“Not for food,” I tell him. Because I can be cheesy too.

That has him picking up his pace. We take a set of stairs to the top floor. His bedroom overlooks the courtyard. And the dim light from the outside lanterns slants through the massive paned windows, half covered by louvered shutters. There isn’t much in here, just a big club chair, a dresser, and a king bed with a padded leather headboard.

I smell the pine of the floorboards, the spicy scent of Ethan’s skin. It’s warm and quiet in his room. Quiet enough to hear his soft breaths and the steady pounding of my heart. He stands before me, so big and present; I feel his warmth even though we’re not yet touching.

Slowly he reaches up and slides off my damp cardigan. Gentle fingers ease the strap of my sundress down. When my breast pops free, he moves to the other side, pulling the strap until the other is exposed. Ethan has seen me naked, licked and sucked every inch of me, but standing here now, on display for him, makes me so hot. I struggle to catch my breath.

It grows erratic when he gives a little hum of satisfaction and runs the tips of his fingers across my nipples. Back and forth, barely touching them. God. I fight the urge to arch into his touch, because it’s hotter to hold back, to let him fondle me while my nipples grow stiff and achy.

He circles them, worrying the tips with the rough pads of his fingers, and then, without warning, pinches—pulling until my breasts stretch—before letting go.

My breasts bob back into place, and I whimper, my knees going weak.

“I had this whole seduction thing planned,” he whispers as he plays with me, stroking, tweaking. It’s almost lewd the way he handles me as if I’m his plaything, except it’s reverent too. “But I don’t think I can wait.”

I lick my dry lips. I’m close to coming now, and he’s only touching my tits. “Don’t wait,” I say.

His gaze catches mine. In the shadows, he looks so serious, almost fierce. But I know that expression. It’s need. Strong and pure. Just like him. I lift his damp sweater over his head and wrap my arms around his neck. The press of his warm skin against mine makes us both groan. With a sigh, I kiss the hollow of his throat. That’s all it takes.

Soft bedding surrounds me and Ethan’s hard body covers mine. There’s no more talking.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fiona

Sweat-slick and limp with exhaustion, I lie draped over Ethan’s naked body. I love that he’s so big not an inch of me hangs over the edges of him. Even so, his arm wraps loosely around my waist, holding me secure as if he’s afraid I’ll fall. His fingers trace random patterns on my back.

“How do you want to handle this?” I ask him.

His body tenses, so I know he understands my question. “Nothing to handle. I’ll just make no comment, and it will go away.”

I lift my head so I can rest my chin on his chest. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sure it will go away all that quickly. Maybe… Well, why don’t you just tell them you’re with me?”

“No.” He practically shouts the word, his lips flattening. And my heart caves in as if it’s been stomped.

“You don’t want to tell people about us?”

Instantly, he cups my cheek, his eyes going wide. “Shit, Fi, I did not mean I was ashamed or wanted to hide it. I mean there is no way in hell I’m bringing you into a media shit show.”

“That really should be my decision. Especially if it helps you. And I want to help you, Ethan.”

With a sigh, he flops his head back on the pillows and stares up at the ceiling, his hand still stroking my cheek. “Thank you for that, Cherry. But I can’t…” He takes a ragged breath. “Don’t ask me to agree to that. I couldn’t take seeing them tear you apart.” He glances down at me, his eyes now golden-green in the lamplight. “Please.”

“All right,” I say with reluctance. “For now. But, I swear, if a bunch of crazy women start stalking you, I’m stepping in.”

A slow smile curls over his firm lips. “Kind of love you being all possessive, Fi.”

I harrumph, but give his chest a little kiss. “I am sorry, though. That this is happening, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Me too.”

We grow quiet, lost in our own thoughts, Dex stroking my hair and me drifting in a strange half-sleep state.

“Six Underground” by the Sneaker Pimps plays softly from a set of bedside speakers.

“I never asked how you came to like trip-hop music,” I murmur, too content to talk louder.

“Are you asking me now?” There’s a smile in his voice.

“Smartass.” I give his ribs a little nudge, loving the way he squirms as if it tickles. “And yes. I told you when we first kissed that I didn’t expect you to like this music. It’s still a surprise.”

He takes a breath, and I lift along with his chest. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

“That’s basically assuring I’ll laugh.”

“Fine. Laugh it up,” he says. “It was a car commercial. I kept hearing this song and…” He cranes his head to glare down at me, though there’s a smile on his lips. “You’re laughing already?”

I smother my laugh. “It was the same for me, is all.”

His lips twitch, those hazel eyes of his gleaming more gold than blue now. “Which song?”

“It was two songs. Morcheeba’s ‘Crimson’ and Massive Attack’s ‘Paradise Circus’. You?”

“Zero Seven’s ‘In the Waiting Line’.”

“I love that song. They used it in Sex and the City too.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” With a grunt, he turns, and suddenly I’m on the bed and he’s over me, his warm body gently pressed to mine. His lips find my neck and suckle. “God, I love the way you smell.”

My fingers comb back his loose hair. “And how do I smell?”

“Like happy dreams and well-fucked woman.”

A shout of laughter leaves me, and I tug him closer as he works his way along my collarbone, his hand sliding up to my breast. The thick slab of his erection presses against my thigh, tempting me, but I let the anticipation build for now.

“I love the way you smell too.”

He pauses, his lips brushing my shoulder, his beard tickling my breast. “How do I smell?”

“Like…” I smile up at the ceiling as I consider. “Pancakes and midnight.”

“Oh?” His voice is muffled as he resumes exploring my neck and teasing my nipple with the blunt tip of his thumb.

I squirm, trying to open my legs wider to let him settle between them. He does with a low groan, but doesn’t enter me. He’s waiting for my answer.

My voice is breathless, distracted as I am by his roaming lips. “You know…” I kiss his temple, the crest of his cheek, “when you’ve had a night of sweaty, hot fucking…” I give the line of his jaw a little nuzzle. “Going at it until you can barely move. And you’ve worked up an appetite that only a stack of pancakes and more hot sex will satisfy?”

Ethan lifts his head then, his eyes slumberous but his expression careful. “You had a lot of those nights?”

It hits me what I’ve said, and my fingers tighten his hair as I tell him the absolute truth. “Only with you, Ethan. That’s why it’s your scent.”

God, his smile, it unfurls like a spring leaf to the rain, spreading wide and open. “Good answer.”

Unfortunately, my stomach also has an answer, and that’s to make a God awful growl as if talk of food has released the hunger hounds.

Ethan grins wide, and a laugh rolls out of him. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that last bit there.”

“Shut up.” I slap his shoulder while blushing hot over my entire body. “We’ve been at it for hours.”

“And hours,” he confirms with a solemn nod, though the smug satisfaction in his expression grows.

Before I can say a word, he leaps up, hauling me with him. I squeal as he lifts me with one arm. “Ethan, what the hell?”