Chapter 43 Take Care of Me
Emily's POV
We finished around eight. My eyes were burning from staring at textbooks for five straight hours, and when I finally closed my economics notebook I felt the full weight of exhaustion settle over me like a blanket.
Ethan had been quiet for the last hour, scrolling through his phone with that same flat expression he'd worn since our argument. The tension hadn't dissipated—it had just gone dormant, lurking beneath the surface of our polite silence.
"You hungry?" he asked as I packed up my things.
"Starving."
We drove to a diner near campus, one of those 24-hour places with cracked vinyl booths and fluorescent lights that hummed too loud. The waitress brought us menus and water glasses streaked with mineral deposits, and we ordered without much discussion—burger and fries for him, grilled cheese and tomato soup for me.
The food came quickly. I ate mechanically, barely tasting it, while Ethan pushed fries around his plate and avoided eye contact. The silence between us felt heavier than it had in the car, weighted with all the things we weren't saying.
"You okay?" I asked finally.
"Yeah." He took a long drink of water. "Just tired."
But I could see the tightness around his mouth, the way his shoulders stayed tense even as he tried to relax into the booth. He was still hurt from earlier, still processing my rejection of his apartment plan, and I didn't have the energy to dig into it again tonight.
When the check came Ethan pulled out his wallet before I could reach for mine. I didn't argue—partly because I was too tired, partly because I knew he needed to feel useful somehow.
Outside the diner he hesitated with his keys in his hand. "You want me to take you back to your dorm?"
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the hope buried under the careful neutrality. He didn't want the night to end like this, with distance still stretched between us. Neither did I.
"Actually," I said, "maybe we could get a room? I don't want to go back yet."
Something shifted in his expression, relief mixed with surprise. "Yeah. Okay. There's a Courtyard by Marriott about ten minutes from here."
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The room was what you'd expect from a mid-range business hotel—neutral beige walls, crisp white linens that actually looked clean, a bathroom with decent water pressure. Ethan had clearly paid extra for the upgrade, and I appreciated the gesture even if I didn't say it out loud.
Ethan locked the door behind us and I dropped my bag on the single chair, suddenly hyperaware of the tension still coiled in the air between us. He stood near the door with his hands in his pockets, watching me with that same guarded expression.
I was exhausted. Bone-deep tired in a way that made my thoughts feel slow and heavy. And I didn't want to have another difficult conversation tonight, didn't want to analyze our relationship or defend my boundaries or explain why I needed space when he wanted closeness.
So I chose the simpler option.
I crossed the room and kissed him.
For a second he froze, caught off guard, but then his hands came up to grip my waist and he was kissing me back with an intensity that felt like relief. Like he'd been waiting all night for permission to touch me and now that he had it he couldn't hold back.
I slid my hands up under his shirt, feeling the solid warmth of his torso, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent heat pooling in my stomach. His fingers found the hem of my sweater and I lifted my arms so he could pull it over my head, then reached for his shirt and did the same.
We stumbled backward toward the bed, mouths still locked together, hands fumbling with zippers and buttons. I pushed him down onto the mattress and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, and the look in his eyes—hungry and desperate and almost grateful—made something twist in my chest.
He flipped us over in one smooth motion, pinning me beneath him, but I pushed back against his chest, trying to regain control. "Let me—"
"No." His voice was firm but not unkind as he caught my wrists and pressed them gently back against the pillow. "I want to take care of you tonight."
"I can take care of you," I protested, even as heat flooded through me at the dominance in his tone.
"I know you can." His mouth curved into something between a smile and a smirk. "But I like this better. I like making you fall apart."
"You mean you like making me so desperate I have to beg," I said, breathless already just from the intensity in his gaze.
"That's good too," he admitted, leaning down to brush his lips against mine in a maddeningly light kiss. "But you're even more beautiful when you come. When you stop thinking and just feel."
The words sent a shiver through me. I looked up at him—at the hunger in his eyes mixed with something softer, more reverent—and felt my resistance crumble.
"Then come take care of me," I whispered.
His smile widened. "Yes, my queen."
He released my wrists and started kissing his way down my body with agonizing slowness. His mouth lingered at my collarbone, tongue tracing the hollow of my throat before moving lower to the swell of my breast. He circled my nipple with his tongue, teasing it into a hard peak before closing his lips around it and sucking, and the sensation shot straight to my core.
I arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair, and he hummed approvingly against my skin before switching to the other breast. His hand slid up to palm the one he'd just abandoned, thumb brushing over the wet, sensitive nipple while his mouth worked the other, alternating between gentle licks and sharp grazes of teeth that made me gasp.
"Ethan—"
"Patience," he murmured, breath hot against my skin. His free hand trailed down my stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of my underwear but not dipping beneath. "We've got all night."
He continued his torturous journey downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my ribs, my belly, the sharp jut of my hipbone. When he reached the edge of my underwear he hooked his fingers into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, watching my face the entire time with an expression that was almost predatory.
The cool air hit my exposed flesh and I shivered, suddenly hyperaware of how wet I already was. Ethan settled between my thighs, hands gripping my hips to hold me in place, and just looked at me for a moment—taking in the sight of me spread open and vulnerable before him.
"Beautiful," he said quietly, almost reverently. Then he lowered his head and dragged his tongue through my folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
The sensation made my hips jerk involuntarily but his grip kept me pinned. He licked again, slower this time, exploring every fold and crease with methodical attention. When his tongue circled my clit I couldn't suppress the moan that escaped, my head falling back against the pillow.
He worked me with patient precision, alternating between broad flat strokes and focused attention on my clit—circling, flicking, applying just enough pressure to build the tension coiling in my belly. When he slid one finger inside me I clenched around it immediately, desperate for more, but he kept his movements shallow and teasing.
"More," I managed, voice already shaky. "Please—"