Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s a plea as much as it is a command. “I need to see you.”

I open my eyes then, look into the bright, crazy blue of his. The look in those eyes, on his face—the love and adoration he doesn’t try to hide—reaches inside of me. Warms every part of me, even those that still hurt. That will always hurt.

The pain doesn’t matter so much now, though, not when my new life is filled with so much love that some days I can’t help but pinch myself just to make sure that it’s all real. That Ethan, and what we have together, is real.

I reach for his hands, twine our fingers together even as I try to bring him closer. Ethan just smiles, presses my hands into the bed as he slides slowly, slowly, slowly inside of me. I arch against him, calling his name as I wrap my legs around his waist. He feels so good—so long and hot and hard inside of me—that it doesn’t take long before I’m trembling on the brink of another climax.

I try to break free of his grip, try to wrap my arms around him, but Ethan refuses to let me go. Instead, he slides one hand down to the middle of my forearm, his long fingers brushing against the bracelet that rests there before covering it with his palm.

I gasp at the possessive gesture, turn my head because I want to see him holding me. Want to see his tanned fingers encircling the bracelet I haven’t taken off since he gave it to me the day before our wedding. It’s as much a sign of his possession as the belly chain I still wear around my waist, of the rings I wear on my finger, and I adore it. Just as I adore the man who gave it to me.

“You’re mine, Chloe. You’ll always be mine.”

“Yes,” I tell him, because sometimes he needs to hear it as much as I do. And because he’s right. No matter what happens from here on out, no matter where we go or what we do or where we end up, it will all be okay. Because this thing between us—it really is forever. “And you’ll always be mine.”

My words have an immediate effect on him. His eyes darken, his skin flushes, his thrusts grow harder and faster until he’s pounding into me hard enough to shake the headboard.

Over and over he thrusts into me. Over and over I rise to meet him. Pleasure is a white-hot flame inside of me, burning brighter and brighter with each second that passes. With each moment that he’s inside of me.

“I love you,” I tell him, pressing my mouth against his chest and sucking until I give him a bruise that rivals any he’s ever given me. “I love you so much.”

I don’t know if it’s the words or the love bite, but whatever it is, it pushes Ethan to the brink. Slipping a hand between us, he brushes his thumb over my clit, once, twice.

I’m so far gone that that’s all it takes. I grab on to Ethan, and hold him tight as I hurtle over the edge into an ecstasy so powerful that it almost burns me alive. Ethan comes then, too, emptying himself inside of me with a series of long, sexy pulses that feel better than anything ever has. Or ever will.

In those moments, as pleasure arcs between us, he takes everything I have, everything I am. Gives me all of himself in return. Eternity stretches between us and it’s enough, more than enough. It’s everything, and so is he.

—

An hour later, I step out of the bathroom—freshly showered—to find a large, burgundy envelope on my pillow. It’s the first one Ethan has given me since Brandon died and my heart beats faster at the sight of it.

I cross the room quickly, snatch it up. It’s not what’s inside of it that matters so much to me—it’s the knowledge that, despite everything, Ethan and I really are going to be okay. That means more than anything he could ever buy me.

The envelope isn’t sealed, so it only takes a moment for me to lift the flap with trembling hands. I pour the contents on the bed and then sift through them, slowly, my heart warming a little more at each new discovery.

I pick up the book first. It’s thin and tattered, obviously used, but that only makes it more precious to me. Because one look at the back cover and I know what it is—a first edition English/Spanish translation of the 100 Love Sonnets Pablo Neruda wrote to his wife. I run my hand over the cracked front cover, trace the letters of Neruda’s name with my fingertips. Then open up, from memory alone, to Sonnet XVII one of my favorite poems in the entire volume. “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, / in secrets, between the shadow and the soul.”

I run my fingers over the first stanza, mouthing the words that I have always loved, though have only truly come to understand since I met Ethan. Reluctantly, I put the poetry book aside and reach for the next item that came from the package. It’s a purple calla lily that’s been dried and pressed and I know, instinctively, that it’s one of my wedding flowers. Ethan must have taken it from the back of the limo when I wasn’t watching and saved it for this. For me.

Sentimental tears bloom in my eyes and I blink them away. But they just come back again. I’ve never cried this much in my life—stupid hormones making everything off-kilter. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I put the fragile blossom back in the envelope so it won’t get damaged, then slide the envelope into the top drawer of my nightstand. I’m keeping that flower as long as I plan to keep Ethan, which is pretty much forever.

After I make sure the flower is safe, I pick up the third item that came from the envelope—a long, thin rope in black silk that puts all kinds of naughty ideas in my head. Ideas that I’m pretty sure Ethan had every intention of putting there.

The last item is a plane ticket and I pick it up gingerly. Knowing Ethan it’s to someplace exotic for that honeymoon we never got to take. And while the idea of spending lazy days doing nothing but lying on the beach and making love to my husband sounds absolutely wonderful, the truth is I can’t take any more time away from my internship. I don’t care who I’m married to, I don’t care that I won’t get fired. It’s my job and I take it very, very seriously. I don’t want to tell Ethan no, especially not when he’s just coming back to himself, but I won’t be able to go anywhere until at least next summer after I’ve graduated. And by then, we’ll have a baby.

There’s a small knot of dread in my stomach as I open up the ticket—I hope it’s not to Paris because I’d have a really difficult time turning Paris down even if it is the right thing to do—and end up staring in confusion at a four-day ticket to San Francisco at the end of the summer, right before the fall semester starts.

“I thought you might want to take a couple days to go see Stanford and UC San Francisco law schools,” Ethan says as he walks into the room. “They’re the best on the West Coast, and since you’re a senior, I figure it’s probably time for you to take a look at them.”

“I—I—” I’m stuttering, but this is actually the last thing I ever expected. “I figured I’d go to University of San Diego.” Three months ago, USD hadn’t been in my top ten choices, but three months ago I wasn’t married to the CEO of Frost Industries, either. And since Ethan’s company is headquartered in San Diego, USD seemed like the logical choice. It’s not Stanford, but it’s still a really good school, one I could do well at.

“If that’s what you want to do, that’s great,” he tells me, coming over to sit next to me on the bed. “But,” he continues as he takes my hand, “it’s not your only option. San Francisco is only an hour flight away—”

“You’d be okay with me moving up there for three years?”

He snorts. “No. But I’d be perfectly okay with us moving up there for three years, if that’s what you want.”