Page 48 of Ethan & Grace

Ethan shook his head with a glint in his eyes and slid a finger inside me. It met with no resistance, thanks to the pool water and my orgasm just a moment ago.

A whimper of desire escaped my lips.

“I want to hear you come again,” he murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Think you can do that?”

Yes. No. Maybe. My body tingled from head to toe, and my head already felt light and fuzzy. Still, I nodded.

Ethan’s smile alone was enough to turn me on even more. Slowly, as if he were learning the contours of my body, he began to move his hand with careful, measured thrusts. But soon they grew faster and deeper, and I found myself clinging to him again.

“Do you like that?” Ethan asked, his voice rough.

I nodded and kissed him, needing an anchor, something to hold on to as I was about to come for the second time in just a few minutes. Ethan’s left hand, which had been resting hot and heavy on the back of my neck, now slid lower. It stopped to rest between my shoulder blades, as if to offer support during whatever was coming next. What had I got myself into?

I’d barely formed the thought when Ethan slipped another finger inside me. I was suddenly grateful that we were standing in water—anywhere else, and my knees would long since have buckled. I let my head rest on his shoulder and watched the muscles in his arm shift as he pleasured me. The only sounds were the trickling of the waterfall and my own ragged breathing, which grew rougher with every thrust of his hand.

I had long since lost all control over my body and the sounds escaping my lips. The tension in my lower belly was almost unbearable, but the thought of telling Ethan to stop never crossed my mind. My moans grew louder, drowning out the rush of the waterfall.

Ethan changed the angle ever so slightly, so that with every movement, the heel of his hand brushed against the heated bundle of nerves between my legs—and that was all it took. I came hard, moaning as the pleasure consumed me, a sensation even more intense than the first time. My legs trembled, and my heart raced as though it might leap from my chest, unable to bear the bittersweet torture any longer.

Twitching, my body finally went limp against Ethan’s chest. His fingers slid out of me, and he pulled his hand out of my underwear. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me close and kissed my forehead. A surprisingly tender gesture, considering his fierce passion just a moment ago.

“That sounded good,” he murmured.

“It felt good too,” I said, trying to get my bearings. I would never again question Ethan’s skills in bed. The man knew exactly what he was doing. “I’ve never come twice. At least, not in such quick succession.”

He grinned, satisfied. “Want to make it three?”

“Oh God, no.” I was utterly drained, but thanks to Ethan, not in an emotional, sad way anymore. The high of my orgasms had left me with a warm sense of contentment in my stomach. The only thing I wanted to do now was curl up under a cosy blanket and go to sleep.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Ethan said. My tiredness must have been more obvious than I thought. He guided me towards the steps that led out of the water.

“But what about you?” I asked. A moment ago, I had still felt his hardness.

He let out a frustrated sigh, as if he could hardly believe his next words. “I’ll take care of that myself. You’re exhausted.”

“But that’s not fair,” I protested.

He shrugged. “Life isn’t always fair.”

I was a little disappointed but also grateful. I wasn’t sure I could have returned the favour properly in my present state.

It was hard not to stare at Ethan as we stepped out of the pool. Water trickled down his torso, soaking into the fabric of his bulging boxer shorts. I looked away quickly, only to realise I wasn’t the only one enjoying the view now that we were out of the water. Ethan openly looked at my breasts, which until now, he’d only seen blurred beneath the surface of the pool.

“You really do have nice breasts.”

“I know,” I replied with a grin.

He gazed at me longingly for a few heartbeats, as if he were considering claiming the handjob I owed him after all. In the end, he tore his eyes away from me, grabbed my hoodie from the deckchair, and helped me put it on.

I slipped into it, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ethan replied with a smile that somehow pierced my heart. And just like that, the fear I had managed to forget thanks to his fingers returned: What if I really did get hooked on a man I thought I couldn’t stand? Because this light, carefree feeling he’d given me was something I could easily want more of.

The Blackroom

This week saw the first hearing in the trial against Richard Darlington, who has been accused of sexual abuse by three former employees of The Darlington. Despite the plaintiffs presenting a strong, convincing case, Darlington remained unrepentant and pleaded not guilty—a position, unfortunately, he is not alone in believing.

To our dismay, a divided picture emerged in the press yesterday. The majority still appear to stand behind Darlington’s accusers. Hashtags such as #BoycottTheDarlington have been trending for days across all platforms. However, there is a small but vocal group of supporters defending Darlington. They regard him as the victim of a conspiracy and believe his wealth has made him a target for false accusations. His supporters speak of a “witch hunt” aimed at destroying the reputation of an honourable man.