That does it.
He crosses the room in three long strides, stopping at the edge of the bed, looking down at me like he’s trying to memorize the exact moment he loses control.
“You drive me mad,” he says, voice low. “Absolutely mad.”
“I know.” I grin up at him. “Take it out on me.”
He huffs a single, incredulous laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And naked,” I remind him.
His gaze drops to my body again, slower this time, appreciation blending with something darker.
He reaches for his shirt buttons. “I’m joining you,” he says, voice dropping into something that makes my knees go weak even though I’m already lying down. “But we’re going slow.”
“Why?”
He steps out of his shirt, then his belt, eyes never leaving mine.
“Because if I touch you the way I want to right now,” he says, voice like a promise, “the bed won’t survive it.”
My breath catches.
And when he climbs onto the mattress—controlled, deliberate, predatory in the softest, sweetest way—I feel it again:
Safe.
Wanted.
Claimed.
And I pull him down to me, smiling against his mouth.
“Good,” I whisper. “Break it.”
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and demanding, his body pressing me back into the pillows. Ethan's hands roam my skin like he's staking a claim, fingers digging into my hips, my thighs, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.
But tonight, I want to take control. I want to show him how that violence—the way he shattered Jett and his men—ignited me. How it made me see him not just as my protector, but as the man who could unravel me completely.
I push against his chest, firm enough to make him pause. His eyes snap open, dark and questioning, lips parted from the kiss.
“My turn,” I murmur, my voice husky, laced with the need that's been building since the restaurant.
He searches my face, a flicker of surprise cutting through the hunger.
“Lucky…”
I don't let him finish. My hands slide down his torso, tracing the hard lines of muscle still tense from the brawl, over the ridges of his inked abs, until I reach his jeans. He's already hard, the bulge straining against the fabric, and the sight sends a fresh wave of heatpooling between my legs. I pop the button, drag the zipper down slowly, teasing him with my gaze locked on his.
“Watching you fight, like some action movie hero,” I say, my fingers wrapping around his cock as I free it, thick and throbbing in my palm. “The way you moved, so precise, so brutal… it made me wet. So fucking wet.”
He groans, head tipping back slightly, but his hands grip the sheets instead of me, giving me the reins. I stroke him once, firm and deliberate, feeling him twitch under my touch. Precum beads at the tip, and I swipe my thumb over it, spreading it down his length.
“You protected me,” I continue, shifting to kneel between his legs, pushing his pants lower until they're off. “Cracked skulls for me. And now? I want to worship this.” I lean down, my breath ghosting over his skin, and he hisses.
My tongue flicks out, tracing the underside of his cock from base to tip, savoring the salty taste of him. He's rock-hard, veins pulsing against my lips as I take him into my mouth, inch by inch. I suck him deep, hollowing my cheeks, my hand working what I can't fit. Ethan's hips buck once, involuntary, and a low growl rumbles from his chest.
“Fuck, Lucky…” His voice is wrecked, fingers threading into my hair—not pulling, just holding, like he's anchoring himself.
