Page 41 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Fiona

Ethan is clearly fighting a smug grin, looking as though he’s plotting all sorts of nefarious ways to fuck me. Which would

be hot if I wasn’t so nervous that I might throw up at any second.

Even so, I take the moment to soak him in. God, he feels good. Solid and warm.

I’m dying to stick my nose in the center of his chest and just breathe. The ever-thickening bulge growing in his sweats is

distracting and delicious. I’ve missed his gorgeous cock.

Without thinking, I press myself against it. He grunts, his hold on me tightening.

But I can’t do this when he’s touching me. Giving his meaty biceps a kiss, I step out of his embrace. Ethan frowns, but he

lets me go.

“All right,” he says, running a hand through his hair, sending strands flowing around his face. “Now you’re starting to freak

me out. What’s going on, Fi?”

I love that he doesn’t even ask why I’m here, just why I’m worried. I hold on to that fact as I trace a vein in the white marble countertop. “I quit my job.”

I love the way he can smile with just his eyes. And I love the tenderness I see in them now.

His big palm comes to rest near mine. “You did something you were afraid of but needed to do. I’m proud of you, Fiona.”

A shaky breath flows out of me. “Thanks. I’m proud of me too. It feels good. I’m going to start a furniture-making business,

selling my work through my friends’ store in New York. And then maybe do a little design consulting on my own.”

Ethan blinks, his stoic features never moving, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out why I’m freaked if I’m happy. Because

I am seriously about to freak out. A slow shake starts in my belly and radiates outward as I search for words.

He sees it and immediately steps closer, his warm, calloused hands rubbing over my upper arms. “Cherry...”

“I know everything is up in the air. I just quit. We haven’t been together long. But I just... I don’t know. Thing is,”

I babble on, “I thought I’d visit you for a while. I brought some things and maybe—”

“Stay,” he cuts in, his fingers gripping my arm as if he’s going to physically hold me here. And then that isn’t enough for

him because he sweeps me off my feet in that effortless way of his.

I give a little yelp of surprise and wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me into the living room in three long strides.

I’m on the couch in his lap the next moment.

His eyes are wide and brilliant as he strokes my cheeks. “Stay with me.”

“Well,” I say, squeezing the back of his neck, “that was the plan. I want you for more than a sad little weekend. A month

or so would be much better.”

His lush mouth tilts on a smile, but it doesn’t fully bloom. He stares into my eyes, his expression almost shy. “No. Not a month, Cherry.” The tip of his thumb touches my lower lip. I don’t miss the way he trembles too. “Live with me. Here. Make a life with me.”

His words strike us both mute. Ethan looks as if he can’t really believe he made the offer. Me? I can’t believe it either.

His thighs shift and harden beneath me, and I realize he’s holding his breath.

Maybe I am too, because I exhale on a long, ragged sigh. “You mean that?” I whisper.

His throat works on a swallow. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Ethan...” I can’t speak. My fingers thread through his hair, holding on. This is too much, and yet all I want to do is

sink into him, rest against his strength for a good, long while. Never leave his side. “We just started going out. We’ve only

been together a handful of times.”

All true and yet, even as I say it, I know I want this. I want to be with him.

“Doesn’t change the way I feel,” he says. “I’m miserable without you. I need you, Fi.”

A little sob bubbles up, and my voice breaks. “I need you too, Ethan.”

It feels like we’re saying something else. But it doesn’t matter because he’s kissing me, deep and searching, a little bit

frantic as if he’s trying to convince himself this is real.

And I’m kissing him back, every bit as desperate.

Ethan holds my head, angling his mouth so he can delve deeper, and, God, he tastes good—feels good.

Gently, he touches my cheek, his fingers tracing it. “How is it,” he whispers, “that I was just fine being alone until you

kissed me in that club?”

I swallow hard, my skin flushed with heat. A lump in my throat makes my voice thick. “I don’t know.” But it’s the same for

me. One beard dare, and I was lost.

His fingers run down the side of my throat, then up again. “You’ve ruined me, Fiona. I’m not sure I know how to live without you anymore.”

Before I can answer, he pulls off my shirt. My bra follows as he kisses his way along my neck. His fingers fumble with the

zipper of my skirt.

“Take off your shirt first,” I tell him, needing to see him too.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look away from me, just reaches back and hauls his shirt over his head. All those hard-earned

muscles shift and bunch beneath his smooth skin as he flings the shirt away.

Not one to go by half measures, he gently sets me aside and stands to push his sweats down, leaving him gloriously naked,

that thick, long cock of his straight and proud and hard, the silver piercings winking in the light.

While I stare, Ethan steps back to look at me, his brow lifted in expectation.

Waiting.

I rise to face him. The zipper makes a loud hiss as I lower it. I shift my hips, shimmying, and the fabric slithers along

my skin, my skirt falling at my feet.

For a long moment, he stares at me, his chest lifting and falling with each breath he takes, his cock quivering, as if impatient.

Then he sinks to his knees. I expect a kiss, his mouth exploring my body. But he doesn’t do any of that.

Ethan Dexter wraps his arms around my waist and presses his cheek between my breasts. He hugs me close and sighs with his

entire body. “I love you.”

My breath hitches with an audible sound, and he glances up, his hazel eyes solemn and intent. “I do. So fucking much. Every

hour of every day. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Relief and happiness are a liquid warmth running through me. My hands tunnel through his silky hair and hold him secure against

me. “I love you too, Ethan.”

A shudder racks his body, and he lets go of a long breath. His arms squeeze me tighter. When he speaks, it’s a broken rasp, as if he’s come to the end of a long journey. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go again.”

I can’t help but smile. “We’re really doing this? Living together?”

He smiles too, his beard tickling my skin. “Fuck yeah, we are.”

For the rest of the night, it’s just Ethan and me, every touch an affirmation of all that we’ve been missing, of all we’ll

have from this day on.

Living together? We got this. After all, what’s the worst that can happen?