“Nice party.”
My gaze drifted over him before I managed to drag it back to his face. Not much safer. I fucking loved his face. “Henry’s good at that.” I finished what was left of my drink and set the glass down, maybe a little harder than I meant to.
Ethan’s eyes flicked to it. His lips twitched, and then his hand moved—fingers walking over until they found my wrist. Heat shot up my arm as his thumb traced lazy circles on my skin.
“Are you having fun?” he asked, voice low, hypnotic. It always did things to me, but tonight—Christ, it was worse. Or better. Both.
Alarms should’ve been blaring, but apparently, I was ignoring all of them. I leaned in automatically, careful not to disturb his hand. “I am now.”
Ethan grinned. “Do you like the outfit?” His leg slid between mine, his thigh tensing against me. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the moonlight.
“I love it,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked entirely too pleased with that.
“How did you know?”
We were closer—his hand had somehow reached the bend of my elbow now. I’d ditched the jacket and rolled up my sleeves earlier, so the slow drag of his thumb there felt… really fucking good.
“You said something once,” he murmured, swallowing. “That I looked like a Greek statue come to life. You told Charlotte. Remember?”
I nodded dumbly. “So… was this for my benefit?”
“Happy birthday,” was all he said.
I licked my too-dry lips, and his eyes followed the movement like he wanted to taste it. “What did I do to deserve such pleasure? I thought we were fighting.”
Ethan hummed, moving into me. Of course I followed. His hand slid up from my arm, fingertips brushing over my beard in a slow caress.
“You’re supposed to get gifts on your birthday.”
A low chuckle slipped out of me. “And are you mine?”
Something flickered in his eyes—too quick for my drunken brain to catch. Then he leaned in closer, guiding my face with a soft press of his fingers until his cheek hovered right beside mine.
“You know what I’d do if I were?” he whispered, warm breath spilling into my ear and sending a full-body shiver down my spine. “Yours.”
“What?”
His hand glided from my neck down to my chest, curling into my shirt and tugging me closer. “I’d take you somewhere dark,” he breathed, “but still in plain view. Crowd you against a wall, hold your hips in place.”
My pulse hammered, my restraint snapping thread by thread.
“Then I’d get on my knees.”
My cock—which had been hard from the moment he appeared on that staircase—throbbed in my pants.
His fingers released my shirt, then traced slowly downward, stopping at my belt. “I’d pop this button, drag the zipper down, and reach inside…” His voice dropped into something lower, filthier. My eyes fluttered shut. “…pull that big cock out, and give it a few slow strokes. Just enough to make sure it’s nice and hard for me.”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“And then,” he whispered, “I’d run my tongue all over it?—”
The warm drag of his tongue against the shell of my ear made a sound tear out of me, raw and helpless.
“—before taking it into my mouth and making you cum down my throat.”
