Chapter 30 Is This All for Me?
Emily's POV
The room had dimmed into evening shadows, the bedside lamp casting everything in warm amber, and somewhere in the haze of kisses and touching I'd lost track of time completely.
All I knew was Ethan—his mouth, his hands, the way his breath hitched when I moved against him, the low sounds he made that sent electricity racing through my veins and pooling somewhere deep in my stomach.
We were still on his bed, me still straddling his lap, and the position had shifted from accidentally heated to deliberately intimate. My shirt had ridden up at some point, his palms flat against the bare skin of my lower back, warm and steady and grounding even as everything else spun out of control.
"Emily." My name was barely a word, caught between a gasp and something that sounded like a plea. "We should—God, we need to—"
I kissed him again before he could finish whatever responsible thing he was trying to say, my fingers tightening in his hair, and felt him give in with a shudder that ran through his whole body. His hands flexed against my back, pulling me closer even as some part of him was clearly fighting for control.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I could see the struggle written across his face—want battling with restraint, desire clashing with something that looked almost like fear.
"I need to know what you want," he said, voice rough and unsteady. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my heart stammer. "Because I want—" He broke off, jaw clenching, and I felt him hard beneath me, the evidence of his desire impossible to ignore through the layers of fabric between us. "I want you so much it's making it really hard to think straight. But I need you to tell me. What do you want?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications that my mind couldn't quite process through the fog of sensation. What did I want?
I wanted his hands on me. I wanted to feel this alive, this present in my own body instead of constantly calculating exits and consequences. I wanted to stop being afraid for just one night, to exist in this moment where someone looked at me like I mattered, like I was worth the effort of restraint.
"You," I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. "I want you. All of it. I don't want to stop."
Something flashed across Ethan's face—relief mixed with a tenderness that made my chest ache—but he didn't move, didn't immediately give in to what we both clearly wanted. Instead, he brought one hand up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with careful deliberation.
"Have you done this before?" he asked quietly.
Heat flooded my face, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "No."
He nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. "Okay. Then we take this slow, and you're in control. If anything feels wrong or uncomfortable or too much, you tell me and we stop. No questions, no pressure. Promise me."
The care in his voice, the absolute priority he placed on my comfort even now when I could feel how much he wanted this—wanted me—made something crack open in my chest.
"I promise," I said, and meant it.
Ethan kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, like we had all the time in the world. His hands moved from my face down to my waist, then slid under my shirt, palms warm against my ribs. He broke the kiss to look at me, asking silent permission, and when I nodded he carefully pulled the fabric up and over my head.
Cool air hit my skin and I started to cross my arms over my chest out of instinct, but Ethan caught my wrists gently, holding them at my sides while his gaze traveled over me with an intensity that made me feel stripped bare even though I still wore my bra.
"Don't hide from me," he said softly. "You're beautiful."
Before I could protest or deflect, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the hollow of my throat, kissing a slow path down to my collarbone, then lower to the swell of my breast. When his lips closed around my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra I gasped, sensation shooting straight through me like lightning, concentrating between my legs in a pulse of heat that made me squirm against him.
"Ethan—"
"I know," he murmured against my skin, and reached behind me to unhook my bra with surprisingly deft fingers. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, then his mouth was on my bare skin and I couldn't think about anything except the heat of his tongue and the careful scrape of teeth and the way my body responded without permission, hips rolling against his in search of friction.
Every touch of his mouth sent sparks racing through my nervous system, building into something that felt almost unbearable. I tangled my fingers in his hair, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away, just needing something to anchor me as the world narrowed to the points where his body met mine.
Ethan's hands slid from my waist down to my hips, gripping tight enough that I'd probably have marks tomorrow, and he ground me down against him in a deliberate rhythm that had me gasping his name. The friction of denim against denim wasn't nearly enough, but it was something, and I found myself chasing it desperately, all rational thought dissolving into pure want.
"Off," I managed, tugging at his shirt. "I need—please—"
He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere I didn't care to track. Then his bare chest was against mine and the skin-on-skin contact made me moan in a way I'd never heard myself sound before—desperate and needy and completely unguarded.
I'd seen him shirtless before, but I'd never let myself really look, never let myself touch. Now I couldn't stop my hands from mapping the hard planes of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his chest, the rigid lines of his abs. He was built like the athlete he was, all lean power and controlled strength, and feeling that strength focused entirely on me was intoxicating.
My fingers drifted lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans, and Ethan sucked in a sharp breath.
"You're killing me," he said roughly, but his hands were already working the button of my jeans open, fingers hooking into the waistband. "Lift up."
I obeyed without thinking, bracing my hands on his shoulders while he slid my jeans down my thighs. The position left me straddling him in just my underwear, vulnerable and exposed.
Ethan's palm slid up my inner thigh, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear, and I felt myself clench in anticipation of his touch. He was watching my face, reading every reaction, and when his thumb brushed against me through the damp fabric I couldn't stop the way my hips jerked forward, seeking more pressure.
"You're so wet," he said, voice full of wonder and hunger, and pressed harder, circling my clit through the thin barrier. "Is this all for me?"