CHAPTER EIGHT ETHAN'S POV

CHAPTER EIGHT ETHAN'S POV


I left the room, the heaviness of the party settling on me once again. The laughter, the music, muffled hum of small talks, it all became too much.

I floated through the throngs like a specter, barely registering the faces rushing past, the congratulations, the friendly nods. I just had to leave.

The door was in sight. A couple more steps and I could flee into the darkness.

Then a hand closed around my wrist.

I tensed.

Slowly, I turned. Diana.

Her dark eyes were calculating, sharp. A perfect mask of concern, but behind it, there was suspicion.

"Are you seriously trying to escape from our own engagement party?"

Fuck.

I put on a neutral face, though my pulse was thudding in my throat. "I just needed some air."

Diana cocked her head, her red lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Really?"

I said nothing.

She stepped closer, whispering. "Because I thought we had a plan, Ethan. We lie. We make-believe. Everything is okay. Is this not what we planned?"

My jaw clamped down.

I was too exhausted for this. Too confused.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I just…"

"I don't care," she said, and though her voice was soft, there was an edge of steel underneath. "You're not leaving like that. Not without cover."

And with that she turned, going straight to her father.

I watched as she bent forward, speaking something low into his ear.

One second later, he toasted with his glass.

"To my daughter and fiancé! One last toast before they depart for the evening!"

A flash of applause. Cheers. Clinking glasses.

I gulped bile in my throat as I made myself stand beside Diana, to smile, to pretend I wasn't crumbling from the inside out.

Her hand encircled my wrist, a reminder without words. A warning to pretend.

So I did.

………

The ride was silent. The tension between us was like a third party, suffocating.

Diana didn't say a word, didn't question me. But she regarded me.

I could sense it, the heaviness of her look, her brain processing whatever doubts she had.

When we arrived at her house, she finally spoke.

"You've been strange tonight."

I gripped the steering wheel. "Just tired."

A slow, sly smile wracked her mouth. She didn't believe me.

But rather than continue, she leaned forward and stroked a perfectly manicured hand across my shoulder.

"Sleep well, fiancé."

Then, she exited and disappeared into the house.

I exhaled, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white. I needed to go home.

I needed to be by myself, alone.

………

The moment I entered my house, everything assaulted me all at once.

The silence, the ache in my chest. The pain, the desire.

The sensation of Liam's touch still searing on my skin.

I moved on autopilot, peeling off my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt. But with every motion, I could still feel him.

My lips stung, as if they remembered the feel of his mouth on mine.

I pressed my fingers against them, willing the memory to fade.

It didn't.

I should be repulsed but I wasn't.

Instead, I felt something worse, hunger.

I slammed against the bedroom door, my eyes closed, but the darkness did not serve to blot out the images in my head. It did something else instead.

Liam. His lips. His fingers. The heat of him against me.

Fuck.

I shouldn't be doing this. Not now. Never.

But whatever I did to push it away, I couldn't get rid of it. It lingered near me, a hunger curling deep in my gut, tightening, burning.

I gasped sharply, combing my hair with my hand. I needed to be distracted. I needed to turn off my brain.

But as I moved toward the bed, I felt it.

The pain. The constriction. The pressure in my legs.

I groaned. I was hard.

For him.

The realization struck a shiver of shame inside me, but it wasn't sufficient to kill the desire. If anything, it made it worse.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my breathing unstable. My fists curled into themselves, fighting against the urge, the real suffocating one.

But my body had already made up its mind. Nothing could stop it now.

So, I tugged down my pants with shaking hands, unzipping it. The cold air hit me as I pulled my boxers down further, and hell, I was already dripping, already desperate.

I should have stopped but I didn't.

My fingers wrapped around my length, and the moment I stroked upwards, a raw breath tore from my throat.

Fuck.

I tossed my head back, eyes shut, as I drew my hand back again, slow, agonizing, prolonging the pleasure.

I shouldn't be thinking about him. I shouldn't.

All I could think was Liam.

The way he looked at me before kissing me. That smug smile, the defiance in his eyes. The way his tongue caressed mine, marking, teasing, insisting.

My mouth opened in a surprised gasp as my grip tightened, my thrusts speeding up.

My hips jerked in a sudden movement, reaching out for the friction, yearning for more.

Fuck.

I pictured his hands on me instead of mine. His fingers wrapped around my cock, his hot breath on my skin. The feel of his voice in my ear, low, diirty and teasing.

I bit my lip, my pace frantic, my stomach tightening.

I was there. Almost there.
I pictured him on his knees. His mouth. His tongue. His heat.

That was it.

Pleasure struck me, tearing me in two, blinding and savage. My body stretched taut, my muscles locking as I spilled over my hand, a strangled moan slipping from my lips.

I was sitting there, my chest heaving and dropping in urgency, the after-shocks still surging through me.

And then the high wore off, and reality crashed back in.

The chaos. The silence. That I had just begun to explore the idea of Liam.

I rubbed a hand over my face, my stomach twisting.

What the devil was wrong with me? I wanted a drink.