the hook-up. {ethma}

chapter 23

emma chamberlain

I STAY IN his lap as he drives us home. It's stupid and dangerous but neither of us are thinking very clearly now. It's not an option to move off of him, to let him go. Ethan's arm remains wrapped around my waist, his big hand clamped on my hip as if he's afraid I might change my mind, try to escape.

I don't. I won't. I'm too far gone now. I'm weak and needy for him. So he drives, and my head rests on his shoulder as my fingers trace his neck, touch the spot where his pulse is a rapid tattoo. He holds me tighter, presses his cheek against the top of my head, as he maneuvers the car down darkened neighborhood streets.

His heart beats as fast as my own. We're almost humming with anxious anticipation. If we don't get there soon, I know he'll pull over and take me in the back seat, cramped or not. I almost make the suggestion, I'm so achy for him, but the car swerves into a driveway and then lurches to a halt.

He's got the car turned off and the parking brake on in seconds. The door wrenches open, and somehow we're out. I'm in his arms. I don't even know how he's accomplished swinging both himself and my body weight out of the car with such ease, nor do I protest that he's carrying me. I'm pretty sure if he puts me down right now, we'd both fall.

His house is a small craftsman style bungalow with a peaked roof that creates a wide front porch. Ethan makes short work of the front steps. I burrow my nose into his neck and cling with my legs around his waist as he fumbles with his keys before the glass-pained door. Then we're stumbling inside.

I get a glimpse of white walls, high ceilings, and dark floors. A retro 30s metal dome table lamp casts a warm haze over a leather couch and chair and teak credenza. This isn't a college guy's hangout. It's a home. Framed and matted photos hang from the walls. That's all I see of it. Ethan captures my mouth with his once more, his grip on my ass tight and sure as he strides across the room.

His room is cool, quiet, the mellow glow of another table lamp limning everything in golden light. Ethan sets me down at the foot of his bed before attacking my buttons, his fingers fumbling and desperate, his mouth never leaving mine.

My knuckles press into his abdomen as I rip open his jeans, shoving them down in my haste. The waistband of his boxer briefs snag over his hard cock, and he curses. He frees himself then reaches for me. Everything becomes a blur of flying, discarded clothes and messy kisses. And then the world lifts away. In his arms one second, and sinking into a cool, thick down comforter the next.

Ethan climbs over me. Hot, smooth skin slides over mine. Hard muscles. Heavy, dense flesh. And everywhere he touches, I ignite.

We don't stop kissing. I don't think I'm capable of stopping. I'm starved for his mouth.

He moves between my legs, and I tilt my hips to give him better access. Now. I want him now. Hard. Fast. But suddenly he slows us down, suckling my lower lip before he raises his head. Arms bracketing me, he looks into my eyes, his fingers playing with my hair.

His lids lower a fraction, but he doesn't close his eyes. "Every night," he says. "Every single night I've thought about you being here. Just like this."

I shiver. Every single night I've feared being here. Like this. Because I wanted it so very much.

Skin to skin, we lie, trembling and sweating. Between our pressed bellies, his dick throbs hot and firm. I struggle to breathe. My palms skim over his narrow, tight waist, as I try for a light tone. "Now that you have me here, what are you going to do to me?"

Ethan's lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile. "Keep you here."

Hell.

Just when I fear emotion might cripple me, he moves, canting his hips until the rounded tip of his dick nudges against my opening. My attention zeroes in on it, that spot where everything has gone so hot and needy that my sex clenches. Holding my gaze, he slides the tip in. Then the bastard stills.