as Ava bent to retrieve her
bra, the heavy sting of tears assaulted. She froze, horrified by
why her emotions ratted her out like this, but achingly clear about
their reasoning, too. She’d had a glimpse of Heaven, and it had
been good. Really good. Everything, everything , she’d ever longed to
share with a truly dominant man. This one was so good at the helm,
he’d commanded her into an orgasm damn near with his words
alone.
But it was done now. The
sole bite of Ethan Archer decadence had passed her lips. She had to
put the fork down and be thankful for what she had enjoyed. If you indulge any more, you’ll be puking by tomorrow
morning.
It might be too late for the nausea,
anyway. She let out a sniff as the conclusion pummeled her full
force.
“Ava.”
His orgasm hadn’t erased an
inch of his Dom streak, reinforcing both his voice and touch as he
cupped her shoulders from behind. Shit. Didn’t he understand that
only made this worse? Couldn’t he get the message that she couldn’t
do this stuff? The hardcore “lifestylers” even had a name for it,
didn’t they? “Aftercare.” Right. Not happening. If it did, he’d
aftercare her into a gigantic ball of needing him again. Yearning
for him. Wanting him like a gooey, fresh honeycomb, complete with
all the little buzzing buggers who’d created it, without an epi pen
to be had for miles. It would kill her.
“Ava .”
And yet she allowed him to curl her
back against his chest, engulfing her in his hard, wonderful
warmth.
Ohhhh, no.
She lost the battle against breathing
him in. Her senses filled with his scent, a mix of leather and
sex…and her. His deep breath conveyed it wasn’t just her smell he’d
taken in. His embrace alone, capped by him tangling one hand in her
hair, told her that he considered this just the
beginning.
The
beginning . She laughed at the words through
her tears. The beginning of what? Of giving her heart to this
knight in camouflage, letting him ride off into battle with her
favors tied to his “lance” of an M4, only to wait for the day when
there was a knock on the door and the notifications officer stood
there with the stare that meant only one thing? Or maybe it was the
phone that rang and it was camo knight himself, calling drunk from
Vegas to tell her he’d found the “soul mate” she’d never been and
had just decided to marry the woman?
Those were just the scenarios life had
punched her with firsthand. There were thousands more. So many more
ways to define how she could make the mistake of falling for a
too-good-to-be-true military man again.
She pushed from him again. Wrapped her
arms around herself. “What?”
Lovely. She’d traded
one-liners with TV stars, rock idols, and even Prince Harry during
his set visit, and the best she could do was a tearful what ?
Ethan clearly agreed. His eyes
darkened to the color of midnight. “‘What?’ Is that really where
you’re taking this now?”
He spread his arms, making
a damn good case why Michelangelo got it wrong with the original
model for David .
Ava forced herself to look away from his naked beauty, now matched
in intensity by his frustration.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped.
“It’s…PMS, okay?” Good
save . That one always worked. Guys pretty
much started for the exits once that three-letter card got played.
“I’ll be fine in a few—”
“Bullshit.”
She lifted a glare. “Excuse
me?”
“You know what I said. But just so
we’re clear, I call bullshit.” He shifted closer by a steady,
noiseless, step. Another. He didn’t try to hold her again, though
the proximity of his body, with the bottom of his rib cage hitting
her elbows, had her again feeling swallowed by the force of his
focus and the power in his stance.
She wetted her lips in lieu of backing
up. “Ethan, I don’t think now is the right time—”
“Now is the perfect time. I’ve waited
seven damn months for now.” He took her bra from her, tossing it
onto the tasting counter
bra, the heavy sting of tears assaulted. She froze, horrified by
why her emotions ratted her out like this, but achingly clear about
their reasoning, too. She’d had a glimpse of Heaven, and it had
been good. Really good. Everything, everything , she’d ever longed to
share with a truly dominant man. This one was so good at the helm,
he’d commanded her into an orgasm damn near with his words
alone.
But it was done now. The
sole bite of Ethan Archer decadence had passed her lips. She had to
put the fork down and be thankful for what she had enjoyed. If you indulge any more, you’ll be puking by tomorrow
morning.
It might be too late for the nausea,
anyway. She let out a sniff as the conclusion pummeled her full
force.
“Ava.”
His orgasm hadn’t erased an
inch of his Dom streak, reinforcing both his voice and touch as he
cupped her shoulders from behind. Shit. Didn’t he understand that
only made this worse? Couldn’t he get the message that she couldn’t
do this stuff? The hardcore “lifestylers” even had a name for it,
didn’t they? “Aftercare.” Right. Not happening. If it did, he’d
aftercare her into a gigantic ball of needing him again. Yearning
for him. Wanting him like a gooey, fresh honeycomb, complete with
all the little buzzing buggers who’d created it, without an epi pen
to be had for miles. It would kill her.
“Ava .”
And yet she allowed him to curl her
back against his chest, engulfing her in his hard, wonderful
warmth.
Ohhhh, no.
She lost the battle against breathing
him in. Her senses filled with his scent, a mix of leather and
sex…and her. His deep breath conveyed it wasn’t just her smell he’d
taken in. His embrace alone, capped by him tangling one hand in her
hair, told her that he considered this just the
beginning.
The
beginning . She laughed at the words through
her tears. The beginning of what? Of giving her heart to this
knight in camouflage, letting him ride off into battle with her
favors tied to his “lance” of an M4, only to wait for the day when
there was a knock on the door and the notifications officer stood
there with the stare that meant only one thing? Or maybe it was the
phone that rang and it was camo knight himself, calling drunk from
Vegas to tell her he’d found the “soul mate” she’d never been and
had just decided to marry the woman?
Those were just the scenarios life had
punched her with firsthand. There were thousands more. So many more
ways to define how she could make the mistake of falling for a
too-good-to-be-true military man again.
She pushed from him again. Wrapped her
arms around herself. “What?”
Lovely. She’d traded
one-liners with TV stars, rock idols, and even Prince Harry during
his set visit, and the best she could do was a tearful what ?
Ethan clearly agreed. His eyes
darkened to the color of midnight. “‘What?’ Is that really where
you’re taking this now?”
He spread his arms, making
a damn good case why Michelangelo got it wrong with the original
model for David .
Ava forced herself to look away from his naked beauty, now matched
in intensity by his frustration.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped.
“It’s…PMS, okay?” Good
save . That one always worked. Guys pretty
much started for the exits once that three-letter card got played.
“I’ll be fine in a few—”
“Bullshit.”
She lifted a glare. “Excuse
me?”
“You know what I said. But just so
we’re clear, I call bullshit.” He shifted closer by a steady,
noiseless, step. Another. He didn’t try to hold her again, though
the proximity of his body, with the bottom of his rib cage hitting
her elbows, had her again feeling swallowed by the force of his
focus and the power in his stance.
She wetted her lips in lieu of backing
up. “Ethan, I don’t think now is the right time—”
“Now is the perfect time. I’ve waited
seven damn months for now.” He took her bra from her, tossing it
onto the tasting counter
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