When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 47

Amelia

An unbearable heat consumed me from within as Ethan carried me to his bed. My skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers igniting trails of fire. The rational part of my brain screamed to push him away, but my body was no longer mine to command. The drug flooding my system had stripped away my inhibitions, leaving only raw, primal need.

The memory of his kiss haunted me—the taste of expensive whiskey, his demanding lips against mine, the strength in his grip. Just yesterday, I'd been furious at his high-handedness. Now? Now I was desperate for more.

"Ethan..." I heard myself whimper, my voice thick with need, barely recognizing the sound as my own. My fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I tried to pull him closer.

His hands moved over me with maddening restraint, each touch deliberate and careful. When his fingers traced the curve of my neck down to my collarbone, my entire body shuddered in response. Every nerve ending sparked with electricity, making me arch toward him instinctively.

"I want... I need you," I begged, tears of frustration welling in my eyes as he continued his torturously slow exploration. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling almost painfully as I tried to communicate the urgency I felt.

He was too controlled, too measured in his actions. His mouth followed where his fingers had been, lingering at spots that made me gasp and writhe beneath him. Each caress was tempered with patience, so different from his usual demanding manner. This Ethan was careful, methodical, as though handling something precious.

When he finally positioned himself above me, the initial pain was sharp and sudden. I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, tears spilling despite my efforts. The sting quickly transformed into something deeper—a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. I was lost, completely adrift in sensations I couldn't control.

"Only you," I heard myself say between ragged breaths. "I only want you, Ethan."

Words poured from me, filter completely gone—desperate pleas and demands that would mortify me in any other circumstance. I clung to him like he was my lifeline in a storm, my body moving instinctively with his. Everything else disappeared—the world narrowed to just us, just this moment, just these overwhelming sensations crashing through me in waves.

---

I pushed the bathroom door open the next morning, still groggy and disoriented. The sound of running water registered too late as my eyes landed on Ethan's naked back, water cascading down toned muscles as he stood before the sink.

Memories hit me like a physical blow—his hands on my body, my legs wrapped around him, the things I'd begged him to do. The heat of embarrassment rushed to my face.

"Ah!" I shrieked, spinning around so fast I nearly fell.

"Good morning to you too," came his amused voice behind me. The water shut off. "Sleep well?"

I bolted back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Heart hammering against my ribs, I leaned against the wall, trying to process what had happened. The unfamiliar soreness in my muscles and the tenderness between my thighs confirmed what my foggy memory was piecing together.

Wrapping myself in a plush bathrobe I found hanging nearby, I paced the room, waiting for him to finish. When he finally emerged with a towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his chest, I summoned what dignity I could.

"Why am I here?" I demanded, voice higher than I intended.

He leaned against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, amusement dancing in his eyes. "This is my room, Amelia."

My stomach dropped. "Your room?"

"Yes, my room," he repeated, that infuriating smirk growing. "Where you spent the night. In my bed. With me."

I glanced down, noticing for the first time the scattered red marks across my chest visible above the robe's neckline. My hand flew to my neck, finding tender spots there too.

"You... we..." I gestured helplessly toward the rumpled sheets, unable to form a complete sentence.

Ethan turned, showing me the scratches down his back, small crescent marks from fingernails—my fingernails—on his shoulders.

"Last night you were much more passionate," he said, voice dropping to that low register that somehow still sent shivers through me. "Especially when you kept saying you only wanted me."

Memories crashed over me in vivid detail: my hands pulling him closer, demanding more, his name falling from my lips repeatedly like a desperate prayer.

"Stop it!" I raised my hands as if to physically block his words. "Not another word!"

"You don't remember how you begged?" he pressed, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I lunged forward, intending to cover his mouth, but he sidestepped easily. My foot caught in the hem of the robe, and I stumbled. We both lost balance, tumbling backward into the bathroom. My momentum carried us straight into the oversized bathtub, my body landing solidly on top of his.

For a breathless moment, we lay there, my chest pressed against his, our faces inches apart. His eyes darkened, and I felt his body responding beneath mine.

"Want a repeat of last night?" he murmured, hands settling on my hips.

I scrambled off him like I'd been burned, nearly slipping again in my haste to put distance between us. Clutching the robe closed at my throat, I backed away.

"My clothes," I managed to say. "Where are my clothes?"

"Mrs. Hopkins will bring fresh ones soon," he answered, rising from the tub with infuriating grace.

Suddenly, I remembered something important. "My coat from yesterday—did you see a sachet?"

His expression shifted, becoming more serious. "No, I didn't notice anything like that."

"I found it in my mother's room yesterday," I said quietly, disappointment washing over me. "It was hers."

Something in Ethan's face softened. "I'll have Mrs. Hopkins look for it," he offered, his tone gentler than before.

"Thank you," I nodded, still unable to meet his eyes. "And... about last night. We're never discussing it again. Ever."

A slow smile spread across his face. "That depends entirely on your future behavior, doesn't it?"

Before I could demand what he meant, he left, whistling softly to himself. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my emotions a tangled mess of embarrassment, confusion, and—though I hated to admit it—lingering desire.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Olivia. Thank god, someone sane to talk to. I grabbed it like a lifeline.

"Liv, I... I need you..." I started, voice trembling.

But instead of Olivia's sympathetic tone, a male voice answered, "Hello?"

Noah. Noah had answered Olivia's phone.

What the hell was going on?