Flawed (Ethan Frost 4)

“Oh right. Thanks.” She takes a step toward me, but I close the distance before she can, settling one hand on her lower back as I guide her deliberately toward the bed. As I do, I try not to think about how much I’d like to tumble her onto that bed.

About how much I’d like to unknot her sash and slip that robe from her shoulders.

About how much I’d like to drop to my knees in front of her, spread her legs, and eat her out until she comes on my tongue at least twice.

Because I suddenly do want all that—way more than I should—I bend over and put the slippers next to her feet. Take a deliberate step back. Then another and another. She’s here because some asshole just abused her trust. The last thing she needs is for a man she despises to make a play for her, too. I may be a jerk, but I’ve got enough class not to put my hands on a woman who obviously doesn’t want me to. No matter how hard it is to keep my eyes off the delectable sliver of skin showing between the lapels of her robe.

“Is there anything else you need?” I ask as I move abruptly back toward the door.

She shakes her head, her eyes gleaming with an amusement that says she knows exactly how hard it is for me to ignore the sudden hardening of my dick. “I think I’m going to lie down, try to take a little nap. I didn’t sleep well last night, and this morning has been a total shit show.”

She stretches then, and her robe falls off her shoulder, exposing more creamy skin and gorgeous ink. And that’s when I turn tail and run. A man only has so much self-control, after all, and I’ve always had a thing for ink on skin. Especially when the ink—and the woman it’s decorating—are as bold and beautiful as Tori is.

Her husky laugh follows me into the hallway and I pull the door closed a little harder than necessary.

She despises you, I remind myself—and my dick—as I make my way down the hallway to my own room. Not to mention the fact that she’s feeling vulnerable and alone right now. The last thing she needs is her best friend’s brother suddenly getting a fucking hard-on for her.

I repeat the words like a mantra as I head into my room. It should work—I’ve never been one to lust after a woman I can’t have—but there’s something about the way she was looking at me, something about the wicked little twist of her lips at the end there—that gets me going despite my best intentions.

I need to sleep, but my dick is way too hard for that right now. It’s way too hard for anything but fucking right now, if I’m being honest, and since that’s not an option I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Then I step in without waiting for it to warm up.

The brutal cold hits me hard, has my head ducking and my shoulders hunching in in an effort to protect myself. It does nothing to calm my suddenly raging erection, however, and as the water finally warms up I brace my forearm against the shower wall and wrap my hand around my dick.

As I begin to stroke, slow and steady, images of Tori flash through my head.

Tori all dressed up in that hot-pink dress and those crazy high heels, her leg wrapped around my thigh and her body pressed to mine.

Tori stretched out on one of the chaise longues around the pool downstairs, her chocolate-brown eyes covered by thousand-dollar sunglasses and her million-dollar body uncovered by the skimpiest black bathing suit I’ve ever seen in person.

Tori in tight jeans and a tank top, hair a sexy multicolor and ink glowing on her shoulders.

And lastly, Tori standing in the middle of that bedroom in nothing but a pair of hot-pink panties, her dress around her ankles and nipples peaked and hard.

Fuck. It’s that image that does it, that revs me up and has me working myself harder and faster. For a moment I think about sucking her nipples, about pulling one and then the other into my mouth and sucking until they’re red and swollen and diamond-hard. Until she’s crying out and clutching at me, her body convulsing on my fingers.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. She’s so fucking hot. So fucking gorgeous, with the elaborate roses tattooed across her shoulders. I can’t believe how hot she’s gotten me or how much I’d give to be touching her right now instead of myself. To be slipping my hands over her breasts and down her stomach. To be licking my way along her ink. To be sliding my fingers through her slick folds to play with her clit until she comes screaming my name.

Fuck. Heat slams through me at the thought, pools at the base of my spine and licks along every nerve ending. My dick is aching, my balls burning, and I speed up my strokes even more, tugging harder and faster as I imagine putting my mouth, my hands, my cock on Tori. As I imagine coming in her hand, between her breasts, in her pussy, on her lips.

It’s the last image that fucking gets me, that revs me up and sends me careening over the edge of an orgasm that is both brutal and all-consuming. I come hard and long, pleasure tearing through me as hot water beats down on my bowed head and shoulders. I come and come and come, Tori’s name on my lips and her image emblazoned on my brain.

When it’s over, I slump against the cold tile of the shower wall and struggle to steady myself. To get my breath back. It’s harder than it should be and for long seconds I just stand there, forcing my weak knees to carry me. Forcing myself not to think about Tori on her knees in front of me, her full red lips wrapped around my cock.

I don’t know how long I stand there, but it’s long enough for my legs to steady and for the water to run cold again. Shivering, I do a quick wash, then shut the water off and climb out.

After drying off and pulling on a pair of athletic shorts, I check my laptop to make sure my bots are still crawling through the ’Net, searching for the video. They are, so I execute a couple of quick corruption commands to add to their seek-and-destroy mission, then crawl into bed.

Tori isn’t the only one who needs a nap.

But as I stretch out and close my eyes, all I can see are Tori’s melted-chocolate eyes. Her fuck-me red lips. Her beautiful, beautiful breasts.

I roll over with a groan and punch my pillow. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but it needs to fucking stop. Otherwise I’m going to spend the next few days in a state of perpetual exhaustion—and horniness. And frankly, I just don’t have the energy for either.

—

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next time I open my eyes, the clock beside the bed reads three fifteen. There’s an annoying noise buzzing next to my head and I’m still groggy and disoriented enough that it takes me a few seconds to register the sound as coming from my smartphone. It takes a few seconds more to register that the vibration means it’s ringing.

I reach for it with a groan, mumble hello without even checking to see who it is. But then, I don’t really have to. I’ve been expecting this phone call all day.