Page 71 of Hearts on the Line

I keep going, slower this time, dragging it out until she’s leaning harder into the counter, her legs tensing around me.

When she comes, it’s in a shiver that rolls through her whole body, her breath catching once, twice, before spilling out in a soft laugh like she can’t quite believe herself.

I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh, tasting her skin, and stay there for a beat too long.

Because letting go doesn’t feel like an option anymore.

Chapter 23

Sloane

Ishould stop him. I should tell him I can’t do this. But the words dissolve the moment his mouth finds mine, and I realize we’ve already crossed that line.

Multiple times.

Tonight’s not like yesterday in the car. That had been reckless, frenzied, almost cruel with how much it took out of me. This is deeper and hungrier.

My knees hit the edge of the counter before I realize he’s lifting me up. My skirt rides higher, my bare thighs catching against the cool counter. His body slots between my knees, all heat and barely restrained need.

My fingers find the hem of his shirt and pull, desperate to feel skin. He doesn’t hesitate, dragging it over his head, tossing it away. The sight of his broad chest, tight abs, the faint sheen of sweat from the heat in the kitchen makes my breath catch.

My hands are already on him, tracing the ink like if I touch it long enough, I might understand what it means. But my mind is hazy, my body tuned only to him. His mouth is on my neck now, teeth grazing skin, and it’s too much. The scrape of his stubble makes my thighs clench, my pulse racing.

“Ethan—”

“Tell me to stop,” he says, low and rough, and he’s not even pretending he wants me to.

I don’t.

I can’t.

I might not know everything I want, but right now, I don’t want to stop.

His hands grip my hips, thumbs brushing the slip of soft skin revealed from my tank top riding up. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and when his mouth crashes against mine, the sound that rips from my chest is almost a sob.

In the haze, my tank top is thrown off, and he carries us to the bedroom. He sets me down, then spins me gently, his chest at my back. His fingers trace up from my hip to the swell of my breast in a touch that makes a shiver run up my spine. He pinches my nipple between his fingers, kissing my neck, until he pulls a soft sigh from my throat. The sound earns me a quiet groan in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I slam my eyes shut, trying to find some center, some balance. But Ethan is a riptide, dragging me further away from everything I thought was locked away in the past between us.

Then he bends me forward until I’m braced on my forearms on the mattress, my skirt shoved high around my waist. The first hot stroke of his tongue between my thighs makes my knees tremble.

“Ethan—” My voice cracks.

He groans, hands gripping my hips as if he can’t get close enough. “Fuck, Sloane. You taste so good.”

Every flick, every drag of his tongue has me pushing back against him, chasing my release, until I feel another orgasm build at the base of my spine. But he pulls away.

I glare at him over my shoulder, frustrated, the loss of his touch so sharp.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes,” I bite out.

“We can’t go back now, Sloane. It’s too late.”

“I know,” I rasp out. “I don’t want to.”

I lean forward, swaying my hips in the air, waiting. He grabs a condom from the drawer of his bedside table. I look over my shoulder, watching as he strokes his hand over his length before slipping on the condom, his eyes raking down my body. The hungry look burning there makes my stomach flip, heat flooding me all over again.