Page 44 of The Bargain
It’s then that I realize we’re at my house. We’ve been tongue-to-tongue in all kinds of ways, and I had no idea we’d made the trip. Ethan pushes away from me, and I run my hand through my hair, desperate to compose myself. “Thank you, Paul,” I murmur without looking at him, heat burning my cheeks. He has to know we were all over each other as readily as we wereateach other.
Ethan offers me his hand, and I accept it, the connection one part attraction, one part anger. He’s hurt and pissed. I think I am, too, but maybe he has more of a reason for how he feels. Maybe not. He did go to my father’s house without even asking me upfront. His long fingers close around mine, and I swear when he touches me, my mind’s a jumbled mess. He owns me, and it’s a little bit terrifying, but no matter what, when we goinside, we’re talking. Or yelling. Or whatever it takes to get to the other side of this, whatever this has become.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sofia
Wearriveatthefront door, and Ethan pulls me in front of him, my back to his front, his big body encasing mine, and once again, my hand trembles as I key in the code. So much so that he reaches around me and opens the door, shoving it open. His hands settle on my shoulders, near my neck, heat radiating beneath his palms, and he walks me forward, guiding me, possessing me, keeping me from running. Not that running is on my mind. This is my home. This is my territory. That was my father, who was just shocked with Ethan’s sudden appearance at his door.
I’m angry with him.
So very angry, and I will not be distracted with his hands, mouth, or body, no matter how my nipples are puckering or how damp my thighs.
The instant I’m soundly in the foyer, I whirl on him. The next thing I know, the door is shut, and he’s rotated me, pressing me against the hard surface. My control is his control. And damn him, I like this part of him, but not now. Not yet. “You had no right to go to him without talking to me first.”
He plants his hands on the door next to my head, and he’s close but not touching me. I’m not touching him. Why do I want him to touch me when I should be throwing him out?
“I knew him before I knew you, Sofia. He needed to hear from you about me, but he also needed to hear what I had to say.”
“He let you walk away.”
“I didn’t give him a chance to do anything else. I told him the deal is on the table until Friday afternoon, when we leave. We can’t stay any longer.We, Sofia. I told him I’m taking you with me.”
“If I let you.”
He captures my hands by my sides and laces our fingers together, stepping forward, his thighs framing mine. “Why don’t we explore exactly what you’ll let me do to you?” he says softly, leaning in close, his lips at my ear as he adds, “What’s your limit, Sofia? Do you even know?”
My cheeks pink with embarrassment. “Apparently far less of one than I should.”
He captures my chin and says, “I did what I did to protect you and him. I will never hurt you.” And then he’s kissing me, and he is literally ravishing my mouth with his mouth, and I’m moaning with the taste of coffee and man, my resolve to fight with him melting right along with the rest of me. And when he reaches up and pulls down my top and bra, his fingers are all over my nipples, and there is nothing else but right here, right now. Henips my bottom lip and then goes down on one knee in front of me.
“Shoes off,” he orders, lifting one of my feet and pulling off one slip-on sneaker after the other, and when my feet are solidly on the ground, his hands are on my hips, and his mouth presses to my belly. “Do you trust me?”
“That’s a trick question right now, and you know it.”
“If you trust me, you trust me. If you don’t, you don’t.” He shocks me by turning me to face the wall, forcing me to catch myself on the hard surface of the door.
He drags my leggings and panties down my hips, my naked backside between us, and just when I’m feeling vulnerable and exposed, he smacks my cheek with enough force for me to yelp in shock. But already, his arm is around my waist, lifting me and dragging my clothing from my legs, and then he’s standing, pulling my shirt over my head, unhooking my bra, and we’re back to his control.
I have none.
I’m naked. He is not. His free hand settles on my belly, warm and possessive, his hard body at my rear, his free hand sliding down my hair. “You’re mine.”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“Right now, there’s no maybe about it, unless youwantto stop. You always have the control to tell me to stop. And I will.”
I always have the control.
The words play in my head as wrong, and yet, I know if I tell him to stop, he will.
As if reading my mind, he asks, “Do you want to stop?”
“No,” I whisper without hesitation. When he touches me, I forget everything but him. For just a little while, there is no pain, no loss, no stress over making the right decisions.
There is just him and what he makes me feel.
He turns me to face him, but he’s no longer touching me. His hands plant beside my head, his gaze raking over my skin, my nipples, and the intimate V of my body. And when his gaze lifts and finds mine, he says, “You’re perfect.”
