Page 105 of On Thin Ice

His lips found my skin … soft at first, then hard, hungry. Like he was trying to crawl inside me to escape whatever was tearing him apart.

His hands slid under my shirt, calloused palms dragging across my ribs, fingers digging into my skin.

I knew this version of Ethan. The one who couldn’t find the words, who spoke instead with his body, who needed to feel connected to me in the most primal way possible before he could even contemplate the conversation we needed to have.

“E,” I whispered, my voice rough as he worked my zipper down and gripped my cock. “Baby, wait.”

He swallowed my protest with his mouth, kissing me like he was starving. Tongue deep. Teeth clashing. He tossed his leg over my lap and crawled over me pushing me against the cushions, his weight familiar as he ground against me with a low, wrecked groan.

Later, we’d have to talk. About what had happened in Coach’s office. About the REND campaign. About everything that had been slowly shifting between us since that disaster on the patio.

But right now, Ethan needed this.

Needed me.

And I needed him, too. Needed to feel him holding me down, the heat of him inside me, to remind myself that we still fit together like this.

I threaded my fingers into his hair and tugged until he looked at me, eyes wild and shiny with unspilled tears.

“Bedroom,” I told him, mindful of the living room curtains open to the street.

Ethan nodded and guided me up off the couch. We moved through the house like a storm, our bodies tangling in a rush of friction and rising need.

We bumped into a console table and something clattered to the floor, but neither of us stopped to see what.

He kissed me up against the hallway wall, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, ripping the last two open when they wouldn’t give fast enough. I tugged at his belt, growling into his mouth as the leather gave way, our hips grinding, teeth clashing.

His lips dragged along my jaw and neck, his hands frantic on my skin, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of me before he lost the right to touch it.

By the time we stumbled into his room, our clothes were halfway off. He shoved his pants down while I stripped my shirt the rest of the way off and kicked free of my own, the glow from the Christmas tree down the hall giving off enough light to see one another.

I crossed the room in two steps, reached into the bedside drawer, and grabbed the lube.

When I turned back around, Ethan was on the bed, bracing himself on all fours.

My breath caught in my throat.

He looked incredible like that—broad shoulders, strong thighs, the curve of his spine dipping into the small of his back, his ass raised and waiting.

My body reacted instantly, fiercely, but something in me halted.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

He looked at me, eyes half-lidded, chest rising with shallow breaths. “I need you.”

“I need you, too, E.”

His gaze dropped to the lube gripped in my hand. He arched his back slightly, presenting himself like an offering. “So what are you waiting for?” he rasped. “Fuck me already.”

The words hit me like a punch and an invitation all at once. I stood there for a second, taking him in. Wanting him so much that I ached with it.

But I couldn’t do it like this. “That’s not how I want you tonight,” I breathed out.

He tensed. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I set the lube on the nightstand and crawled up onto the bed, leaning over him until my chest was pressed to his back. I kissed the curve of his spine, teeth dragging along the vertebrae. He shivered beneath me. “You always give yourself to me.”

“‘Cuz I’m yours.” His voice cracked.

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