Only. His. Tongue.
His tongue and one nipple.
She was so screwed.
“I want you,” she managed. “Right now.”
He didn’t argue, thank God. He just released his hold on her—hell, she hadn’t thought that through—and stripped. Despite the selfish need clawing at her, she couldn’t help but gawk at his body, all hard and strong and, well, hard.
She didn’t wait for him to undress her. No sane woman could. He managed to finish what she started, tossing her clothes aside, a slow, easy smile more than she could take.
“Seriously, now.”
He sheathed himself and climbed over her, kissing her sweetly, thoroughly, until he’d touched every part of her. But definitely not distracting her from the blissful moment he parted her thighs and buried himself inside of her.
Niceties at this point were not needed. He was thick and full, and she’d never experienced such fulfillment. The pressure was exquisite. Complete. And it only built, because instead of slamming into her, he pistoned deep, shifting somehow to change the angle and managing to own her with it. That part was usually frantic. Flailing. But Ethan was in control. She had no idea how, considering she was spinning at a blistering pace despite his slow, driving one, but she managed to hold on. Or she thought she had. Orgasm built so deep from within her that she hadn’t seen it coming until the swell crested, and its thundering power dragged her under, and still he was there, kissing her so sweetly, loving her so thoroughly that for the first time, she didn’t fall.
There was no falling.
And if she ever caught her breath and came to her senses, she’d probably realize there was no loving.
But in those first moments, it didn’t matter. Because he didn’t leave her. He held her.
“I hope you felt that,” she murmured.
He pushed her hair away from her face. “Do you really think I didn’t?”
“You’re still conscious, aren’t you?”
He laughed weakly. “Trust me, I’m perfectly capable of rolling over and going to sleep, especially if you’ll stay with me. But I’m not going to stop until you beg.”
“I’m going to be doing a lot of begging,” she said. “But I won’t be begging you to stop.”
“That’s a promise,” he whispered, “I hope like hell you’ll keep.”
Chapter Eleven
Ethan didn’t need to crack an eyelid to realize something in his world was very, very different, and it started and ended with the woman in his bed. The one he’d had amazing sex with.
Twice.
How his heart could sink and soar at the same time, he didn’t know, but the two directions tore at him to the point that he didn’t dare move, and not just because she was so absolutely stunning lying there, dark hair a striking contrast against his white sheets. Her very presence was a striking contrast to what he’d become, and he had no idea what to make of what it meant or where he was going. It wasn’t as if they were going to be a thing—not with her poised to hit the road—but admitting that would be admitting to casual sex. He always assumed he’d one day move on, but he never thought he’d turn his back on his wife for a fling.
A goddamned fling.
The reality of that made him sick.
Rue was gorgeous. Fearless. Alive.
And he wasn’t. She didn’t deserve that. The woman was boundless, and he’d said one good-bye too many. That knowledge didn’t stop him from wanting her any more than the guilt did, but as he watched her now, guilt was strangely silent. Guilt was blown the fuck away by amazing sex.
“Ethan.”
He immediately found her eyes, and in them he saw endless possibilities. But those possibilities weren’t his. They were hers.
But she’d known that going in.
She’d never planned for them to be a thing. She carried condoms in her purse, for heaven’s sake, and while he in no way believed she jumped into bed with every guy she met, he suspected the decision to have sex had to be less earth-shattering for her than it had been him.
That knowledge made him ache, but for all the wrong reasons.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. “Hey.”
She greeted him with a sleepy smile. “I half expected you’d be gone.”