Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

“You’re more than enough,” I tell her.

She smiles softly, kisses behind my ear. Down my neck. “Then come back to bed with me,” she whispers when she finally pulls away.

It’s not an answer to our disagreement—but I go anyway, because even though I’ve just had her, I want her again.

I always want her. Always need her.

A few months ago, I didn’t even know Chloe existed. And now—now, she’s my everything. She’s the only thing. My obsession, my addiction, my heaven and—right now, as she asks me for the one thing I can’t give her—my hell.

And still I don’t care. Still I want more.

I follow her across the room, watch hungrily as she drops the robe on the floor before crawling into her double b

ed, holding the covers back for me so that I can do the same.

I do—of course I do—she’s gorgeous and naked and mine. Mine. It’s that thought that’s circling my head when I slide in beside her, that thought that’s beating in time to my too-fast heartbeat as I pull her into my arms. I’m torn, conflicted. About Brandon. About my family. About the fact that Chloe is so adamant about leaving the past in the past. But the one thing I am not conflicted about—the one thing I will never be conflicted about—is the need I have for Chloe.

The craving I have for her is desperate, all-consuming. Never-ending. It slices me open, rips me apart. And somehow, despite that, makes me whole in a way I never have been.

She gasps as I reach for her, trembles. Her hands clutch at my shoulders. Her body arches against mine. And that’s all it takes to tear away the already tenuous shreds of my control. I slam my mouth down on hers, reveling in the way she moans at the first touch of my tongue to hers.

It’s an assault more than a kiss. Mouths slamming together. Tongues tangling. Teeth biting down on vulnerable lips. I try to gentle it, try to rein in the desperation raking razor-sharp claws through my belly. But I can’t. Not when Chloe is in my arms, kissing me with the same need that I feel. Not when her body is soft and yielding and sexy—so sexy—against my own.

I roll onto my back without breaking the kiss, pulling Chloe on top of me as I do. It’s important to her to feel like she has some semblance of control when we make love—and I don’t mind giving that to her. I’d give her the world if I could—if she’d take it. After all, I’ve already given her my soul.

Besides, she always yields so beautifully in the end, always gives herself over to me—and to the storm that rages between us—so completely, that I don’t care how we make love. I only care about being inside her, fucking her, loving her. Over and over again. Now, tonight, tomorrow.

Forever.

“I love you, Ethan,” she tells me as she shifts her hips, lowers herself down on me.

“I love you, too.” My voice is hoarse, my whole body trembling with the ecstasy of being inside her again. It’s only been a couple of hours since I last had her, but it will take more than a night to erase the agony of the last weeks I spent without her. Hell, it very well might take an eternity, but I’m okay with that. Right now, eternity sounds just about perfect.

And then she starts to move and even the idea of coherent thought disappears as pleasure washes over me, pulling me under like a riptide I have no desire to ever escape.

Hot, wet, tight, mine. The words form a mantra in my head, in my blood, pounding through me with each hard slam of my heart against my ribs. Hot, wet, tight, mine. Chloe.

She’s riding me now, slowly lifting up onto her knees until I almost lose her warmth around me, then even more slowly lowering herself back down. Again and again and again she does this, until insanity is only a few trembling breaths away.

Until my every muscle strains violently against the restraint I’m holding on to with bloody, battered fingertips.

Until all that I am—all that I will ever be—is tied up in the dark, rich warmth of her.

Unable to resist for one second longer, I lift a hand to her hair. Tangle my fingers in the fiery curls. It’s not about controlling her—not here, not this time. It’s about grounding myself in her, about having something to hold on to as pleasure rages around me like a tempest.

“I missed this,” she says, even as she takes me deeper. “I missed you.”

Her words echo through me, send fire cascading along my every nerve ending as I get closer and closer to the edge of madness. Closer and closer to losing what tenuous control I have.

She’s on top of me, her legs around my hips, her delicate hands braced on my stomach, her lush, beautiful ass pressed against my thighs. She’s here, right here, all around me, and still it’s not enough. Still I want more. I need more.

Lifting my other hand to her mouth, I rub my thumb back and forth across the crazy pink of her lips. They part on a gasp and then she’s sucking me deep, her tongue circling and stroking and licking even as her pussy clenches around me.

“You’re everything to me,” I tell her, the words hoarse and rough and more than a little disjointed. My brain still isn’t working full throttle, but I need her to know this. Need her to hear this. “Don’t leave me again. Fight with me, tell me to fuck off, give me the silent treatment. Do whatever you need to do. But please, please, don’t ever leave me again.”

Tears glisten on her cheeks as her eyes lock with mine. I feel so exposed, so wide open that for a moment—just a moment—I’m tempted to look away. But then she says, “I won’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” and everything that isn’t Chloe just fades away.

I tug on her hair and she leans down then, presses her lips to mine. It’s too much. Her mouth moving against mine. Her pussy sliding over my dick. Her beautiful breasts pressed into my chest.