The Dare Collection: May 2018. Clare Connelly
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body, and then I wait.
Seconds.
Just seconds.
But long enough for my heart to flutter and my stomach to twist and my brow to sweat and my mouth to dry out.
I wait, and I stare, and finally he pushes the door inwards.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. For him to step inside, shut the door, and look around?
He doesn’t. He opens the door and looks right at me. As though he knew exactly where I’d be, exactly how I’d be standing, waiting. Our eyes lock and time ceases to exist. There is a void. A black hole with just us at its cosmic heart.
Who moves first? I can’t say. I know only that we are both moving, and we are both urgent, our arms wrapping around one another, our mouths seeking, our bodies melding. His shirt is wet with perspiration. I wrap my arms around him and seek his mouth. I kiss him and he kisses me, pushing me through the room while his hands roam my back.
I grip his shirt, lifting it, finding his beautiful flesh, his chest, and I drop kisses along the ridge of his neck, down to his pecs. I taste his salty perfection and he laughs, lifting his hands to my wrists and holding me still, holding me back.
My eyes fly to his; hunger must be visible in them. It is almost burning me alive.
‘Not like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘I need to shower. I’m all sweaty.’
I laugh. ‘I don’t care.’ I push his pants down, finding his ass and cupping it in the palms of my hands.
He swears, fisting my hair and pressing his forehead to mine. His eyes are shut, his face scrunched up.
‘Fuck, Alicia.’
‘Shower later.’
I tilt my head, chasing his lips with mine, kissing him, inviting him. Begging him. I drag my mouth lower, nipping his shoulder with my teeth, laughing when he growls in reply.
‘Fuck me now.’
I bite him again and he makes a guttural noise.
He acquiesces, stepping backwards, pulling me with him, so that we are kissing, walking in a tangle of limbs and lust and discarded clothes towards the bedroom.
‘This is nice,’ he grunts, pushing my negligee down, sliding it over my body quickly, desperately. The silk slides across my skin like liquid as it reaches my hips and then falls to the floor. I step out of it at the same time as he pulls me to the bed.
He is on top of me and I don’t question it. I don’t question the fact that he is making love to me and I am not in control. I don’t question the fact that I’m staring up at him, my heart thumping, my body alive with needs that only he can address.
He remembers protection—thank God. It’s nowhere near my mind. He slides it down his cock and then his hands are on my inner thighs, separating my legs, his eyes hooked to mine as he pushes into me.
The ownership is immediate and intense.
He is just Ethan. My Ethan. And he is fucking fantastic.
But tonight he is also Ethan Ash, superstar rock god, and I am his.
I press my fingers into his hips and he rolls low, reaching deep inside me. His fingers run over my bare chest, finding my breasts, holding them, cupping them, and his fingers flick my nipples. I cry out; he smiles.
He drops his mouth, taking one with his tongue, kissing it, rolling it, teasing it. I am panting with pleasure just beyond my reach. He thrusts hard at the same time as his mouth clamps down on my nipple and I am done. I cry out as I begin to fall apart and yet he doesn’t stop. Even as my body explodes at its zenith of ecstasy he is driving me to new heights of awareness and need, to new pleasures and sensations.
I dig my heels into the bed and push up, keeping us close, connected, making sure he stays right where I need him. But Ethan is the master of my body. He knows without being told. He is still when I need him to be, knowing that I’m at my limit, and he watches me.
I watch him back.
He does not need to ask me to look into his eyes this time. I cannot look away. I don’t want to. I am helpless, though. In the depths of his eyes there is something that calls to me, and I answer it without even knowing what it is.
I answer it with all of me. Every single piece of me is like a puzzle and it slides into place.
He thrusts again and I moan, riding the wave he is creating, being pulled under by it. His hands lift higher, finding my hair, and he runs his fingers through its length, worshipping it as his body owns mine.
He moves faster and brings his mouth to mine, kissing me hard, pushing my head as his hands thread through my hair and his body controls mine. I cry out into his mouth as my orgasm explodes and he answers with his own throaty oath, pushing himself into me and tipping us both over the edge. His body shakes on top of mine and I brace him with my legs, wrapping them around his waist, kissing him even as we are both disintegrating.
My heart.
My heart is all I am aware of.
It is thumping heavily, hard and fast, demanding I listen to it. I am, but I don’t know what it is saying.
I know only that I have never, ever, in all my life, known the pleasure that Ethan Ash can create.
It is wrapping around me, tighter than rope, holding me prisoner, making me ache and fly all at the same time.
He shifts a little. Our eyes lock. I smile.
All of me smiles.
From the inside out.
‘Hi.’
‘Hey.’ It’s a gravelled admission.
‘How was your concert?’
His eyes roam my face with a lazy interest that turns me on in different ways. His confidence is a thing of beauty, because it is natural and so different from egotism. I have learned the difference—before Jeremy I thought they were one and the same thing.
‘Good.’
‘You’ve taken over the Twitterverse.’
He arches a thick, dark brow. ‘Yeah?’
‘Uh-huh. You’re a top-trending hashtag.’
His face flashes with something I don’t recognise. ‘That’s normal.’
I laugh. ‘For you, maybe.’
‘For anyone performing at the Garden.’
His finger finds my breast and he traces a circle around my nipple, making my breath husky. I watch him watch me and my hunger intensifies. My need for him is unending.
‘Tell me something...’ I murmur.
‘Something.’
His grin flips my stomach.
My smile is just a whisper on my lips. He swaps his hand to my other breast and I breathe in sharply.
‘You were saying...?’ he prompts.
‘I forget.’
He laughs and removes his hand. I make a noise of complaint and reach for his wrist, dragging him back. I like it when he touches me. No, I love it. I love everything about being with him.
Wait. Where the hell did that come from?
I love fucking him. That’s it.
Goosebumps run over my flesh.
I flip up onto my side but he keeps his hand where it is. For a moment. Then he drags it down my side, resting it on my hip. For a moment. Before yanking me closer, so our bodies are touching. I feel his hardness against me and my eyes flicker half-shut.