Page 28 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

“What I need,” I said, steady but softer, “is to know you’re safe.

” My chest tightened, the vulnerability sneaking into my tone despite my best efforts.

“And…I need your kiss. Right now, that’s what I need most.” I needed the reassurance, the comfort of his body.

The incident with the runner had shaken me more than I cared to let on.

The air between us stilled, thick with unspoken tension and something else—something electric. Ethan’s lips curved into the smallest smile, his coffee forgotten as he leaned just a fraction closer.

The air between us crackled with something undeniably charged. Ethan’s smile flickered, and his lips parted as though he had something to say, but I didn’t want words. I wanted him. Needed him.

Before he could utter a sound, I closed the gap between us, and my hand cupped the side of his jaw. His breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered shut just as my lips crashed into his.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was everything I’d been holding back. Desperation. Desire. The need to reassure myself—and him—that he was safe. His lips were soft but responsive and yielded to the pressure of mine, just as hungry, just as determined.

Ethan’s hand came up to clutch the front of my sweatshirt. He pulled me closer and anchored me like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I shifted, and my free hand slid to his waist. My fingers gripped the fabric of his sweater to bring us closer. I deepened the kiss and felt his sigh against my lips, warm and fulfilling.

When we finally broke apart, it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because breathing had become nonnegotiable. Our foreheads rested together, and my thumb brushed absently over the trim beard along his jawline as I tried to steady my pulse.

“I needed that,” I murmured, low and rough, my lips still close enough to graze his as I spoke. “But I need…” My cock thickened, demanding the comfort of physical intimacy.

“What do you need?” he whispered. “I’ll give it to you.”

“I need to touch you.” I ran my hand down his neck to his broad shoulder. “All over. Skin to skin.” I needed to ground myself in him and reassure myself of his safety, though I wouldn’t admit to that aloud.

He seemed to understand my unspoken words. He whipped his sweater over his head, followed by his T-shirt, and revealed a defined chest lightly dusted with auburn hair.

I’d seen plenty of bare chests before—in locker rooms, at the beach—but none had affected me like this. My body reacted as if struck by lightning, and I couldn’t shuck my sweatshirt fast enough.

Ethan chuckled at my eagerness. We unbuckled, unzipped, and tossed our jeans and socks aside in a flurry of movement until we were naked, thigh to thigh—his light, fine hair against my dark, coarser hair. My heart thundered in my chest at the simple touch, yet we were only getting started.

“Trust me?” he asked, his voice husky. “I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.”

My dick hardened even further at just the words. At the simple promise of pleasure. “Of course. Anything you want to do.”

He twisted, swung a leg over my thighs, and straddled my lap. Our cocks and balls aligned, and the feel of his warm length against mine sizzled. A shiver shot through me.

He leaned forward and kissed me, long and deep, ratcheting up my anticipation. When he finally broke away, I was panting and ready to beg for release.

He didn’t make me wait. He took both of our erections in hand, swiped our pre-cum for lubrication, and pumped, twisted, and paid extra attention to the heads.

The pressure of my orgasm built, and I couldn’t help thrusting into his hand.

Crying his name, I came in long spurts. With a grunt, he followed soon after.

I collapsed into the sofa cushions, completely spent. “That was…that was definitely reassurance that you’re alive.”

He chuckled. “Thought that would do the trick.” He carefully climbed off my lap. “Wait here.” He sauntered out of the room with a light step and returned a short time later with a warm, wet washcloth.

I took it from him, cleaned my stomach, and tossed the cloth onto the floor.

I’d throw it into the laundry later. At the moment, Ethan needed a kiss.

I stood, took him into my arms, and crashed my mouth to his.

Naked body to naked body. Stubble to beard.

Hairy chest to hairy chest. The foreign sensations were arousing and comforting at the same time.

He shivered, and goosebumps rose on his arms, the flush of the heat we’d created cooling. The house was chilly—I hadn’t thought to fire up the heat while I cleaned.

“Let’s get you dressed and warmed up,” I said softly, reluctant to let the moment end. My fingers lingered on his skin for a beat longer than necessary before I forced myself to pull away and hand him his clothes.

He took them without a word, his expression unreadable in the dim light. We dressed in tandem, the previous intimacy replaced with companionship. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head, the fabric almost like armor after the vulnerability we’d just shared.

“Want to stay for dinner?” The words slipped out before I could second-guess them, my voice tinged with hope that he’d say yes, and we could extend this fragile thread of connection a little longer.

He sighed, and the corners of his mouth tugged downward. “Rain check? I’d better get back to work.”

Disappointment hit me like a sudden wave, sharp and cold. I nodded and tried to mask the sting. “I get it.” I forced a small smile. His job wasn’t a neat nine-to-five, no matter how much I might wish our schedules meshed. “I’ll walk you home.”

He opened his mouth, the beginnings of an argument forming in his eyes, but I shook my head and cut him off before he could start. “No argument.” Sarge couldn’t prevent me from protecting a neighbor.

A twitch of his lips broke through his frown, and he nodded in surrender. “Okay.”

He slipped into his jacket and tied his sneakers with quick movements. I grabbed my keys, gestured toward the door, and held it open as we stepped into the brisk late afternoon air.

Our footsteps fell into rhythm as we walked the short distance to his house. Neither of us spoke, but the silence felt amicable, the kind that didn’t need filling.

That comfort shattered the moment we reached his porch.

I saw it first—a paper flapping in the breeze, just a corner of it caught beneath the edge of the doormat.

I froze. “Hold up.”

Ethan followed my gaze, the last trace of relaxation draining from his face. We both crouched.

It was a single sheet of printer paper, the kind you'd barely glance at if it weren’t for the bold black letters across the top:

Author Ethan Quinn Dead At 38

My pulse thudded in my ears. The rest of the page was filled with the details of a fake obituary—his untimely passing , the loss to the literary world , and a funeral date for the following week. It was sick. Calculated. Meant to terrify him.

And judging by the way Ethan’s breath hitched, it worked.

“Inside,” I ordered. “Now.”

“Garrett—”

“I’ll handle this,” I said firmly. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He nodded, eyes wide but trusting, and stepped inside without another word.

I’d take it to Ballard, do everything by the book. But the bitter truth lodged itself deep in my chest as I straightened up.

Ballard wasn’t going to do a damn thing.

So, I would continue to protect Ethan.