mouth as he bends me over the railing and surges inside of me with one powerful thrust of his hips.

I whimper deep in my throat, probably would have screamed if I wasn’t worried about alerting the whole neighborhood to what we’re doing. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since he was inside of me, but that’s too long. Far too long. I need this. I need him, Ethan, inside of me, loving me, all the time. I need the power and the softness, the passion and the sweetness that is him. Again and again and again.

I try to speak, but my mouth is desert dry. There’s only enough thought, enough sanity left for the high, hungry sounds clawing their way out of my throat with each heavy slam of Ethan’s hips against my ass.

I reach behind him, rake my nails down his bare ass as I try to pull him even closer. “Harder,” I finally manage to form the word that’s been throbbing inside of me since the moment I first felt his fingers rubbing against my sex. “Please. Harder.”




Ethan responds with more pressure, with harder thrusts until it almost feels like he’s ripping me apart. But it’s good, so good, and I don’t want him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

His left hand moves between my legs while his right one remains at the small of my back, pressing me forward for the best angle. He spreads me open, strokes the spot where we’re joined. Fireworks go off inside of me and I climb higher and higher, the need to orgasm growing with every second that passes.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, breath hot and heavy against my ear. “Come for me. Let me feel you.” He reaches for my clit then, strokes his thumb over it once, twice, a third time. That’s all it takes to break me open, to shatter me. I come, sobbing his name.