Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

I’m nearly desperate for her at this point, can’t help thinking about storming the bathroom and yanking her into my arms where she belongs. The only thing holding me back is that this is Chloe’s wedding night and I want to make it as perfect for her as I possibly can. Even if it means that I go stark, raving mad.

In an effort to keep my mind off the desire breaking over me in powerful waves, I read the words again, trace my fingers over the flirty loops and lines that are as much Chloe as her wild curls and cool intellect are. I close my eyes, let O’Keeffe’s passion swamp me, pull me under, as I half-compose a letter of my own to the woman that I love. I don’t get very far, just a few words—I’m a scientist, not a poet—before the bathroom door opens.

I turn to her, expecting—I don’t know what. Something sexy. Maybe even something crazy and risqué—Tori did pick it out, after all. What greets me instead is a Chloe right out of my deepest, darkest fantasies. Instead of a sexy teddy like I was expecting, she’s wearing a long white nightgown. The neckline is cut in a deep V that shows her beautiful breasts, but the rest of the gown covers her pretty well. At least until she turns a little and I see the long, sheer panels that run the length of her body on both sides of the gown, giving me tantalizing glimpses of the curve of her breast, the shadow of her waist, the roundness of her hip.

She looks stunning. Gorgeous. And so unbelievably sensual that it takes every ounce of concentration I have not to drool. Or swallow my own tongue.

I’m not sure if she recognizes my dilemma or if she just wants to fuck with me. Either way, she starts walking toward the bed, a huge grin on her face. “So, did you pick out a smoothie to make when we get home?”

A smoothie? Every ounce of blood in my body just rushed straight to my dick and she wants me to think about a smoothie recipe? She’s expecting an awful lot out of me. Still, I take a deep breath. Force myself to rally. Do my best not to leap on her like a starving hyena with a gazelle. It’s not easy when my fingers are literally itching to touch her.

“I—” My voice is low, rusty. I stop, clear my throat. Try again. And this time I don’t let myself think about licking my way from the top to the bottom of one of the translucent panels. “I was thinking the blueberry-almond recipe sounded pretty good.”

She bursts out laughing, exactly as I intend her to. Then she’s moving into my arms, cuddling against my chest even as she threatens, “Try it and you’ll be wearing the drink this time.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I press kisses to her collarbone, to her neck, to the top of her breasts. “As long as you lick it off me.”

“You wish. It’s more likely that I’ll drown you in it.”

“So you keep saying.” I sit down on the bed, pull her between my knees as I slide the thin silk straps off her shoulders, following their journey with my tongue.

“Yeah, well, one of these days I’m actually going to do it.” She’s a little breathless now, a little restless. Exactly how I like her.

“Of course you are.” I cup her ass in my hands, pull her into my body, until her sex is nestled right up against my cock. “But if you drown me, who’s going to get you off?” I run my thumb lightly over her clit as I whisper the words against her skin.

Chloe shudders, presses her hips forward into my touch even as she says, “I can get myself off, thank you very much.”

The image goes through me like lightning. “Now that, Mrs. Frost, is something I would very much like to see.”

She laughs, rolls her eyes. But her cheeks are pink, her skin hot to the touch.

“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, before pulling her into my lap and rolling so that she’s beneath me. Then I guide her hand to her sex. “Show me.”

Her eyes grow wide. “Show you…”

She knows what I’m asking, but I can tell it embarrasses her almost as much as it intrigues her. It’s a reminder that, for all intents and purposes, my wife was a virgin before she met me, so traumatized by what happened with Brandon that she could never bring herself to trust another man. That she chose me, that she trusts me even now when I’m introducing her to something that obviously makes her a little uncomfortable…the knowledge is humbling.

Threading my fingers through hers, I keep my eyes on her face to make sure she’s okay with what I’m doing. She meets my gaze steadily, takes a deep breath. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement or both, but I’m about to ease away, to try something else that won’t freak my wife out quite so much, when she spreads her legs, opening herself to whatever I want to do to her.

The knowledge sends a shock of need straight through me, but I tamp it down. Focus on Chloe. On giving her what she needs. On making sure she’s okay.

Slowly, so slowly that I can feel sweat rolling down my spine with the effort it takes not to just thrust inside of her and fuck her until she screams my name, I press the tip of her index finger to her sex. She gasps, her hand jerking a little beneath mine.

I keep my grip gentle but firm as I hold her there.

As I kiss her lush, swollen lips.

As I whisper words of encouragement, of love, against her mouth.

She whimpers deep in her throat, and there’s enough distress in the sound that I immediately back off, releasing her hand and lifting my body away from hers. The last thing I want her to think is that I’m pushing her into something she doesn’t want to do.

She whimpers again, but with my new vantage point I can tell that it’s not distress at the situation that she’s feeling. No, if the look on her face is anything to go by, she’s not upset with what’s happening right now. She’s aroused by it.

“Show me,” I tell her again. “I want to see.”

She bites her bottom lip, but she nods despite the uncertainty in her face. And then—slowly, slowly, slowly—she strokes her finger across her clit.

She gasps at the sensation, then does it again and again and again before sliding her finger lower to stroke the dark pink lips of her sex. As she does, her other hand creeps up to toy with her left breast. I nearly swallow my tongue as she pinches her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.