Chapter 2: One Crack in the Door

AMELIA

I kicked the mansion door shut with my heel, arms full of glossy bags that probably cost more than most people’s rent. Lana and Claire had dragged me to every boutique on Madison, then to lunch where the mimosas flowed like tap water. My feet throbbed inside the new Louboutins, my calves ached from the cobblestones, and all I could think about was that deep marble tub, a mountain of bubbles, and absolute silence.

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. Ethan’s music wasn’t thumping through the walls for once. I let the bags slide to the floor in the foyer, slipped the heels off, and sighed at the cool marble against my soles.

Heaven.

I padded down the hallway in bare feet, robe-soft cashmere dress hugging my hips, already reaching for the tie at my waist. Bath. Wine. Phone on silent. Perfect plan.

Then I heard it.

A woman’s voice, low and broken, floating through the sliver of open door at the end of the hall. Ethan’s room.

A breathy, desperate moan that turned into his name.

My stomach flipped.

I should have kept walking. Should have pretended I heard nothing and disappeared into my own wing like a good little stepmother. Instead my feet slowed, then stopped completely, right outside that three-inch gap of light.

Another moan, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable rhythmic knock of a headboard against the wall.

I knew I was going to look before I even moved. Some sick, magnetic pull dragged me forward until my eye pressed to the opening.

And then I forgot how to breathe.

Ethan was naked.

Completely, gloriously naked, skin golden in the afternoon sun that poured through his windows. He had a girl on her hands and knees on the bed, some pretty blonde I vaguely recognized from his I*******m stories. Her back was arched, face pressed into the sheets, fingers clawing at the linen while he drove into her from behind with slow, punishing strokes.

I couldn’t see everything, but I saw enough.

His shoulders were broader than I’d ever let myself notice, every muscle shifting under smooth skin as he moved. One hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks, the other tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to make her cry out. The line of his back tapered into an ass that flexed with every thrust, powerful and controlled.

And God, the way he moved.

Not the frantic, sloppy rhythm I remembered from boys my own age once upon a time. This was deliberate. Deep. He pulled almost all the way out, paused just long enough for her to whimper, then slammed back in until her whole body jolted forward and she screamed into the mattress.

“Yes, Ethan, please, don’t stop,”

I shouldn’t have been able to hear her so clearly, but the door was open just enough and the sound carried straight into my bloodstream.

My mouth went dry.

I watched, frozen, as he let go of her hair and slid both hands down to her waist, lifting her hips higher, changing the angle. The girl’s moan turned into a broken sob of pleasure. His head fell back for a second, throat exposed, lips parted, and I saw the moment he let himself feel it, eyes closed, jaw clenched like he was holding back a growl.

He was beautiful. Terrifyingly, impossibly beautiful.

And big. Jesus Christ, he was big. Thick and long and, from the way the girl was shaking, hitting every single spot she needed.

I pressed my thighs together without thinking. The ache that had been simmering since yesterday flared into something hot and urgent.

He leaned forward then, chest to her back, one arm banding under her breasts to pull her up so her back bowed against him. His mouth found her ear and whatever he whispered made her nod frantically, made her push back against him harder.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

His hand slid down her stomach, disappeared between her legs, and the second he touched her there she shattered, mouth open in a silent scream, body trembling so hard the bed shook.

Ethan didn’t stop. He rode her through it, hips snapping faster now, chasing his own release. His face twisted, almost angry in its intensity, and when he came he buried himself deep, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, a low, guttural sound ripping out of him that I felt in my bones.

I stumbled backward, hand over my mouth to keep from making a noise.

My legs carried me blindly down the hall, into the master suite, and I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it like I’d just outrun something deadly.

The silence in my own room was deafening.

I couldn’t unsee it.

Couldn’t unhear the way she’d begged, the way he’d taken.

My nipples were so hard they hurt against the lace of my bra. I looked down and realized my hand had already slipped inside the neckline of my dress, fingers circling one tight peak without permission.

I closed my eyes and Ethan’s body flashed behind my eyelids, sweat-slick, powerful, relentless.

A small, desperate sound escaped me.

I let the dress fall off my shoulders, pooled at my feet, and stood there in just La Perla lace the color of champagne. My reflection in the mirrored closet stared back: flushed cheeks, wild eyes, chest rising too fast.

I told myself I was just going to take the edge off. Just once. Then I’d get in the bath and wash the whole day away.

My fingers slid beneath the waistband of my panties before I reached the bathroom.

I was soaked.

Embarrassingly, achingly wet.

I leaned back against the door again, legs shaking, and let my head rest against the wood as I touched myself for the first time in months without faking a single thing.

I pictured his hand instead of mine. Those long fingers that knew exactly where to press. Pictured that thick length pushing into me the way it had pushed into her, slow and deep and owning.

My breath hitched.

I imagined him behind me right now, catching me like this, calling me filthy names in that low voice while he bent me over the vanity and,

I came so hard my knees buckled.

The orgasm rolled through me in waves, longer and stronger than anything Victor had given me in years. I bit my lip until I tasted blood to keep from crying out Ethan’s name.

When it finally faded, I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, panties around my thighs, shaking.

The bath could wait.

Because somewhere down the hall, Ethan was probably still inside that girl, or already hard again, and I was here on the marble like a teenager who’d just discovered p**n.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and laughed, one short, ragged sound.

Thirty days left.

I was in so much trouble.