Page 178 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“You stayed,” I whisper, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, though I’m not cold anymore.
“I’m never leaving again,” he says.
Crossing the distance between us, he sinks to his knees on the rug between my legs instead of taking the couch—just like he didwhen the others were here. But now, without an audience, the intensity of his gaze is almost unbearable. It burns.
“Tessa,” he breathes, reaching out to take my hands. His palms are warm, rough, and trembling slightly. “I need you to hear me. I need you to understand why I walked out.”
“You were scared,” I say softly. “I know. I was scared too.”
“It wasn’t just fear,” he corrects me, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “It was shame. Absolute, blinding shame. I looked at you… I looked at where my child is growing… and my first instinct was to calculate the damage. To look at the bottom line.”
He takes a ragged breath, his grip on my hands tightening.
“But it was worse than that. I used your situation against you, Tessa. I used your rent and your loans to trap you because I was too weak to just ask you to stay. That was unforgivable.”
He closes his eyes, a look of self-loathing twisting his features.
“I thought I was him,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “Richard. And I couldn’t breathe because the idea of being the man who hurts you… it killed me, Tess. I would rather walk off the top of a building than be the reason you cry.”
“You aren’t him,” I say firmly, pressing my palm against the rough stubble of his jaw. “Ethan, you’re the most protective man I have ever met. You built a company to protect your brothers. You’re fighting Sterling for us right now. You aren’t Richard.”
“I want to be the partner you deserve,” he says, turning his face into my hand, kissing my palm. “I want to be the father this baby deserves. I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t have the code for this.”
“None of us do,” I remind him. “That’s the point. We figure it out. Like a bug fix.”
He lets out an incredulous, breathy laugh, opening his eyes. They’re dark with emotion and a sudden, sharp hunger.
“A bug fix,” he repeats, shaking his head. “God, I love you.”
The words hang in the air, heavier and more real than the pregnancy, than the hack, than the Series B funding. He’s said it before, in the heat of passion, in the dark. But here, in the dim light of my living room, on his knees, it feels like a vow.
“I love you,” he says again, intense and possessive. “I love you, and I love this baby. And I swear to you, Tessa, I’ll burn Nebula to the ground before I let anyone make you feel unsafe again.”
“I believe you,” I whisper.
And I do. The fear eating me alive for days dissolves. It’s replaced by a heat starting low in my belly and spreading outward, flushing my skin. My hormones have been haywire for weeks—nausea, fatigue, tears—but right now, seeing the raw power and vulnerability in his face, the only thing I feel is need.
“Ethan,” I breathe, my voice dropping.
He hears the shift. His pupils dilate, swallowing the blue of his eyes. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, to the curve of my breasts under my thin tank top, and finally to my stomach.
“Is it…” he starts, his voice hoarse. “Is it okay? To touch? To…”
“Asher said it’s a biological function,” I say, a small smile playing on my lips. “I think that means we’re clear.”
Ethan growls, a low, primal sound vibrating in his chest. He stands up, looming over me, blocking out the light.
“I missed you,” he says, gripping the back of the sofa, boxing me in. “It felt like I was starving.”
“Me too,” I admit. “Show me. Show me you’re all in.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He bends down and captures my mouth. It’s desperate and rough, teeth grazing my lip, tongue sweeping inside to taste me. He tastes like coffee.
I moan, throwing my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. I need his weight. I need to feel him solid against me to know he isn’t going to run again.
He pulls back, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.
