It’s been ten years since Polly left Ethan. Thirteen years since I first realized something was different about the way I felt about him. The road to get to this point has been really damn long, with no apparent end in sight.
Yet, now, here we are. Ethan is touching me, and he’s chosen me. He wants me to stay by his side and love him. He wants to love me back. That’s the most overwhelming thing about all this. I remember telling Hayley that I was frightened of everything changing, and I still am.
But if I get to experience those changes with Ethan? Then I think it’s okay.
The chair under us wobbles slightly and Ethan abruptly stands. My robe falls to the ground and legs wind automatically around his waist while my hands grip his shoulders so that I don’t fall. I can feel his hard cock against my thigh through the thin material of his pants, and I rub myself on him, grinning as he groans deeply and almost stumbles.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “That feels good.”
“I’ll make you feel even better,” I promise, breathing into his ear, and I feel a shudder wrack his body. He begins to walk, carrying me. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer. I rub myself against him again in response, feeling his cock bouncing against me, and dig my nails into his shoulder. Ethan groans and falters again as we pass through the living room. He turns and drops me down so I’m sitting on the soft couch, bracing himself over me.
“Fucking tease,” he says roughly.
I hook my leg around his knee and pull him in so he can stand between my open legs. I tug at the elastic hem of his pants.
“These need to come off,” I say. “I want to feel you.”
I pull his pants down and let them drop to the floor. Ethan steps out of them and kicks them away. He reaches out, burying his hands in my hair, rubbing his fingers over my scalp, and my eyes flutter closed; it feels so good when he touches my hair like this. I feel his lips on my jaw and then my neck, and I tilt my head backward so that he can press kisses down my neck and to my collar, when he suddenly bites the skin.
I gasp sharply and I feel him smile against me as he keeps moving around my throat, grazing his teeth against me or nipping at my pulse. The touches are light and unsatisfying, but they set my nerves on fire. I swallow roughly as Ethan tugs lightly on my hair, pulling my head back even further, and he licks at the base of my throat, lapping at the salty sweat that has begun forming on my skin. I groan and the sound rumbles against Ethan’s lips.
It’s almost way too much. I grip onto Ethan’s shoulders as an anchor, needing something to keep me grounded before I fly away with the pleasure he’s causing. I’m trying to catch my breath, but my chest is heaving and I’m already at the edge just from the feel of his touch alone. I try and pull him in even closer. I want far more than this.
“Please, Ethan, I want to feel you as you fuck me,” I groan.
“Soon,” Ethan promises. “I’m going to touch you first, and explore your body, inside and out.”
My head hits the back of the couch and I groan again. I teased him to the brink and then over it last night. Now he’s doing the same to me.
All I can do is hold on and feel, now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan
Georgia is writhing beneath me, her chest rising and falling quickly as she pants. It’s thrilling to watch her fall apart under my touch, knowing that she’s reacting so intensely because I’m the one that’s with her. For me, the feel of her body is just as intense and addictive, and I struggle not to just grab her and take her, wanting to feel her muscles wrapped around me as I sink deeply within her.
But I want this to last. Now that things are settled within my mind, I want to feel this for as long as I can, until neither of us can take it any longer. I want to explore every square inch of Georgia’s body, find all the sensitive spots that make her gasp and groan, and find all the freckles, beauty marks and scars that adorn her skin. I want to know her body as intimately as I know mine.
Already, I’ve discovered parts of her that I didn’t know about. There’s a thin, white line on her skin, and I remember that from when she was thirteen, when she and I were stupidly playing around a junkyard and Georgia slipped on some metal sheets. There’s a dark birthmark on her left ankle, a splotch of color that I’ve never seen before. She has three freckles on her right shoulder. There’s a raised scar on her elbow, one that isn’t too old, that I don’t know anything about, and I make a note, in the back of my mind, to ask her about it.
I’m mapping out her body, remembering stories and finding parts of her that I hadn’t known existed before. Every mark I recognize has a story behind it, and it reminds me just how deeply we’re connected, evoking the day when we met each other, two children that had nothing to do other than
play with each other while their parents conducted business. My father did very little good for me in my life, but giving me the opportunity to meet Georgia when he had business with her parents is the one thing that I can give him credit for.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper to Georgia, slipping a hand behind her and running it lightly down her spine, feeling each bump. “You should see yourself now, so ready and eager for me. What do you want, Georgia?”
“Touch me,” she groans, opening her eyes to look up at me. “Fuck me.”
We’ll get to that. But there’s so much more that I want to see of her. I kneel down between her legs, running my hands up her thighs. There’s another scar here, long and thin, and I remember her falling off her bike when she was eleven, and the panic of my fifteen-year-old self as blood went everywhere. I’d cradled her as I screamed for my mother, and we rushed her to the hospital where she got stitches.
So many memories. I can barely remember what my life was like before I met Georgia. Sometimes my memories can be muddled, and it feels like she was always there. My life, miserable and dark at the hands of my father, had lit up with color when Georgia came into it.
“I’m an idiot,” I whisper to myself.
How could I have never realized just how much Georgia meant to me. Part of me wishes that Georgia was closer to my age. If she had been a little older, then maybe things would have been different when I met Polly. But she was still so young at the time, and I fell into Polly’s clutches.