Page 11 of His Orders

Something snaps in him. His growl rumbles through my body like a physical force, and then he’s releasing my wrists, grabbing the neckline of my dress, and pulling it down with one sharp motion. The cool air barely has time to hit my skin before his mouth is on me.

Hot. Possessive. Insatiable.

His teeth scrape against my breast before he bites down, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. I cry out, my fingers diving into his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He takes my nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking, sucking, ruining me all over again. My back arches into him, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, but it’s not enough.

I need him. I need him inside me.

His hands are everywhere—gripping my waist, dragging me against him, holding me in place as he grinds against my aching core, his cock hard and demanding even through the layers of fabric.

Then… the sound of his zipper.

I swallow hard, anticipation making my pulse pound, my skin burn.

Ethan lifts me effortlessly, pinning me against the wall, and I wrap my legs around his waist, locking myself against him. My body is already trembling, already so far gone that I don’t even realize I’m whimpering his name until his mouth finds mine again.

Then, a sharp, delicious stretch as he thrusts inside me, filling me completely.

I break against him, my moan swallowed by his kiss as he buries himself to the hilt, his growl vibrating against my lips.

Ethan drives into me with an intensity that borders on violent, his pace unrelenting, each deep, punishing thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My back slams against the wall with every movement, my legs wrapped tightly around his waistas he grips my hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into my skin like he’s anchoring himself to me. His breath is ragged, uneven, hot against my throat as he drags his teeth along my skin, his mouth open and hungry, nipping and sucking at every inch he can reach as though he wants to brand himself onto me.

The stretch of him is overwhelming, the sharp sting lasting only a second before pleasure crashes over me, thick and all-consuming, making my head spin. He’s big, too big, forcing my body to adjust around him, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. He fucks me with the kind of desperation that makes my toes curl, his cock sinking deep, filling me over and over again until I’m clawing at his back, my nails raking over the hard ridges of his muscles, needing something to hold on to before I completely lose myself.

He growls against my throat, the sound rough and possessive, his teeth scraping my jaw before he lifts his head to look at me. His green eyes are dark with hunger, wild with something deeper than lust, something that makes my stomach clench and my pulse stutter. His thrusts grow harder, sharper, his control fraying as he grips the back of my neck with one hand, forcing me to look at him, forcing me to see exactly what I do to him.

“You take me so fucking well,” he rasps, his voice thick with need, his fingers tightening around my throat just enough to make me gasp. “Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

I can’t speak, can’t think, can’t do anything except moan, my body tightening around him, my walls clenching as another deep thrust sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through me. My hands scramble at his back, my fingers pressing into his skin as I bury my face against his neck, my breaths coming in quick, desperate gasps.

“Ethan,” I whimper, my voice broken, wrecked, almost pleading, and he groans at the sound, his hips snapping forward in a punishing rhythm that has me trembling, my thighs shaking as the pressure builds, as pleasure tightens low in my belly, sharp and unbearable.

He pulls back just enough to look at me again, his thumb dragging over my bottom lip before he tilts my head up, his breath mingling with mine. His expression is dark, unreadable, his pupils blown wide with lust, but there’s something else beneath it, something dangerous and claiming.

“Come for me,” he demands, his tone low and rough, his fingers curling around my jaw as he thrusts into me with brutal gusto, grinding his hips just right, hitting the spot that makes my vision go white, the pleasure coiling so tight I can’t hold it back any longer.

My orgasm slams into me, my body seizing, back arching, my mouth falling open in a broken scream as I shatter around him, my walls quivering, gripping him tightly. Ethan curses, his grip tightening as he pushes in deep, chasing his own release, his movements turning frantic, almost brutal, as if he’s unraveling completely.

He buries himself inside me one last time, his body tensing, a ragged, almost pained groan tearing from his throat as he comes, hot and thick, his grip on me faltering, his forehead pressing against mine as he exhales, shuddering against me. I feel the aftermath of him deep inside me, feel the way his body still shakes, his muscles tight, his breaths still uneven.

For a long moment, neither of us moves, our bodies tangled, our breaths still uneven as we come down together. His handsremain firm on my waist, like this isn’t just a fleeting moment, even though we both know better.

This is a one-night stand destined to burn itself into memory—unforgettable, but never to be repeated. I force myself to blink, willing away the sudden sting behind my eyes. I tell myself it’s just the crash after an unexpected high, but that would be a lie.

Ethan shifts, his breaths still uneven as he finally lets me go, but his hands linger at my waist for a moment longer before he exhales and steps back, watching me closely. His green eyes, sharp even in the dim light, flick over my face, reading me the way a surgeon might study a patient before making an incision. He doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts his head slightly, considering.

Then, quietly, “Go take a shower.”

It’s not a suggestion, but it’s not a command either. Just Ethan, direct and controlled, speaking like he already knows something is wrong but isn’t going to push until it’s his place to do it.

I hesitate, swallowing hard, before nodding and stepping away, reaching for my dress.

By the time I’m in the shower, the water scorching against my skin, the reality of the night presses in. My body hums, overstimulated, my pulse still slow and heavy, but beneath it is the ache—the one I always try to outrun. The one that reminds me that warmth like this is borrowed, not owned.

I linger longer than I should, the heat relaxing muscles that weren’t tense until now. When I finally step out, wrapped up in a robe, a warm, spiced aroma curls through the walls.

I pad downstairs, pulling the robe tighter around myself, and find him in the kitchen. He’s standing at the stove, stirring something in a small saucepan, his sleeves rolled back up, the sharp lines of his forearms illuminated under the golden glow of the lights. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an alertness in the way he moves, as if he’s waiting.

At the sound of my footsteps, he turns, giving me one slow, deliberate once-over. His gaze flicks from my damp hair to the way I’m clutching the robe like armor, and then, as if deciding not to call me out on it, he simply nods toward the mug sitting on the counter. “Made you something.”

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