Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

42. Marisa

CHAPTER 42

Marisa

MARK YOUR TERRITORY

L ife is bliss, or maybe it’s all the orgasms.

“Come back to bed,” Ethan whines.

“Can’t.” I spritz some perfume on my wrist and then dab it on my neck. “I’m interviewing Cole, and we agreed to meet at Sagebrush Diner at eight.”

“Fuck that guy.”

I have to stifle a laugh. Cole has been nothing but a gentleman since he found out about Ethan and me. In fact, he looks at us like he’s brimming with satisfaction, as if he orchestrated the whole thing. But Ethan still hasn’t moved on from watching him flirt with me at The Jackalope, and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be letting it go anytime soon.

I walk over to Ethan’s side of the bed. The sheets are resting low around his waist, his bare chest on full display. The temptation to stay in bed all day is strong. Like really, really strong.

After we got back from Coeur d’Alene, we didn’t come up for air for a while. I’m pretty sure our week of sex changed my entire gait. I’m still paranoid about it.

“My girlfriend is leaving me for another man.”

My heart still pinches when he calls me his girlfriend. It’s silly how happy one word can make me.

“You’re being very dramatic.”

I bend down to give him a kiss, but he surprises me by grabbing me around the waist and pulling me on top of him. I can’t even catch my breath, because in one swift move, the room tilts and he has me pinned against the bed, my dress gathered up at the waist.

“Ethan!”

He settles between my legs, making it very evident how hard he is under his boxer briefs. “I promise not to make you late,” he mumbles into my neck, sending confetti-like tingles down my back.

Goose, who was lying at the foot of the bed, lets out a groan and gets up to leave. He’s had it with our antics.

Whipping my attention back to Ethan, I meet his stare. “I’m cutting it close.” My words hold no conviction, since I’m already shamelessly rubbing against him.

He pushes my dress up even more and yanks my underwear to the side, hooking two fingers in my already drenched pussy.

“Always so ready for me.” His fingers work in a fast rhythm, going in and out at just the right angle that disconnects every synapse in my brain, leaving me completely thoughtless. “Hear that, baby? Your pussy just loves drenching my fingers in a slippery mess.”

The sounds of my arousal fill the room, tangling with my ragged breaths and guttural moans.

“You want my cock?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

He keeps bringing me to the brink of orgasm and then pulling out his fingers, leaving me writhing with need.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please, give me your cock.”

That’s all it takes for him to ram into me, filling me to the hilt. We both groan in relief at the connection.

“Every. Fucking. Time,” Ethan groans. “Your pussy is my sweetest vice.”

He pounds into me roughly, and I’m lost in the euphoria of being utterly possessed by Ethan. He’s so gentle with me in every other way, but when it comes to sex, he treats me the way I’ve always fantasized about but could never vocalize for fear of being looked at like I was something less. Ethan manages to fuck me like the slut I want to be in the bedroom, while still making me feel like a precious stone, something to be cared for outside of the bedroom. Right now, he’s filling me completely, almost painfully so. My wrists are pushing into the mattress as he holds them firmly down. I’m at his mercy, and the thought alone could give me an orgasm. He pulls nearly all the way out before slamming all the way in, my brain rattling inside my head.

“You like being fucked hard and rough, don’t you?”

My back begins arching off the bed, chasing the build as I moan incoherent sounds, words escaping me.

“That’s right, baby, squeeze my cock. Such a good girl with a needy pussy.”

A familiar tightening blooms inside of me, spreading a welcomed heat. I’m steps from the free fall.

“I’m close,” he says hoarsely, giving my pussy a light slap and then rubbing my clit. He continues this pattern while simultaneously fucking me relentlessly, and soon I’m right there with him, falling over the edge. My head whips back, my vision edging out into a bright light, and my body convulsing as the orgasm rings out of me, twisting and turning until the wave evens out.

We stay intertwined, our chests rising and falling together. When I start to wiggle out from under him, he puts his arm out to stop me.

“I really do have to go.” I giggle, trying to move past him.

“No cleaning up.”

“What?” I’m confused by his devious grin.

He moves his hand to cup me, using his fingers to shove back in his cum that’s now leaking out of me. “If you’re going to have breakfast with Cole fucking Benton, then you’re going to do it with my cum dripping down your thighs, covered in my smell.”

I’m sorry, what in the fuck did he just say? “How v ery mark your territory of you. Want to pee on me, too, while you’re at it?”

I like his domineering side, in the right moment, but this? Absolutely not. It’s a little too caveman for me. A trickle of doubt starts to manifest like a red flag waving at me for attention.

“Peeing isn’t one of my kinks. Not judging anyone who’s into it, though.” He shrugs, a smile still playing on his lips as if he’s not acting like a territorial asshole.

“This isn’t funny.”

My tone must be enough to clue him in, because that smile falls real quick.

“You know, at some point, you’re going to have to trust me. Do you not trust me to go have a work breakfast? Because Cole knows we’re together.”

“Of course I trust you.” His voice is pitched, high, defensive.

I get up, shoving his arm out of my way. “Yeah, sure feels like it.”

“Marisa—”

“Don’t. I’m already late. We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

Cum is pooling in my panties, so wet it feels like I’m sitting in my own pee, making it extremely difficult to keep a straight face while Cole goes on and on about his organic practices. In all my anger at Ethan’s ridiculous demand, I did, in fact, not clean up, just like he wanted.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” Cole asks.

I missed whatever he was talking about. “I’m sorry. My coffee still hasn’t kicked in. What was it you were saying?”

He smiles easily, completely unaffected. “I was saying that it’s our responsibility as the next generation to move forward with more sustainable methods.”

“Yep, I agree. That’s very commendable of you.”

He takes a bite of toast, assessing me with curiosity.

“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

“You seem distracted. Is everything okay? We can do this another time.”

“I really am so sorry. This is very unprofessional of me. I’m tired, long night,” I lie.

“Want to talk about it?” He leans forward, looking at me expectantly.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I give him my best customer service smile, hoping he’ll drop it. “Everything is fine.”

“Ahh, I get it.” He takes another bite of toast, nodding to himself.

“What do you get?” My skin prickles with unease. He’s too observant and I don’t like it. He’s the one being interviewed, not me. Not to mention he refused to meet me at Benton Winery or the Herald . I love a good diner, but it blurs the lines of professionalism to conduct an interview over a meal.

He sets down the toast and smacks his hands together, dusting off the crumbs. “Trouble in paradise already. What did he do?”

My breath stills. Something I won’t be doing is talking about my relationship with Cole. What’s between me and Ethan, stays between me and Ethan. “I’m interviewing you, not the other way around.”

“Let me guess.” He pauses, looking up at the old-fashioned diner lamp dangling above our table like he’s deep in thought. “He’s probably pissed you’re here with me. Isn’t he?”

“Cole, come on. Let’s get back to the interview.”

He blows out a whistle. “I know I’m right.” Settling deeper into the booth bench, he crosses his arms. “There’s always been some rivalry between me and Ethan. How could there not be? Same age, same year in school, played the same sports, same pool of girls. And now as adults, we compete with our businesses. We get each other, and he’d probably disagree, but we think alike, too.”

“What’s your point?” I ask despite myself.

He shrugs. “At the end of the day, I still consider him a friend, even if he’s been looking at me lately like he wants to kick my ass. He’ll get over it. You’re nothing like Laura, and if he hasn’t figured that out yet, he will. He’s just scared.”

“Thank you for your unwarranted advice. Ethan and I are fine.”

He stands, gathering his coat. “I’m going to head out. Email me the questions and we can finish that way.”

“But—”

“No, really, let’s do it that way. Besides, I’m trying to get over to Novel before Ariana runs out of chocolate croissants.”

He leaves me stewing in my thoughts, making me question if I was too quick to snap at Ethan. Honestly, I think my feelings are warranted. Still, I probably should’ve stayed to talk about it, not run off at the first sign of a fight. I can’t help it. I hate fighting, but more than that, I hate dealing with it. I’m a sweep things under the rug kind of girl, and that has to change. Things with Ethan feel different than my past relationships. He feels like more. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, and I don’t want to mess us up, especially when a dark cloud the size of Seattle is hanging over us.