Chapter 15 I Want You Now
When Ethan carried me back to the West Wing, I immediately noticed Blake was gone. No sign of him anywhere.
Not that I had any chance to ask about it anyway. The moment we entered, Ethan kicked the door shut behind us. No pause, no hesitation. He carried me straight to the sofa and pressed me down into the cushions, his body following mine. Before I could catch my breath, his mouth was on mine, hungry and demanding.
I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. His kiss consumed me entirely, drawing out something from deep within that I didn't recognize. Only when I was on the verge of suffocation did he finally release my mouth, one hand gripping my waist while the other cradled my head. His face buried in my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
I was gasping too, worse than he was. My lungs burned for air.
"Get off," I pushed against his shoulders. "You're crushing me."
His muscled shoulders tensed under my palms, but his head remained pressed against my neck. His chin scraped lightly against my skin as he asked, "What perfume are you wearing?"
My body trembled involuntarily, my voice matching the tremor. "N-none. No perfume."
Expensive fragrances were a luxury I couldn't afford. Cheap ones smelled worse than nothing at all.
Ethan inhaled deeply at my neck, his appreciation almost predatory. Then his head dipped lower, his sharp, sensual lips grazing my throat before his teeth gently bit down.
A soft whimper escaped me, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
When he raised his head, his eyes were dark and fathomless, like staring into an abyss. The intensity of his gaze made something low in my stomach clench.
"Wait," I grabbed his arm, suddenly panicked as I realized his intentions. "Can we... can we wait until after I get back from visiting home?"
Ethan released me, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth before straightening up. His fingers moved to his shirt buttons, methodically undoing each one.
The black fabric parted to reveal his broad chest, muscles tight beneath tanned skin. My gaze followed the contours downward to his taut abdomen, the defined V-line disappearing beneath his black waistband.
My face burned. I bit my lip and looked away.
In one smooth motion, Ethan leaned down and scooped me up again. I found myself pressed against his hard, warm chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat against my ear somehow making mine race faster.
He carried me upstairs to the bathroom, setting me on the counter. His hands braced on either side of me, caging me in. "Do you know how to wash yourself?"
I looked up at the naked desire in his eyes and ducked my head. "Yes."
Of course I do. I'm not an idiot. Who doesn't know how to take a shower?
But Ethan leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. "I don't," he said with complete seriousness. "Help me."
I stared at him, speechless. Holy shit. I'd seen shameless before, but this was next level.
He supported himself with one hand on the counter, the other lifting to brush my cheek, his thumb playing with my lower lip. "You don't want to?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but a phone rang from outside—his ringtone.
Relief flooded through me. "Your phone," I said, pushing at his chest.
Ethan's thumb pressed against my lip one last time before he turned away. I heard him first instructing staff to bring toiletries, then answering his phone as he walked to the balcony.
When he returned, his expression had hardened. I stood wrapped in a towel, venturing closer to him. "My suitcase is still in the main house. Could you get it for me?"
Ethan's arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. I clutched desperately at my towel to keep it from falling.
His arm locked around me, holding me tight. His lips brushed my ear as he murmured, "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"Doing what?" I asked, one hand pressed against my chest, the other gripping his muscular forearm.
Ethan caught my earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Torturing me."
I squirmed nervously, trying to create some distance.
Ethan's breathing deepened, his grip tightening. "Don't move."
"My clothes are over there," I insisted. "Please go get them for me."
His hand on my waist massaged lightly. "No rush. Walter can bring them tomorrow."
"What am I supposed to wear tonight?"
"Mine," he replied simply.
I pushed at his hand. "G-go take your shower."
He guided my hand down. "Later."
I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. I gave up, deliberately ignoring the sensation under my palm. My voice dropped with genuine sadness. "I want to go home tomorrow."
Ethan held my hand firmly, his voice rough. "Fine."
Encouraged by his quick agreement, I pushed further. "Can I stay home for the whole summer?"
"No." His answer was immediate and final.
I knew he wouldn't agree, so I bargained. "Two weeks, then?"
Ethan's question caught me off-guard. "Where would you stay?"
The question hit a raw nerve. Where would I stay? Having no permanent home was exactly why I hadn't gone back for the summer.
My father was on his third marriage, with a four-year-old half-brother in a small two-bedroom apartment back home. My grandparents lived there too—grandmother taking care of the child, grandfather working construction sites despite his age. And my father, almost forty, still couldn't handle basic adult responsibilities.
If I went home, there'd be nowhere for me to sleep except the couch in the living room, or a makeshift bed on my grandparents' floor.
I said nothing, a heaviness settling in my chest.
My mood soured, and I withdrew emotionally, pulling my hand from his with a soft huff.
Ethan carried me back to the bed. The way he looked down at me changed suddenly. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching along his temple. His breathing grew heavier, more labored, like a predator restraining itself before the final pounce.
That look terrified me. I shrank back toward the head of the bed.
In a sudden burst of frustration, Ethan grabbed his collar and yanked. Buttons scattered across the floor with sharp little pings.
My fear deepened. I hurriedly wrapped myself in the bedcovers.
He planted his hands on either side of me, the mattress dipping under his weight as he leaned in. The heat from his body radiated through the covers. His eyes locked on mine—hungry, determined, unyielding—as his voice dropped to a primal rasp:
"I want you. Now."