Ethan Frost, the irresistible leading man from the New York Times bestsellers Ruined and Addicted, returns once again in Exposed—a novel that’s perfect for fans of J. Kenner and Sylvia Day.Will Ethan Frost go too far for the woman he loves?The moment Chloe Girard walked into my life, she exposed secrets and emotions I always thought were best kept buried.She wants to move on, to ignore the past. But I can’t do that. Not when she still suffers. And not when the man who hurt her remains unscathed. So when I discover the perfect opportunity to make him pay for what he did to Chloe, I can’t walk away, no matter the consequences.But there’s a fine line between justice and obsession. As I turn up old crimes and new lies, I know that I’m playing with fire—and risking the very foundations of our relationship.My love for Chloe is absolute. I just hope it’s enough to save us both.
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Ethan’s control shatters and in an instant he goes from a man indulging his woman’s need for control to a man intent on dominating. He takes control of the kiss; at the same time his hand slides between my thighs.
He teases me for long, torturous seconds, his fingers kneading my thigh muscles, skimming across my mons, and in the line where my leg connects to my torso. Touching me anywhere—everywhere—but the place I want him most. I arch my back, spread my thighs wider and still he teases. Still he takes his time. I’m whimpering, pleading with soft broken breaths, when he finally slides his thumb—slowly, slowly, slowly—along my labia.
I moan—I can’t help myself—then lift my hips to press myself more firmly into his touch. But he only laughs and stills my pelvis with his other hand. “Not yet, baby,” he murmurs against my hot cheek. “We’re just getting started.”
“Ethan!” I sound way too desperate for a woman who spent much of the last twenty-four hours being made love to. But he feels so good and after the discord of the last few weeks, I need him so much. I rock my hips against him, and the friction is almost enough to—
He pulls away with a deliberately provoking grin. “Feeling anxious, are you?”
He sounds cocky enough that I think about shrugging it off. About scooping up my clothes and getting dressed right now instead of letting him continue to tease and torment me. Except he chooses that moment to drop to his knees in front of me. As he does, he runs his tongue from my collarbone to my navel in a long, lingering sweep that makes me see stars.
“You taste so good,” he whispers against my stomach before trailing his tongue over my hip and then up my side to tickle and torment me in equal measure. “I had you just last night and still I want more.”
He kisses across my ribs, then licks his way along the belly chain he gave me weeks ago, his tongue dipping between the links every inch or so to tease.
“I always want more,” he continues as he cups my ass in his big hands, circles my navel with his tongue. “I always want you. I think about you all the time. When I’m working, when I’m driving, when I’m with you, when I’m not. When I’m sleeping. When I’m under you. Inside you. Above you.” He presses hot kisses to my skin as he kisses his way down my ribs to my hip.
The images he creates make my knees weak, send heat spiraling through me.
“I think about you when I’m in a conference call.” He licks up the center of my torso. “There might be twenty people on the line talking about the future of Frost Industries, and all I can think about are your breasts.”
He presses soft kisses to first one of my nipples and then the other.
“About the softness of your skin. About the color of your nipples—they’re so gorgeous I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about them.” He pulls one into his mouth, sucks hard enough that I feel it in my knees. And in my clit.
Then again, maybe that’s his voice. It’s deep and dark, magic and mayhem, and it’s making me want. Making me weak.
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to paranormal to erotic suspense.
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