Exposed

by Tracy Wolff

  “You don’t need me.” Her hands are on the buttons of my shirt now, as well. “You just said you have the best and brightest working for you.”

  “I need you more than you can ever imagine,” I tell her, pulling back so that I’m staring into her beautiful eyes. I want her to be able to look at me and see just how much she means to me. I want her to know it, deep down in her gut. In her bones. With our pasts, the future won’t be easy for us. If we’re going to weather it, she has to know—and I have to know she knows—just how much she means to me. “The last few weeks, when things have been so uncertain between us, have been the worst of my life. I need you in my life, Chloe. I need you in my arms. In my bed. In—”

  “You have me, Ethan.” She gestures to The Strip outside our window, to the heavy bracelet she’s even now wearing on her wrist. “Obviously, you have me. And I’m not going anywhere this time. But being in your life doesn’t mean I have to work for you, too—”

  “With me. Not for me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m an intern, Ethan.”

  “For now. But in a few years, you won’t be. When you’re a full-blown, passed-the-bar lawyer, I want you working with me because I’m not stupid enough to let the competition have you. I’m not lying when I say you’re one of the brightest, most proactive interns Frost Industries has ever had. The work you did on the Trifecta merger was top-notch. Better than Rick’s, better than any one of the interns who has been there longer than you. You’ve got an instinct for patent law, an intrinsic understanding of it. I’d be an idiot to let you go.

  “Besides”—I lean down and press kisses to her collarbone, her shoulders, the tops of her beautiful breasts as I slide her blouse off her shoulders. She arches her back, presses her hips against my own—“we both know you want to come back.”

  “I never said—” Her voice hitches on a breathy moan. “I never said I wanted to come back.”

  Her hands are under my shirt now, sliding up my back and scraping lightly at the muscles on either side of my spine. It turns me on, gets me harder when I didn’t know that was even possible.

  “You do, though. And I want you back. So what’s the problem?” I lick my way between her breasts, reveling in the way she shivers. The way she gasps and burrows closer.

  “What…what problem?” The words are soft now, broken, as her fingers tangle in my hair and hold my mouth tight to her breast.

  “That’s what I’m asking you.” I skim my mouth over her breast to her nipple, then pull the tight, lace-covered bud into my mouth and bite down gently.

  “I don’t—oh, God, do that again—I don’t have a problem.”

  “I do,” I tell her with a groan, sliding my free hand beneath her skirt to cup her lush ass. “You’re wearing too many damn clothes.”

  She laughs breathlessly. “You should probably fix that.”

  “I intend to.”

  A knock sounds at the door—our luggage being delivered—and I drop another kiss on Chloe’s swollen lips before reluctantly sliding my hands out from under her skirt. A trip to the door proves me right, and I wait impatiently as the bellhop delivers our luggage before directing him to Tori’s room with the rest of it.

  The second he leaves, I’m on her, fastening my lips to her neck while I slide my hands back under her skirt. She’s wearing lace panties, flimsy things that are easy to tear right off her. So I do, ripping them to pieces with one firm yank before dropping the scraps on the floor beside her feet. Then I’m tugging down her skirt, taking off her bra. Sliding my mouth over all that soft, sweet skin of hers.

  I start at her collarbone, because I love it. Love kissing it, love licking it, love resting my hand there and feeling her pulse speed up even as her breathing slows. Chloe makes me crazy, makes me want. Seeing that it’s the same for her grounds me like nothing else can.

  Taking a deep breath, I will my hands to stop shaking as I pull her closer and kiss a soft, hot path up her neck. Because I can’t help it, I pause at the hollow of her throat. Dawdle at the line where her jaw meets her neck. Dally at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

  I go slow, deliberately seeking out all the little spots that drive her crazy, and I listen as her breath ebbs and flows in a disjointed rhythm that just reinforces my knowledge of what she likes—and how she likes it.

  She’s so beautiful like this, all creamy skin, long legs and lush, pink-tipped breasts with bright, inquisitive eyes and a soft, sweet smile.

  Beautiful and perfect and mine.

  Mine now, and after the wedding later today, mine forever.

  The thought centers me like nothing else can, and the pounding urgency that’s been riding me for hours slowly dissipates. We have eternity—there’s no need to rush this moment, to rush the last time I’ll make love to her before she becomes my wife. She deserves better than a quick, hard fuck against the wall. She deserves everything I have to give her and then some.

  Chloe has a smattering of freckles on her shoulder that I absolutely adore, so I lick my way across them, playing connect-the-dots with the grouping because I can. I pause for a moment, bury my nose against her neck and for long seconds do nothing but inhale her. Jesus, she smells good. Like dark honey and clean rain and night jasmine. She smells like Chloe.

  Her skin is covered in bruises, little love bites that I couldn’t stop myself from giving her last night when I was reclaiming her with each and every kiss. They look good on her, so good, and I can’t stop myself from licking over a couple. She moans at that, her legs moving restlessly against my own. I reward her with another small bite, this one on the curve of her shoulder.

  “Ethan, please.” Her low breathy moan shoots straight through me, has me nearly coming in my jeans like a fucking teenager. How is it possible for her to sound even better than she looks? Than she smells?

  “I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, kissing my way up her neck to her jaw, to the sensitive spot under her ear. Her hands tighten in my hair, try to pull me closer. I love it. I love the way she responds, the way only I can pull this reaction from her.

  “I need—” Her voice breaks again. “I need you.”

  “You have me,” I reassure her, running my lips over her cheeks and chin, across her forehead and eyes, over the bridge of her nose. I revel in the luscious feel of her, the rich honey and lemon taste of her. The dark and wanton sex of her.

  I revel, again, in the fact that she’s mine and I am hers. And then I start all over again.

  “Ethan.” Chloe’s voice is higher, tighter than usual.

  “Yes, love?”

  She bucks against me, her nails scratching lightly against my scalp in a way that sends pleasure surging down my every nerve ending. “If you don’t do something soon, I’m going to scream.”

  I lift my head to grin at her, to let her see just a little of the pride and joy and relief I feel having her back in my arms where she belongs. “Scream away, love. These suites are soundproofed. No one will hear you.”

  She nips at me then, catching my lower lip between her teeth and biting down softly. Pleasure claws its way down my back, has my dick punching against my jeans.

  “Ethan, please,” she whimpers as she reluctantly lets go of my lip.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask. Our mouths are still only an inch or so apart, close enough that I can feel her ragged breathing. Far enough away that I can struggle for control.

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “That’s not very specific, love.” I’m teasing her now, but I can’t help it. She looks fucking delicious when she’s frustrated.

  When Chloe doesn’t say anything more—anything specific—I punish the both of us by pulling away another inch.

  “No!” Her hands clutch desperately at my hair. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me like this.” Her breath catches, her voice breaks and just that easily, I’m lost.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I growl. And lowering my lips back to her own, I claim her mouth in a kiss that is as much ab
out possession as it is about pleasure.

  Chapter 5

  My lips part eagerly at the powerful surge of Ethan’s mouth against my own. He takes instant advantage, his tongue stroking into the deepest recesses of my mouth. He strokes along my own tongue, along the insides of my cheeks, the roof of my mouth.

  He kisses me like it’s our first kiss…and I suppose it sort of is. Our lives change today in a way I don’t think either of us could ever have envisioned when we met at the smoothie bar at Frost Industries and argued over blueberries—and Ethan’s smoothie-making prowess. And yet, weeks later, here we are. In a Las Vegas suite with The Strip—the world—stretched at our feet.

  It makes me love him more. Not the fancy suite, not the quick trip to Vegas. The kiss. Because this kiss—this slow, dark seduction that sizzles along my every nerve ending and has my heart beating triple time—this is Ethan, giving himself to me. How can I do less than to give myself back to him?

  I pull him closer, stroke my tongue along his own as wild sparks light me up from the inside. And open myself to him, to whatever he wants from me. And whatever he wants to give me.

  He groans deep in his throat as our tongues tangle. I press closer, savoring the taste and feel and smell of him. Savoring Ethan and the joy and fear that come with being his.

  He tastes like chocolate, dark and bittersweet and addicting.

  Like the ocean, vast and wild and free.

  He tastes like eternity. My eternity and the one we will make together.

  And, God, can he kiss. For a man as powerful and dominating as he is, in moments like this Ethan has no problem giving up control of the kiss to me. Has no problem letting me tease and taunt and taste him until his need is a wild tsunami breaking between us, slamming into us and pulling us both under.

  I draw back with a sigh, sucking his lower lip between my teeth and nipping at it again. Nipping at him. He smiles against my lips, slides his hands down my back to cup my ass and pull me up onto my tippy toes so that my sex is flush against his rock hard cock.

  Then he thrusts against me. Pleasure sparks deep inside me, makes my fists clench and my knees weak. I bite at him in retaliation, harder this time, and he stiffens. Afraid I actually hurt him, I sweep my tongue over his lip to soothe the pain…and that’s all it takes.

  Ethan’s control shatters and in an instant he goes from a man indulging his woman’s need for control to a man intent on dominating. He takes control of the kiss; at the same time his hand slides between my thighs.

  He teases me for long, torturous seconds, his fingers kneading my thigh muscles, skimming across my mons, and in the line where my leg connects to my torso. Touching me anywhere—everywhere—but the place I want him most. I arch my back, spread my thighs wider and still he teases. Still he takes his time. I’m whimpering, pleading with soft broken breaths, when he finally slides his thumb—slowly, slowly, slowly—along my labia.

  I moan—I can’t help myself—then lift my hips to press myself more firmly into his touch. But he only laughs and stills my pelvis with his other hand. “Not yet, baby,” he murmurs against my hot cheek. “We’re just getting started.”

  “Ethan!” I sound way too desperate for a woman who spent much of the last twenty-four hours being made love to. But he feels so good and after the discord of the last few weeks, I need him so much. I rock my hips against him, and the friction is almost enough to—

  He pulls away with a deliberately provoking grin. “Feeling anxious, are you?”

  He sounds cocky enough that I think about shrugging it off. About scooping up my clothes and getting dressed right now instead of letting him continue to tease and torment me. Except he chooses that moment to drop to his knees in front of me. As he does, he runs his tongue from my collarbone to my navel in a long, lingering sweep that makes me see stars.

  “You taste so good,” he whispers against my stomach before trailing his tongue over my hip and then up my side to tickle and torment me in equal measure. “I had you just last night and still I want more.”

  He kisses across my ribs, then licks his way along the belly chain he gave me weeks ago, his tongue dipping between the links every inch or so to tease.

  “I always want more,” he continues as he cups my ass in his big hands, circles my navel with his tongue. “I always want you. I think about you all the time. When I’m working, when I’m driving, when I’m with you, when I’m not. When I’m sleeping. When I’m under you. Inside you. Above you.” He presses hot kisses to my skin as he kisses his way down my ribs to my hip.

  The images he creates make my knees weak, send heat spiraling through me.

  “I think about you when I’m in a conference call.” He licks up the center of my torso. “There might be twenty people on the line talking about the future of Frost Industries, and all I can think about are your breasts.”

  He presses soft kisses to first one of my nipples and then the other.

  “About the softness of your skin. About the color of your nipples—they’re so gorgeous I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about them.” He pulls one into his mouth, sucks hard enough that I feel it in my knees. And in my clit.

  Then again, maybe that’s his voice. It’s deep and dark, magic and mayhem, and it’s making me want. Making me weak.

  “When I’m in traffic, I think about your mouth.” He reaches up, rubs a thumb over my lips.

  “About how good it feels to kiss you, to lick inside and taste you. You taste like honey.” He pushes his thumb past my lips and I moan even as I take it in. Take him in. I scrape my teeth gently over his skin, swirl my tongue around his thumb as I suck him deeper and deeper.

  It’s Ethan’s turn to groan, his gorgeous blue eyes turning almost black with need. For long seconds, he watches me with barely leashed desire. And then he’s gently pushing me back against the nearest table, lifting me onto the cold, hard surface.

  I gasp at the chill of it against my hot skin and squirm a little. But Ethan holds me in place with one large, warm hand on my abdomen.

  “I think about your pussy, when I should be thinking about business,” he tells me, his fingers stroking around my navel and then down. Over my abdomen, down my mons to the trimmed curls of my pubic hair. And then lower still, until his index finger is pressed inexorably against my clit.

  “I think about how good you feel around my dick.” His middle finger reaches lower, traces the slick slit of my sex. “About how I want to spend hours—days—with my head buried between your thighs. My lips on your clit, my tongue buried deep inside you.”

  His words arrow through me until I’m all but burning up from the inside out. “Ethan, please,” I beg as my hands slide up his shoulders, clutch at the silk of his hair. The strands feel cool against my heated skin and I revel in the feeling even as I lift my hips into his touch. “Please.”

  “I think about you all the time,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against my sex. “About your body. About your brain. About everything that makes you who you are. And I swear, Chloe, I fall a little more in love with you with every goddamn second that passes. With you, away from you, it doesn’t matter. You’re all I’ll ever want. All I’ll ever need.”

  His words pour through me, setting off mini-explosions in my head, my heart, my sex. “Ethan,” I pant. “God, Ethan, please.”

  Of their own volition, my hands tug at his hair. My leg wraps around his shoulders. My hips arch into his mouth. I need you. I need you. Ineedyou. It’s a beat in my blood, a mantra in my head, a truth I’ll never be able to deny.

  And then even that thought is gone, replaced by pure feeling—by pure want—as Ethan drops his head and finally—finally—licks a long, slow, hot stripe along my sex.

  My arms—which, until now, had been holding me up quite nicely—turn shaky before giving out completely. I’m lying flat against the desk now, the wood cold against my back as every other part of my body threatens to spontaneously combust from the heat churning through me. I give up t
he last bit of control I’m holding on to and let him have his wicked, wicked way with me.

  And what a way it is. He plays me like I’m a finely tuned instrument, like I’m the only woman he’s ever had—or will ever have. Like all that matters in the world is the two of us and this perfect, perfect, perfect moment.

  “I love you, Chloe,” he tells me before licking his way inside of me. “I love you.”

  “I—” My voice breaks as pleasure skates along my every nerve ending. “I love you, too.”

  It’s like the words tear through the last shred of control he has, because the moment they leave my mouth, he’s on me. His tongue thrusts deep inside of me and I gasp as he makes slow, deliberate circles that light me up from the inside.

  Already I’m close, trembling on the edge of an orgasm that will slam me into a world of ecstasy I couldn’t have imagined before meeting Ethan. Before being touched by him.

  But even as I tremble, as I arch my hips against his mouth and beg him breathlessly to send me over, he takes his time.

  He laps at me, again and again. Long, lingering strokes that make me crazy. That make me crave. Again and again and again, his tongue explores every part of me, pausing only to suck at my labia and clit or to blow dark, warm air against my already too-heated sex.

  My hands are clutching at his shoulders, my hips moving restlessly against the desk as I beg for release. But there is none, only pleasure so keen it’s almost pain as Ethan drives me to the edge of madness over and over again. And then he’s pressing one long, calloused finger inside of me, stroking my G-spot even as he pulls my clit gently into his mouth.

  With a sound that’s half-scream, half-moan and all Ethan’s name, I tumble over the edge. Pleasure crashes through me as I buck wildly against him, needing him to stop, needing him to continue, needing these feelings to go on forever.

  And they do. They do. Because Ethan isn’t close to done. He keeps his face buried between my thighs, his lips and tongue and breath on me, inside me, all over me for what seems like a moment, what seems like forever. I come and come and come, until I’m going beyond pleasure, beyond individual orgasms, to an ecstasy that goes on and on.