“You’ll do what?” I asked. In the last week, I’d learned quite a lot about my men. Ethan was the one in charge. He gave orders, not voice requests. Challenging him, I found out, was the quickest way to end up pinned against the nearest flat surface. Not that I minded.
Ethan rolled me onto my back and slid into the cradle of my thighs. His cock already felt like a steel bar against my hip.
“You want me to show you?” he asked, pressing kisses down my throat and collarbone. He reached between my thighs. His fingers slid through my folds, and we both groaned. “So fucking wet and soft.” His fingers disappeared, and he laughed when I pouted. “You want it?” he asked again.
I whined. “Yes.”
He grinned down at me. “Ask for it.”
While Callan was a true dirty talker—he had made it his personal mission to get me to orgasm from just the things he said in bed—Ethan liked to makemetalk in bed. “Ethan.” I wriggled against him, hoping to entice him, but he inched away from me.
“Ask for it, Princess,” he coaxed. Both he and Foster had taken to Callan’s nickname for me, and as much as it made me flush, I loved being their princess. They were my knights, and as much as I still balked at the idea of needing anyone, it was a heady thing to have them protect me. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I closed my eyes, unable to look into the intense, stormy blue of his eyes. “Fuck me?” I breathed out.
Ethan waited until I opened my eyes again before he reached down, angled himself, and with a push of his hips, seated himself inside me as deeply as he could go. I whined and widened my legs. Ethan was a huge guyeverywhere, and I hoped to never get used to that initial stretch.
After that initial slow push, his thrusts were fast and demanding, and all I could do was take the pleasure that sang through my veins. I clung to his broad shoulders. “Ethan!”
“That’s it, baby,” he panted out, pistoning in and out. Everything grew tight and tighter in my lower abdomen, and I wrapped my legs around him. Ethan was snapping his hips now, losing his rhythm, but that tightness in my belly finally snapped, and I came with a cry.
“Fuck, Adrianne.” Ethan followed me a heartbeat later.
We paused, just taking each other in, for a moment. I smiled and reached out to brush that scar on the bridge of his nose again. “Good morning.”
Ethan grew soft, and he slid out of me. I mourned the loss of his fullness.It won’t be long until I feel him again, I reminded myself. He grinned and kissed me.
“Mornin’, beautiful,” he said. “Breakfast?”
Ethan was an excellent cook, and he’d taken on most of the food preparation chores in the last week. “I’ll help you.”
He shrugged and pressed another kiss to my shoulder. “You make the coffee,” he said. “I’ve got the eggs.”
I chuckled. “You’re just afraid of my coffee maker,” I teased.
He nipped at my skin with his teeth, and I yelped at the sudden sting that he soothed with his tongue and lips. “That thing isn’t acoffee maker. You have to be a damn Starbucks barista just to turn the damn thing on.”
“You want a latte, right?”
He looked at me and sighed. “Yes, please.”
I patted his shoulder. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Mercado.”
Ethan scoffed. “Now you’re stealing my lines?” He rolled off me. “Let’s go, Ms. Montoya,” he said, “before I have to take you again.”
“Oh, the horror,” I deadpanned, but we both got out of bed. I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around my shoulders and secured the belt around my waist. Ethan yanked on a pair of basketball shorts. The domesticity of it made my heart swell.
In the kitchen, I pressed the literal three buttons it took to make coffee and then sat to watch Ethan crack eggs into a skillet while it brewed. Watching him move around my kitchen like he owned it made my stomach flutter wildly.
Callan shuffled into the kitchen a moment later and made a beeline for the coffee. He grabbed four mugs out of the cabinet. “Merc, you want a latte, right?” At Ethan’s answering grunt, he turned to me. “Can you steam the milk?”
I smiled and nodded. Ethan wasn't the only one who was scared of a clearly superior coffeemaker. “Do you want me to show you again?” I asked him.
He nodded, but his sleepy smile curled upward at the corner and became more of a smirk. “Please, show me how you handle it.”
It was a lame come-on, and they both knew it. That was Callan, though. Sweet and affectionate and flirty... and in the bedroom, he spoke absolute filth.
“Goofball,” I muttered. “Come here.”