Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

Her tongue tracing the lines of my tattoos as her fingers stroke across the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.

My mind empties of everything but her. Shivers race down my spine even as heat slams through the rest of me. Hot and cold. Fire and ice. The twin sensations swamp me, pull me under, until I’m drowning in her. Drowning in the dark honeyed taste of her. The warm vanilla scent of her. The soft, breathless sound of her.

“Fuck, Chloe, baby, please.” I add another word to my mantra even as what’s left of my mind—and my soul—shatters into a million shards. Chloe has torn me apart, has destroyed everything I was before her, everything I ever thought to be. And here, now, with her ring on my finger and her mouth on my body, she is remaking me. Forging me anew in the flames of her desire, her strength, her love.

Her hands are fumbling with my belt buckle now, and I can’t take it anymore. I have to touch her. I have to—

“Uh-uh,” she tells me, pulling her mouth from where she’d been sucking on my abs. “Lie there and take it. It’s my turn now.”

“I can’t,” I tell her, not even caring that I’m begging a little at this point. “I need—”

She shoots me a look from under her lashes that has need skating along my every nerve ending, slicing into me like razor blades. “I know exactly what you need, Ethan Frost. So back off and let me give it to you.”

And then she’s undoing my belt buckle and the top catch of my pants. Pulling down the zipper. Sliding her hand into my boxers and stroking my dick. My heart nearly stops.

There’s a part of me that knows it’s ridiculous. I’ve made love to Chloe hundreds of times since that first time all those weeks ago. I know her body as intimately as I know my own. She knows mine the same way. And yet

, still, after touching her and being touched by her in nearly every way imaginable, she still makes me breathless. Still stops my heart with a simple stroke of her hand.

“Fuck, Chloe, baby, please.” I am begging now, full on begging, and I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything but being inside my wife. Her mouth, her pussy, I don’t even care at this point. I just need—

She bends her head and takes me in her mouth, her tongue stroking lazily across the bottom of my cock as she slides me all the way to the back of her throat and then nearly all the way out again.

“Fuck.” My hands scrabble for purchase on the leather seats of the limo, but I can’t get a grip. On the seats, on my body, on the love I have for this gorgeous, gorgeous woman.

She does it again and again, one hand rubbing against my stomach in a manner that I think I’m supposed to find soothing while the other strokes my balls in a rhythm so good—so perfect—that I swear I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head.

She’s sucking me deep, her tongue doing so many wicked, wonderful things to me that I know it won’t be long before I lose the last little bit of control I have over my body. But this isn’t what I want, no matter how good it feels. I want—I need—to be inside Chloe the first time I climax after marrying her. I need her to come right along with me. I want to do this marriage right from the very beginning. And for me, right is making sure Chloe feels as good as I do.

Tangling my hands in her hair, knocking pins out left and right, I pull her back gently.

She looks up at me through dazed, sex-glazed eyes and she looks so good—so fucking good—that for a moment my resolve shatters. “What’s wrong?” she asks hoarsely, her tongue darting out to lick her swollen lower lip. “Don’t you want—”

And just that simply, I snap.

Wrapping my hands around her arms, I drag her up off the floorboards and back into my lap.

I slam my mouth onto hers.

Thrust my tongue into her mouth.

Suck her tongue into mine.

She moans, digs her nails into my bare shoulders. The small bite of pain only makes the pleasure more intense.

I yank her wedding gown all the way up to her waist, rip her white lace panties off her body. I’m desperate, dying, so determined to be inside of her that I can barely think, barely breathe.

I force myself to pause, though, to run my fingers along her sex to check if she’s as ready as I am. She is, wet and hot and ready, so ready.

“Ethan, please.” It’s her turn to beg, her turn to move restlessly against me.

I think about drawing it out, about torturing her the way she’s been torturing me, but the truth is I’m too far gone. If I go down on her right now I’m going to come all over the car’s supple leather seats—something I’m pretty sure Geoffrey won’t appreciate.

And so I give her what she wants. What we both want. I grab her hips in my hands, lift her up and then lower her slowly, slowly, slowly onto my cock.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How can she feel better than I remember? Hot and wet and tight, so tight, as her pussy clenches rhythmically around me.

Though my body is screaming at me to move, to fuck her, to take her, to make her mine forever, I pause for a moment. Two. My head falls forward, and I rest my forehead against Chloe’s as we both just breathe. As we take in the fact that we made it. That we’re here and we’re together, in this life and the next.