Page 67 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession

I see a woman with flushed cheeks and innocent, wide, almost frightened eyes. She reminds me of…Siobhán. The girl I was a lifetime ago. Shaking off the memory, I push open the door.

Bonnie can do this.

I cross the darkened room to the opposite side of the bed and get in. If Ethan notices I’ve gotten into bed, he doesn’t say anything.

Immediately, I’m assailed by his scent. He smells like shampoo and musk and man. Is it me, or can I feel his warmth from way over there? My nostrils flare as I try to force more air and the enticing scent into my lungs.

My mind replays what the body lying less than two feet away looks like. His sculpted chest. The bulge in his briefs.What would that feel like against me? In me?

My skin warms, and a dull, pleasurable ache begins in between my legs. I clench my thighs instinctively, and it intensifies. I want to moan at the sensation. My nipples ache.

Why do I always have to react to Ethan’s nearness this way?I have sex all the time for the power trip. I’ve never lusted after what a man looks like or savored what he feels like.

And then, I hear his even breathing and occasional soft snoring.

The bastard is asleep.

I wake up cocooned in a delicious scent of spice and musk.

My head is pillowed on warm skin and hard muscle, and the same warmth is plastered around my back, curled around my waist, ending with a wide palm splayed on my lower belly. I stretch and feel bare feet under mine.

Awareness seeps into my foggy brain, and with it, panic.

Ethan Hawthorne is spooning the shit out of me. And is that..? I register the hardness pressing against my butt.

Jesus, he’s hard. I jerk away and instantly meet resistance against the hand over my lower belly. Which is currently dragging me right back to nestle my ass into that monster.

That move was deliberate. He’s awake!

“Ethan?” I keep my voice steady. My heart is beating wildly against my ribcage.

“Good morning, brat.” His breath tickles my ear, and his sleep-roughened voice makes me shiver.

How long has he been wrapped around me? I find I’m in the exact state of arousal I was when I fell asleep last night. Only, it’s worse because I can now feel dampness on the crotch of my shorts. Which would mean I’d been horny even before I woke up.

What exactly was I doing to get myself this wet?

Redfaced, I demand, “Let me go.”

His arm leaves me. I didn’t think he would do it instantly. He’s still pressed against me with his arousal digging into my ass though.

I should move. He’s not holding me down; if anything, I am the one whose head is pillowed on his folded arm.

I should move, I tell myself again. Only, I don’t want to.

Something awful occurs to me. It’s a huge bed, but I’m a bed hog. A literal climbing vine when I sleep. Twiggy had bruises to show for it when we huddled together at night. Which is why I never spend the night with men. Did I sprawl all over him and start this shit, or did he grab me?

“How long have you been awake?” I ask in a small voice.

“Do you mean who initiated this situation right here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really want to know?”

I shake my head. “No,” Then I say in a small voice. “Only because I think I might have done it.”

“Good girl.” He says simply. I think he’s praising me for admitting that. I like it.