Page 47 of Ethan & Grace

He nibbled at my neck. “I’m already doing that.”

I moaned—even now, he was infuriating. “If you don’t start taking care of me, I’ll take care of myself.” It was an empty threat—I wanted very much to know how it felt when Ethan touched me there—but my words did the trick.

He gave a warning growl. “Don’t you dare! You’re mine.”

“Oh, really? I am?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

“So prove it,” I challenged, and found myself locked in another fierce kiss.

Ethan caught my lower lip between his teeth and bit gently as his hand slipped from my breast and moved lower—over my ribcage, down my waist, and to my hip. The water in the pool was warm, but his touch was even warmer, leaving a burning trail across my skin. I gave an impatient groan and pushed my hips against Ethan, shamelessly urging him on. My desire had drowned out my thoughts, and it felt incredible to for once not be thinking about Amy, her accident, or my parents. There was only Ethan.

His hand pushed beneath the waistband of my underwear. I held my breath in anticipation as his fingers touched the most sensitive part of my body for the first time. I moaned and leant against him as he began to expertly circle my clitoris with his fingertips.

“Oh my God,” I gasped.

“Call me Ethan.”

My eyes rolled back—not at his terrible joke, but at his skilled fingers, which had brought me to the brink of orgasm in seconds. It was a mystery how he managed it, but I could already feel the end of his bittersweet torment approaching. My breath grew shallower, my pulse faster. The thought crossed my mind that I might have been wrong. Perhaps I would get hooked on Ethan’s touch. The thought alarmed me—but the slow, deliberate motion of his fingers soon silenced the fear.

I dug my fingernails into his shoulder. It must have hurt, but he didn’t so much as flinch as he watched me fiercely, as though reading my face for instructions to my pleasure. I was racing towards climax when he suddenly changed his rhythm. A frustrated sound escaped me, and I was just about to tell him to go back to his earlier pace when I caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He’d done it on purpose—the bastard! I circled my hips urgently, trying to find the right tempo again, but Ethan wasn’t playing along. His touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through me, but the final spark that would’ve made me explode stayed just out of reach.

“Ethan, please . . .”

“Please what?”

I pressed against his hand. “Please, let me come.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’m that nice.”

“You are!” I gasped.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! You’re the nicest.”

He grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He changed his rhythm again, and this time, it was perfect. In no time, I was right back on the verge of breaking.

Ethan increased the pressure of his fingers only slightly, and then it happened: An orgasm rolled over me in waves of pure pleasure. I was in paradise. Satisfied, I sank against his chest weakly as the final tremors shook my body.

“You’re really good at that,” I murmured, amazed, gasping for air to send oxygen to my brain. There wasn’t a single thought in my head—only pure contentment.

“So you do know how to give a compliment,” Ethan said, amused.

“Could you be a little less you? I’m trying to enjoy the moment,” I teased. Mostly, though, I was trying to process what had just happened and how I felt about it. Part of me had suspected I might regret letting Ethan get so close, but there was neither regret nor shame. And why should there be? We were two grown adults. We could have fun together without making a big deal out of it. Even if it felt like a very big deal, still pressing hard against my stomach.

I looked up at Ethan. His lips were swollen from our stormy kisses, and I was sure I remembered biting his lower lip in a moment of ecstasy. I nestled against his chest, stealing some more time to catch my breath before returning the favour.

“Are you done enjoying the moment?” Ethan asked me after a few seconds.

“Why? Getting impatient?”

“No,” he replied, sliding his hand between my legs again. I let out a squeal—I was still far too sensitive. “I’m just not done with you yet.”

“You aren’t?” I asked, my voice jumping about three octaves higher.