Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

She laughs breathlessly. “You should probably fix that.”

“I intend to.”

A knock sounds at the door—our luggage being delivered—and I drop another kiss on Chloe’s swollen lips before reluctantly sliding my hands out from under her skirt. A trip to the door proves me right, and I wait impatiently as the bellhop delivers our luggage before directing him to Tori’s room with the rest of it.

The second he leaves, I’m on her, fastening my lips to her neck while I slide my hands back under her skirt. She’s wearing lace panties, flimsy things that are easy to tear right off her. So I do, ripping them to pieces with one firm yank before dropping the scraps on the floor beside her feet. Then I’m tugging down her skirt, taking off her bra. Sliding my mouth over all that soft, sweet skin of hers.

I start at her collarbone, because I love it. Love kissing it, love licking it, love resting my hand there and feeling her pulse speed up even as her breathing slows. Chloe makes me crazy, makes me want. Seeing that it’s the same for her grounds me like nothing else can.

Taking a deep breath, I will my hands to stop shaking as I pull her closer and kiss a soft, hot path up her neck. Because I can’t help it, I pause at the hollow of her throat. Dawdle at the line where her jaw meets her neck. Dally at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

I go slow, deliberately seeking out all the little spots that drive her crazy, and I listen as her breath ebbs and flows in a disjointed rhythm that just reinforces my knowledge of what she likes—and how she likes it.

She’s so beautiful like this, all creamy skin, long legs and lush, pink-tipped breasts with bright, inquisitive eyes and a soft, sweet smile.

Beautiful and perfect and mine.

Mine now, and after the wedding later today, mine forever.

The thought centers me like nothing else can, and the pounding urgency that’s been riding me for hours slowly dissipates. We have eternity—there’s no need to rush this moment, to rush the last time I’ll make love to her before she becomes my wife. She deserves better than a quick, hard fuck against the wall. She deserves everything I have to give her and then some.

Chloe has a smattering of freckles on her shoulder that I absolutely adore, so I lick my way across them, playing connect-the-dots with the grouping because I can. I pause for a moment, bury my nose against her neck and for long seconds do nothing but inhale her. Jesus, she smells good. Like dark honey and clean rain and night jasmine. She smells like Chloe.

Her skin is covered in bruises, little love bites that I couldn’t stop myself from giving her last night when I was reclaiming her with each and every kiss. They look good on her, so good, and I can’t stop myself from licking over a couple. She moans at that, her legs moving restlessly against my own. I reward her with another small bite, this one on the curve of her shoulder.

“Ethan, please.” Her low breathy moan shoots straight through me, has me nearly coming in my jeans like a fucking teenager. How is it possible for her to sound even better than she looks? Than she smells?

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, kissing my way up her neck to her jaw, to the sensitive spot under her ear. Her hands tighten in my hair, try to pull me closer. I love it. I love the way she responds, the way only I can pull this reaction from her.

“I need—” Her voice breaks again. “I need you.”

“You have me,” I reassure her, running my lips over her cheeks and chin, across her forehead and eyes, over the bridge of her nose. I revel in the luscious feel of her, the rich honey and lemon taste of her. The dark and wanton sex of her.

I revel, again, in the fact that she’s mine and I am hers. And then I start all over again.

“Ethan.” Chloe’s voice is higher, tighter than usual.

“Yes, love?”

She bucks against me, her nails scratching lightly against my scalp in a way that sends pleasure surging down my every nerve ending. “If you don’t do something soon, I’m going to scream.”

I lift my head to grin at her, to let her see just a little of the pride and joy and relief I feel having her back in my arms where she belongs. “Scream away, love. These suites are soundproofed. No one will hear you.”

She nips at me then, catching my lower lip between her teeth and biting down softly. Pleasure claws its way down my back, has my dick punching against my jeans.

“Ethan, please,” she whimpers as she reluctantly lets go of my lip.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask. Our mouths are still only an inch or so apart, close enough that I can feel her ragged breathing. Far enough away that I can struggle for control.

“Anything. Everything.”

“That’s not very specific, love.” I’m teasing her now, but I can’t help it. She looks fucking delicious when she’s frustrated.

When Chloe doesn’t say anything more—anything specific—I punish the both of us by pulling away another inch.

“No!” Her hands clutch desperately at my hair. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me like this.” Her breath catches, her voice breaks and just that easily, I’m lost.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I growl. And lowering my lips back to her own, I claim her mouth in a kiss that is as much ab