Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

Fuck. Tori was right. There’s no way I’ll make it back to the hotel without burying myself in Chloe.

It takes forever for the waiter to pick up our check and return my card—or maybe it just feels like that, considering the fact that my cock is so hard that every second I’m not inside Chloe feels like torture. Finally, finally, we’re free to go. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to pick Chloe up and toss her over my shoulder as I dash through the casino and hotel lobby.

But Chloe seems to be in as big a hurry as I am. She’s wearing ridiculous heels—picked out by Tori, I’m sure—but she’s still managing to walk fast enough that I barely have to adjust my stride.

I texted Geoffrey when we were waiting for the waiter to return the check, so he’s right at the top of the driveway as we burst through the hotel’s circular doors.

“How was dinner?” he asks, as he holds the door open for us.

“Fine,” I growl, all but shoving Chloe into the backseat.

She’s giggling, and hiking up her skirt before Geoffrey even gets the door closed. A quick look at his face tells me that he’s doing his best to keep his eyes averted, but there’s a knowing smirk on his face that I decide not to hold against him. After all, he did resist the temptation to look at my wife’s glorious legs—which makes him a better man than I am, certainly.

I glance toward the front of the limo, make sure the privacy screen is in place—it is—and then I’m yanking Chloe into my lap.

She laughs a little breathlessly as she settles against me, her sex pressed against my cock as her legs settle on either side of my hips. And then her mouth is on mine, her lips and teeth and tongue devouring me even as she rocks her hips against mine.

“Fuck, Chloe, baby.” My hands settle on her ass, try to hold her in place. She’s hot and wet—so hot and wet that I can feel her through the silk fabric of my pants. “Slow down, love. We’ve got all night.”

“I don’t want to slow down. I want—I want—” The words are broken, breathless, and they shoot straight through me until it’s all I can do not to tear her panties off and slam myself inside of her as she rips her mouth from mine. Then her lips are gliding down my jaw, skimming across my cheek, pressing into the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

I shudder, my hands clenching on her thighs.

Chloe gives an answering whimper, her hips rocking fast and furious against mine as she tears at my tie and the top buttons of my shirt. She’s rough, out of control, almost violent and I love her like this. Love how frantic she is. Love how much she needs me. For the first time, it seems like it might be close, like the desperation I feel for her doesn’t outweigh hers for me nearly as much as I thought.

She finally gets my tie off my neck and then the top three buttons of my silk dress shirt are flying off under her hungry fingers. I don’t give a fuck about the shirt, don’t give a fuck about anything but my gorgeous wife. How can I when Chloe is in my lap, eyes wild and skin flushed, as frantic for me as I always am for her.

I lift my hips at the same time I press down on hers, reveling in the way her mouth goes slack and her eyes go blurry. I move to capitalize on her distraction, to strip her underwear off and turn her over so that she’s beneath me when I thrust into her. But before I can do any more than think of moving, she skims her fingers down my throat and grabs my shirt with both hands. Then she, literally, wrenches it apart.

Fabric rips, the rest of the buttons fly in all directions, and Chloe slips the shirt—and the suit jacket I’m wearing on top of it—off my shoulders. I nearly lose it then, my cock so hard that for a second I’m afraid I’m going to come before I ever get inside of her.

I reach for control with a shaky hand, tell myself that our first time making love as a married couple isn’t going to end with me coming in my pants like a teenager with his first girl. It almost works, too, but then Chloe’s hands are smoothing over my chest, her fingers tracing the dark lines of my tattoo before moving down to toy with my nipples.

The last shreds of my control shatter. I groan, let my head fall back against the cool leather of the seat as I arch into her touch. It’s obviously the invitation Chloe is looking for, because she’s on me in a second, licking and kissing and sucking her way down the column of my throat.

“Fuck, Chloe, baby,” I say again. They’re the only three words I’m capable of saying right now and I repeat them like a mantra. Or a lifeline. “Fuck, Chloe, baby—”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she murmurs against my collarbone. “Isn’t it working?”

“It’s working,” I gasp as she slips a hand between us and strokes at my dick through the fabric of my pants. “It’s work—Fuck, Chloe, baby—”

“Fuck, Ethan, baby,” she murmurs against my mouth. She’s mocking me, making fun of how far gone I am, but there’s such delight in her face as she does it that it only makes me hotter. I love that she’s happy, love even more that she’s as completely into this as I am.

I arch against her, under her, groaning as my cock slides against her sex. She moans, too, and for a minute it’s like we’re back in high school. That’s the last time I’ve come this close to getting off by dry-fucking a woman.

But Chloe isn’t just any woman. She’s my woman. My wife. The words send through me a surge of possessive lust so strong that it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to tear open my trousers, move her panties to the side and fuck her until she screams my name.

Any other time I would do it. Any other time, she would welcome it. Hell, she might welcome it now. But this is her show. She’s made it clear that she’s the one in charge of what happens here and I am more than happy to cede to her. How can I not do anything she wants? Seeing her like this—beautiful, empowered, determined—turns me on like nothing else could.

Because this Chloe is secure. This Chloe feels safe with me. This Chloe knows her own worth and is as different from the Chloe I tried making love to on the beach a few days after we met as I am from the man who blindly believed the lies fed to him by his family.

That day, she’d been scared, horrified, expecting me to hurt her as she relived the horrors of the past. That she’s come so far in such a short time—that she loves me enough to risk the pain and the heartbreak that come with opening herself up to me and our dangerously entwined pasts—humbles me like nothing else could.

For a moment, the thought of Chloe’s past—of Brandon—swamps me with rage and threatens to pull me out of the lust-induced stupor I’ve fallen into. But even as my jaw clenches, even as my hands curl into fists, Chloe is there.

Her fingers tangling with mine.

Her mouth pressing hot, wet kisses to my shoulders, my throat, my pecs.