Page 24 of When We Are Falling

“Guess there’s more to me than just being Mr. Boss Man.” My gaze locks with hers.

She looks down at her plate, then back up at me, her eyes glinting with something unspoken. Something that looks a lot like desire. “I like this side of you.”

Her words have me grinning like an idiot, and I take a forkful of pasta, unable to keep the smile off my face.

After we finish eating, Blake insists on doing the dishes. “You cooked, so I’ll clean,” she declares, standing up and grabbing our plates. “That was always the rule in my house.”

I follow her into the kitchen, grabbing a dishtowel. “Alright, but I’m helping.”

“Mom was usually the cook when I was growing up. What about you? Did your mom or dad teach you to cook?”

Blake knows my parents divorced when I was young, that I spent more than a decade moving between their two houses in the shared-custody arrangement that meant I pretty much lived out of a suitcase.

What she doesn’t know is how distracted they were with work and hating one another, that most days I was left to scrape something together for myself, my dad living on cigarettes, wine and imported cheese, while Mom was always on some stupid cabbage soup diet. They loved managing my every movement, overprotective to the point of stifling. But dinner on the table? Too much to ask.

Blake’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. I shrug. “You know, they weren’t that into cooking. I just figured things out myself.”

She looks at me with a slight frown, but I change the subject, veering it back to safer territory as I tell her about the last solo skydiving jump I made.

We fall into an easy rhythm, her washing and me drying. The close proximity makes the air between us feel even more charged, and our arms brush occasionally, sending little jolts of heat through me. Bandit watches us from his bed, head on his paws.

“You really didn’t have to do the washing up.” I glance at her as I dry a plate.

“I wanted to,” she replies, handing me another dish. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after such an amazing meal.”

As the last dish is put away, we find ourselves standing close, both leaning against the kitchen bench, draining the last of our wine. The kitchen suddenly feels much smaller. There’s warmth radiating from her, and the way her eyes tick over mine makes my heart race.

“Ethan...” she says, her voice soft, and I suddenlyknowshe wants me as much as I want her. I literally can’t hold back any longer. Every cell in my body needs to touch her.

Before she can say another word, I close the gap between us, my hands gently cradling her face. I pause for a brief moment, scanning her eyes for any hint of hesitation. She stares back at me, and I practically see the moment where she saysfuck it, giving in to the fire between us, before leaning in.

Her lips are soft and warm, pressing against mine with an urgency that sends desire coursing through me. Parting my lips, deepening the kiss. The sensation is intoxicating, like I’ve been granted access to a secret garden filled with endless pleasure, the world falling apart around me and remaking itself in her mouth, in the press of her body against mine.

My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer as our bodies mold together. Her hands roam over my shoulders, grasping at me, tight and wanting. Trailing my fingers from the top of her ass up her back, feeling the delicious curve of her spine through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. She shivers at my touch, her breath hitching as I trace circles over her skin.

My mouth is still on hers, but I’m memorizing the sensation of her body pressed against mine, every curve and contour etching into my brain. My fingers thread through her hair, my hardness pressed against her. She grinds her hips against mine, letting out a groan that comes from the back of her throat.

Then she pulls back, breathless, staring at me. She’s shaking her head, sayingno, but her body, her eyes, tell me she’s hungry for more.

My breathing is ragged, body flushed with heat. She stares at me, green eyes wide, hips still planted between my legs, and I lean back against the bench.

I’m literally shaking from the effort not to touch her, but I wait. It’s a delicious kind of torture, the kind that leaves me totally unsatisfied, wanting more. Wanting everything.

Chapter 11

Blake

We’re not supposedto be kissing like this, even though it feels so good. I pull back, both of us breathless, and stare at Ethan, my thoughts racing. What am I doing? This isnotwhat was supposed to happen tonight.

My brain is telling me to stop, to get my bag and ask Ethan to drive me home, but my body seems to have a mind of its own, and I lean my hips against him, feeling the very impressive bulge straining against his jeans.

We stand there for a moment, him against the sleek kitchen counter, me pressed right against him, his thighs framing my legs, the intensity of the kiss a tangible thing between us. Then I know I’ve lost my mind, because I lean in again, raking my fingers down his chest, turning my mouth up to his, lips parted.

We kiss long and deep, and his hands slip under my clothes, rough fingers sliding up my back. I let him drag the T-shirt off me. When he sees my bare breasts he groans, a primal sound that sends a thrill down my spine and lands right in my core.

In one swift motion, he lifts me up, and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he carries me down the hallway to his darkened bedroom. He lays me down on his massive bed, his hands hooking into the waistband of the sweatpants, pulling them down in a swift movement and dropping them on the floor.

The duvet feels like a cloud, and for a moment he stands at the foot of the bed, gaze raking over me. His handsome face is shadowed, but I can see his eyes, and he’s looking at me like he’s loved every version of me for a thousand years and none of it makes sense. It’sEthan Carterfor God’s sake.

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