Page 12 of King of the Weld (The Morrison Brothers #1)

"Not like this," Ethan tells me, though I can see the struggle in his eyes. "Not your first time, not on a workshop couch."

"Then take me to your bed," I whisper, my body trembling with need beneath his skilled fingers. "Because I don't want to stop. I want you to be my first."

His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. "Sophia—"

"I don't know what the future holds," I continue, reaching up to touch his face. "If something happens… If my father finds a way to force me back, if we're separated, I at least want this moment with you. I want something no one can ever take away from me."

Ethan's expression is torn, desire warring with restraint.

"I should say no," he murmurs. "But how can I? How can I deny you—deny us—this? To be one with you..." He shakes his head slightly. "I thought I was gone, dead inside. But I've never felt more alive than I do right now."

Before I can respond, he scoops me into his arms, one hand gripping my ass as he carries me as if I weigh nothing. The cool air of the evening hits my exposed skin as we leave the workshop, making my nipples harden and a shiver run through me.

Ethan moves with purpose toward the cabin, his stride long and determined. Once inside, he kicks the door shut behind us and carries me straight to his bedroom. He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, given the hunger in his eyes.

Kneeling before me, he tugs my jeans down my legs, his hands rough against my skin in the most delicious way. He tosses the denim aside and begins placing kisses along my calves, my knees, slowly working his way up to my inner thighs.

His beard scraps lightly against my soft skin, his warm breath creating goosebumps in its wake. I arch my back and grab his hair, suddenly desperate for more.

"Take me," I plead, my voice unrecognizable with need. "I don't want to wait a single second more. I've waited my whole life for someone like you. Someone who sees me, who protects me. Now that you're here, I'm done wasting time."

Ethan smiles. A slow, dangerous curve of his lips that makes my pussy clench with anticipation. He pulls back, rising to his full height beside the bed. He flexes his broad shoulders and cracks his knuckles before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

I watch, mesmerized, as he strips. First the shirt, revealing a torso sculpted by hard work and military discipline: broad shoulders, firm pectorals dusted with dark hair, abs defined but not overly so.

Several scars mark his skin—a jagged line across his ribs, what looks like a bullet wound on his left shoulder, smaller marks that tell stories I long to hear.

The jeans follow, pushed down muscular thighs that speak of strength and power. The bulge straining against his black briefs makes my mouth go dry with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice gentle despite the intensity in his eyes.

"Yes," I whisper, suddenly shy under his gaze.

"Say it again," he commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. "Louder."

"Yes!" I respond, my voice stronger this time.

Ethan's smile widens. "I love that about you, that fierce fire that sometimes comes out. The same fire that helped you escape, that keeps you fighting."

Before I can respond, he hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his briefs and pushes them down. I actually gasp, nearly choking on my own saliva at the sight of him fully naked.

I've seen images of male anatomy before. Pictures in books, brief glimpses in films. But nothing like this. Ethan is perfect. Thick and long, proportioned just right. No oddities or imperfections, just pure masculine power, proudly erect and ready. For me. Only for me.

Slowly, I spread my legs wider, feeling how wet I am, how ready for him.

Ethan moves over me, his large body covering mine completely as he positions himself at my entrance.

The blunt pressure of him pushing inside makes me bite my lower lip, my head tilting back as I stare at the ceiling, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation.

"Relax," he murmurs, brushing hair from my face. "Breathe deeply. I'll go slowly. We have all the time in the world."

I hope so. God, I hope so. I want the world with this man.

Ethan moves with restraint, watching my face for any sign of pain, easing back whenever I tense. Then something changes, and suddenly there's only pleasure. Pure, overwhelming pleasure that makes me gasp.

Ethan doesn't stop, maintaining a steady rhythm that builds the tension coiling inside me.

Surprisingly vocal, he groans and grunts with each thrust, telling me how good I feel, how perfect I am.

His hands seem to be everywhere, cupping my breasts, gripping my thighs, sliding beneath me to lift my hips for a deeper angle.

I feel devoured, possessed in the most primal way by this giant of a man who has become my protector, my sanctuary.

I glance at his face as he moves above me.

His expression intense, focused, sweat beading on his forehead and running down his shoulders.

His jaw is clenched, veins standing out in his neck from the effort of maintaining control.

"Get on your hands and knees," he suddenly commands.

I blink up at him for a moment, then a playful smirk crosses my face as I obey, rolling over and attempting to position myself as I've seen in movies.

I push my ass up and try to arch my back, but I have no idea if I'm doing it right.

I must look ridiculous, and I feel a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck.

"Like this?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

The look on Ethan's face erases any doubt. His half-lidded eyes are fixed on my naked body with such hunger that my embarrassment transforms instantly into arousal.

"Fucking perfect," he growls, positioning himself behind me.

His large hands grip my hips firmly, almost bruisingly, and then he's slamming into me with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.

Gone is the gentle lover from moments ago, now replaced by a primal and untamed desire.

Each thrust is merciless, driving deep, making me cry out and clutch desperately at the sheets.

"Oh god, Ethan!" I gasp, my body jolting forward with each powerful thrust.

"Take it," he grunts, one hand sliding up my spine to press between my shoulder blades. "Take all of me."

Just when I think I might shatter from the intensity, he pulls out abruptly.

"Lie flat," he orders, and I comply instantly, stretching out on my belly.

The bed dips as he moves over me, his muscular body covering mine completely. I feel small beneath him, caged in by his arms as he positions himself.

"So deep," I moan, my face half-buried in the pillow as he buries himself to the hilt.

His weight presses me into the mattress, his chest against my back, his breath hot on my neck as he resumes his relentless pace.

"Ethan, I'm close," I warn him, gripping the sheets beside me, smiling at him between increasingly desperate moans.

What I say next is insane, reckless, driven purely by instinct and emotion: "Finish inside me," I beg. "Be the first, and hopefully the last, man to ever do it. I'd never forgive myself if I wasted this moment."

There's no hesitation in his response, no flicker of doubt or regret. His pace quickens, thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more insistent. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard thumping against the wall as if the world itself is coming apart at the seams.

Ethan leans forward, gripping the sheets on either side of my head, his muscles straining as he drives into me one final time. I feel the pulsing of his cock deep inside me, hot spurts of cum that trigger my own climax, sending me spiraling into ecstasy so intense I cry out his name.

After several moments of stillness, joined as completely as two people can be, Ethan pulls out and falls back against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion.

"God, look at you," he breathes, his eyes fixed between my legs. "So fucking gorgeous."

Feeling bold, empowered by his obvious appreciation, I spread my legs wider, letting him watch as his seed trickles out of me. The sight seems to entrance him, his eyes widening once more with renewed desire.

"You're gorgeous," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "And I was wrong to fear what might happen between us. There's no way I'm letting you go anywhere, Sophia. No matter who comes looking for you."

"What does that really mean?" I ask, needing to hear him say it explicitly.

"It means you're mine now," he states simply. "And as long as you want to stay, you're free to do so. Here. With me."

Joy bubbles up inside me, expanding until I feel I might burst with it.

"I'm staying forever," I declare, rising from the bed despite the pleasant ache between my legs, his essence still warm against my thigh as I throw myself into his arms.

Ethan catches me easily, kissing me with surprising tenderness given the passion we just shared. "We should shower," he suggests, his hands sliding down my back to cup my ass.

"Together," I agree with a smile. "Just to be sure I'm very safe."

"You're right," he replies, a teasing light in his eyes that I've never seen before. "You're not leaving my sight. Ever."

The shower becomes its own adventure. Ethan washing every inch of my body with reverent hands, teaching me how to touch him in return. We make love again under the spray of hot water, slower this time, more passionate, learning each other's bodies with growing confidence and joy.

The day after

Morning finds us tangled together in his bed, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me. The ringing of his phone disturbs our peaceful cocoon, and Ethan reaches for it with a grunt of annoyance.

"Michael," he says by way of greeting, his voice still rough with sleep.

I can't hear what his brother is saying on the other end, but I watch Ethan's expression grow serious, focused. He asks a few short questions, his body tensing slightly beneath mine.

"And they agreed to that?" he asks after a moment, sounding surprised. "Just like that?" Another pause. "No, I understand. Thank you, Michael. I mean it."

He ends the call and turns to me, his expression unreadable. Fear immediately floods my system. Has something gone wrong? Has my father found some new way to force my return?

"Whatever it is," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "we'll get through it together."

To my surprise, Ethan's face breaks into a rare, genuine smile.

"You don't need to live in fear anymore," he tells me, brushing hair from my face. "Everything's been taken care of."

I sit up, not caring that the sheet falls away, leaving me naked. "What do you mean?"

"Michael spoke with your family," Ethan explains. "Made sure they understood exactly what was at stake if they continued pursuing you. They've agreed to leave you alone." His smile widens slightly. "In exchange, they'll give you half your trust fund now. The rest they'll keep for themselves."

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from some deep well of relief inside me.

"I couldn't care less about the money," I tell him honestly. "But I'm free? Truly free to live my life?"

"Completely free," he confirms, “And a millionaire.”

I throw my arms around him, overwhelmed with emotion. Ethan's strong arms encircle me, holding me close against his chest.

"You're about to start a second life, Sophia Valentine," he murmurs into my hair.

"I couldn't be happier to have this chance with you," I whisper back, meaning every word.

"My brothers aren't going to believe this," he says, a playful note in his voice I've never heard before. "That I'm the first one to actually get a girl."

I pull back to look at him, my heart so full I can barely contain it. "I'm not just any girl," I correct him with mock seriousness. "I'm your girlfriend now."

"Girlfriend," he repeats, testing the word as if it's in a foreign language. "I love the sound of that."

His mouth finds mine, and as he presses me back against the pillows, I know with absolute certainty that this is just the beginning.

Whatever comes next—rebuilding my life, finding my purpose, facing the inevitable challenges—I won't be facing it alone.

I have Ethan. And that's more than enough.