The city outside was asleep, but inside Ethan's apartment, everything felt alive—too alive.
She hadn't meant for this to happen. One drink had turned into two, and somewhere between the laughter and the silence, she realized how close they were sitting on his couch. His shoulder brushed hers, and it didn't feel like comfort this time—it felt like temptation.
"You've been staring at me for ten minutes," Ethan said, his voice low, rough, almost amused.
She shook her head, though her lips curved. "You're imagining things."
"No." He turned fully now, eyes sharp and heavy, pinning her without a touch. "I've been waiting for this. You just finally caught up."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, but instead she whispered, "Ethan…" like his name itself was a confession.
He leaned in before she could stop him. His mouth claimed hers—firm, demanding, not asking for permission. The kiss was fire, and she burned willingly. Every protest, every hesitation melted as his hand slid to the back of her neck, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
She had kissed him before—innocent, playful, fleeting pecks that belonged to friends. This wasn't that. This was hunger.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against her lips.
She didn't. She pulled him closer.
That was all he needed.
The world blurred into heat. Clothes fell away in careless urgency, her body carried into the bedroom on his command. She'd never seen him like this—every movement controlled, every touch deliberate. He wasn't giving her space to think, only to feel. And God, she needed that.
Ethan's strength was undeniable—her wrists caught easily in one of his hands above her head, pinned as if she weighed nothing.
But his lips… his lips were devastatingly slow.
He kissed along her throat, pausing at her pulse before dragging lower. Each press of his mouth made her writhe beneath him, breathless, undone.
"Ethan…" His name spilled from her lips in a soft moan.
"Say it again," he demanded, his mouth hot against her skin.
She obeyed. His groan in response nearly unraveled her.
When she tried to twist away, overwhelmed, Ethan didn't let her. His grip only tightened, holding her steady."You don't get to run from this," he growled, a dark promise laced in every word.
He flipped her easily, pressing his lips to her back. The kisses began soft, coaxing, before growing hotter, deeper, branding her as his.
One of his hands slid down, curling around her thigh, pulling her open, guiding her where he wanted her. His control was absolute, but his touch—God, his touch—felt like worship.
When it was over, she was sprawled across his chest, their breaths ragged, her body trembling with aftershocks. His arm wrapped around her possessively, as though even in sleep he wouldn't let her go.
She traced the line of his jaw with shaking fingers. "We shouldn't have…"
"Yes," Ethan cut her off, his tone final, absolute. "We should have. And we will again."
Her heart stuttered.
This was no accident. No mistake. The line had been crossed, and there was no going back.
And in the dark, with his body still warm against hers, she realized she didn't want to.