Page 89 of Ethan & Grace

He responded with another deep kiss that sent even more heat to my heart than to my body. I wrapped my arms around his neck, savouring the comfort of his closeness. Once again, I became aware of his erection pressing into me. I didn’t have much time if I wanted to make it to work on time, but I couldn’t leave Ethan like this, not after he’d given me such an amazing start to the day.

I kissed him one last time before gliding down his body to kneel before him. He watched, his eyes brimming with desire, as I freed his cock from his boxers and wrapped my hands around it. The throaty sound he made sent warm shivers through my body.

I gently took him in my mouth, and he tilted his head back. But almost immediately, his gaze returned to me. With flushed cheeks and lowered eyelids, Ethan watched me. The salty taste of him and the smouldering need in his eyes was so intensely arousing that I couldn’t help but slip a hand between my legs to touch myself.

“Holy fuck, Grace.”

His hips urged towards me, and the desire in his eyes grew even deeper. He was obviously enjoying watching me pleasure myself. I took him deeper into my mouth, stroking myself as I alternated between licking and sucking him. I didn’t know if it was the incredible intimacy of the moment or something else, but it didn’t take long before I was close to coming again.

Ethan buried a hand in my hair and guided me as I pleasured him. We didn’t take our eyes off each other, which didn’t just feel incredibly hot but also extraordinarily intimate and trusting. A wave of overwhelming sensation began to build up in me, and Ethan’s breathing grew faster too. When he gave me a quiet warning, I pulled back. He grabbed his cock, bringing himself to climax. I exploded with him, my orgasm pulsing through me as Ethan marked me with his cum. It was intoxicating, a rush of pure ecstasy I had never known before. Only with him. And I couldn’t imagine feeling this way with anyone else.

Powerless, I sank onto the cold tiles, my knees weak, my muscles spent. Ethan reached under my arms and pulled me to my feet, smiling down at me. He looked happy, content, a little proud.

“You really are my dream girl.”

Afterwards, Ethan and I showered together, since there was no way I could show up to work in my current state. He helped me wash away the traces he had left on my body. I wished I could spend the entire weekend with him, but I didn’t want to neglect my job. Ten minutes later, I left Ethan’s flat in my clothes from the day before. I had pulled my hair up into a tight ponytail, hoping it would disguise the fact that it was still damp, which technically violated the hotel’s dress code.

I hurried to the lift, hoping to sneak down to the locker room unnoticed. As I pushed the call button, my phone buzzed. I dug it out of my bag and saw that the call was from an unknown number. For a moment, I considered ignoring it, but then I answered. “Hello?”

“Hello,” a soft voice replied with a slight accent I couldn’t place. “Greta Sutherland here. Is this Grace?”

I gave a sigh of relief. Greta was Isabella Kensington’s assistant. Together with Mrs. Darlington, Isabella ran the club of bored housewives.

Ethan and I were still waiting to hear back from the private detective about the Rolls-Royce, but I hadn’t been able to resist continuing with my own research, which was when I’d stumbled across Greta’s LinkedIn profile. She had been working as Isabella’s assistant for four years. I had sent her a message explaining that I worked for The Darlington and had a few questions.

“Yes, that’s me,” I replied. “Thanks for calling.”

“How can I help you?”

“It’s about Mrs. Kensington’s visit to the Pearl Gala. She attended this past year, right?” The lift doors opened in front of me, but I didn’t step in. Instead, I found a quiet corner of the corridor so I could talk privately.

“Yes. She goes every year.”

“You must have heard about the accident that happened that night. A young woman was killed. We’re trying to find eyewitnesses. Do you know when Mrs. Kensington left the gala?”

Greta was silent for a moment as the lift doors closed again. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to talk to Mrs. Kensington herself?”

I let out a small, slightly forced laugh. “As her assistant, you must know how hard it is for us mere mortals to get someone like her on the phone. And I bet you have a better overview of her schedule than she does herself.”

“That’s true,” Greta murmured. “But I don’t think Mrs. Kensington can help you. She spent the whole evening in the ballroom with the other guests. She was picked up at around nine p.m., so not until after the accident.”

“When you say she was picked up—she didn’t drive herself?”

“No. Mrs. Kensington doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

“But there was a parking space reserved for her in the underground car park.”

“Oh, she probably made the reservation before she and Mr. Kensington separated mid-year. But he wasn’t at the gala,” said Greta—and then added quietly, “He was in the Maldives over Christmas with his mistress.”

That explained the question mark on the list. Mrs. Kensington had booked the spot, and then it had been reassigned. If what Greta said was true, Mrs. Kensington couldn’t possibly have been responsible for the accident—unless her driver had caused it. But would she really have gone to the effort of destroying evidence just to cover for her driver? It wouldn’t have been her fault, after all.

“Can you prove that Mrs. Kensington didn’t leave the gala until after the accident?” I asked, pacing the corridor.

“Yes. Hold on.” The line went quiet, then I received a message. I opened it to find a screenshot of Greta’s call log.

“As you can see, I received a call from Mrs. Kensington at 8:36 p.m. And at 8:38, I called her driver to pick her up. So as I said, he must have arrived at the hotel at around 9:00 p.m.”

“Thanks. That’s very helpful.”