Page 180 of Stick It
He stares at me like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my face. Like he can’t quite believe I’m really here.
“You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel like this,” he says, voice a whisper dragged from his soul. “The only one who’s ever made me lose control.”
“Good,” I breathe. “I like you like this. When you let go. Like you did in the training room.” I smirk. “I like knowing I’m the only one capable of undoing you.”
“You are,” he assures, eyes shining. “The only one. The only one I’d ever let see me like this.”
His hand slides to the front of my throat, not tight, just enough to hold me in place as he pulls me down to him. His kiss is searing—dominant, and commanding, like he’s reclaiming every piece of himself he lost that day.
Like he’s anchoring himself to me for all eternity.
For every inch of control I might take from him, he claims it all back, controlling the kiss, the pace, the rhythm. His tongue glides along mine, deepening when he demands and pulling back on his orders.
My hips move without thinking, grinding against him as heat pulses between us. He groans into my mouth, and I feel the tight coil of tension unraveling in his grip. In the way his hands glide low on my abdomen and pull me tighter.
He might be losing himself in me, but he’s still Ethan. Still the one in control, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Not when his hands are on me. His teeth sinking into my lip and his tongue learning the grooves of my mouth.
My hands slide up the front of his chest, the hard planes of his abs rippling beneath my palms, before I entwine my fingerswith the fine hairs at the back of his neck. His lips on mine are all heat and desperation, the air around us growing hot and electrified with every sweep of his tongue over mine. Every nip. Every suck of my lip. Every soft moan and hungry growl.
Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I go to lift it, but he stops me with a hand catching mine, breaking our kiss to meet my gaze.
“Please,” I plead before he can say anything. I don’t need to hear his words, I can see the hesitation written all over his face. “I need this,” I whisper. “I needyou. I need to feel something good. To remember what safe feels like—and that’s here. With you.”
For a moment, his jaw tics. War rages in his eyes. Then, decision made, he slams his lips back on mine, hungrier than before. “You’ll always be safe with us,” he growls against my lips.
With fast, frantic movements, I tear his shirt over his head, my heart thundering as I drink him in under the dim light of the TV. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, warmth and tension carved into every line.
Before I can do more thanlook, he catches my chin between his fingers and reclaims my mouth in a commanding kiss. I move with him, following the pull of his mouth, the way he knows exactly when to take more, when to slow, when to make me beg without ever speaking a word.
When I reach for the hem of my own shirt, his hand catches mine again.
“Iget to take this off you,” he softly demands, his tone low, coaxing, and laced with steel. A thrill rolls down my spine. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to get you naked,” he murmurs, eyes dropping as he slowly lifts the fabric of my T-shirt, revealing inch after inch of skin. “To see all of you.Feelall of you.”
Despite his lust-laced words, he takes his sweet time pulling my top up. His eyes darken with every inch of milky skin he exposes, but his control remains precise. By the time the shirt clears my head and drops to the floor, I’m breathless. Exposed. His gaze devours me.
His hand finds my side, slides up to cup my breast, then the other. He strokes me deliberately, watching every reaction, drinking in the way I arch toward him. When he brushes his thumbs over my nipples, I gasp, grinding against the growing heat between my legs.
“More,” I demand, breathless, needing to feel his lips on my skin, his tongue sliding over my flesh.
He gives me a look. That cool, unreadable smirk he wears when he knows he’s in full control. “Patience, Thorn.”
I huff, but it turns into a moan when his mouth closes around my breast. He licks, sucks, and grazes it with his teeth until I’m trembling. My fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving behind crescent moon marks as he shifts to lavish the other one with the same worshipful care.
Releasing me with a pop, his fingers follow his gaze down my stomach, teasing the waistband of my sweats. They don’t dip below, just skim the edge, his knuckles brushing skin as his touch makes my breath hitch. I whimper with need. My body is burning up, my core hot and wet and needy.
And heknowsit.
“Need something, my prickly little thorn?” His words are a taunt murmured against my overheated skin.
“Yes,” I grit out, grinding against the hard length beneath me until he hisses. “I need you to make me come.”
He hums, low and cocky, and presses his mouth back to mine.
“All in good time.”
In contradiction to the need building inside me, this kiss isslow, languid. And it does sweet fuck all to fan the flames of my desire. If anything, the control he wields despite knowing he’s as desperate for me as I am for him, only stokes them higher.
