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CHAPTER EIGHT - ONE ROSE AMARA'S POV Zeth stays with them as a guard, which reminds me to ask Uncle River to send a few more to Maria's side. He always wanted to put guards on her, but I respected her wishes of wanting to live an everyday life. As the car moves, I stare at Ethan, who's passed out beside me. His head is slung back on the leather seat, and his lips are slightly parted. The first two buttons of his shirt are open, revealing his taut skin and lean, muscular build. Was he always this attractive, or am I just too drunk on him as he is on wine? I'm mad at him, but I can't resist it as I reach out a tentative hand and palm his cheek. My touch is soft and experimental. I've never actually touched him to my heart's content before. It's always felt as if he's the one who does that, and I needn't do anything. His head tilts until it falls on my shoulder. I suck in a deep breath, but all I manage to inhale into my lungs is his masculine scent mixed with the wine. He wraps an arm around my waist, and tingles erupt under my skin. I slowly close my eyes, taking in the sensation. Why does it feel so good to be in his hold? It's not even about sex. I just love being in his arms like this. 'StRoseght home, miss?" Eya asks from the driver's seat. 'Yeah," I say without opening my eyes. "Since you couldn't do what you planned for the afternoon, should I clear your schedule for tomorrow?" 'No, not yet." I must fall asleep because Eya will call my name the next time I open my eyes. Ethan untangles himself from around me, and I ignore the loss. I expected that Eya would have to help me carry him upstairs, but he staggers on his own. 'Get some rest," I tell her and follow him. I try to hold his arm to keep him standing, but he pulls it from mine. That's the second time he's done that tonight, and I can't control the lash of my tongue. 'I'm just trying to help you." 'I don't need your help," he slurs. 'Well, excuse me for trying." I stomp ahead of him toward the room and throw my bag on the bed as soon as I'm inside. My blood is boiling as I remain standing in front of the mattress. I only move once I hear the door click behind me. His quiet voice fills the room soon after. 'Is having a child with me such a tragedy?" The air ripples with a fatal type of tension, one that suffocates and throttles and confiscates not only mood but also common sense. Although a significant distance separates me from Ethan, he's wrapping his fingers around my throat and backing me against the wall. Is having a child with me such a tragedy? Why did he say those words with that dead tone? Why does he feel close and far away at the same time? I'm still not over the rejection when we sat down for dinner or in the car. I've never felt strange emotions slam into me all at once and from all directions. "What are you talking about?" I ask slowly, almost fearfully, as I face him. He pushes off the door and staggers toward me. His voice is sobering up a little, but he's still obviously drunk. 'Isn't that why you're getting rid of it?" 'I just…" I tRosel off when he stops in front of me. He's larger than life, and I still stop and stare whenever he's this close. The smell of alcohol wafts off him in waves that hit me in the nostrils. He's definitely wasted. He stares down at me with half-droopy, sexy eyes. Their blue, however, appears dark and deep, almost depressed. "You just want to get rid of it?" 'That's not—" 'Fine." "F-Fine?" How can it be acceptable? 'Yes, fine. Do as you wish." 'I don't need your permission." 'I'm well aware of that." God. His meek tone is getting on my last nerve. But instead of shouting and getting into an argument this late, I Marian it in. "Let's talk in the morning when you're sober." 'One last time." 'What?" 'Let me have you. One last time." He grabs me by the nape and lowers his lips to mine. At first, his kiss is slow, sensual, but then it intensifies, tongues clashing and his lips devouring mine. It's almost…desperate. And I share that desperation. He's kissing me after he rejected me—twice. I probably shouldn't be feeling this way since he's drunk, but my emotions seem to be scattered all over the place, and this is the only right thing in my reality. Ethan lowers the zipper of my dress and slides it down my arms with frantic movements. It pools at my feet, leaving me in only my underwear. He unclasps my bra with expert, deft fingers, and I gasp as they brush against my breasts. "Fvck, baby. You're so beautiful." He lowers his head to latch onto a nipple, and I arch my back, head rolling. The feel of his stubble on my breast creates unbearable friction. My nipples tighten into hard buds as he bites down and sucks on them with a ravenous rhythm. Beautiful. I smile internally. He thinks I'm beautiful. The rejections from earlier aren't significant, after all. They meant nothing. I hold on to that idea as I try to undo his belt, but I'm not fast enough, and my movements are clumsy at best. I was never good with this stuff, but I want to be. For him, I want to give back as much as I take. Ethan tries to take over the task, but I shake my head, my voice too wanton for my ears. "Let me." Steadying my hand, I finally finish unbuckling the belt. He kicks the pants, and his boxer briefs away. I reach for his buttons but barely undo the first two before he rips at his shirt, sending the buttons flying everywhere. I swallow as his sculpted chest comes into focus. This view will always be around. Ethan places two fingers under my chin and lifts my head, breathing harshly as his eyes clash with mine. They're raw and intense, and I'm not sure I like what I see there. Behind the lust, there's a sense of sadness that I want to eradicate. I palm his cheek, my ragged breathing matching his irregular one. 'Ethan, I—" He flattens a finger on my lips and shakes his head once. 'Don't ruin it. Not today." His middle finger glides against my panties, and I shudder before he lowers the cloth down my legs. I willingly step out of them as he slides his middle and ring finger into my pussy, and I briefly close my eyes as I soak him in for a fraction of a second. I've yearned for his touch since we were in Maria's house. No, it was ever since I woke up this morning and didn't find him beside me. My legs shake, hardly able to carry me any longer. As if he can feel it, Ethan wraps an arm around my waist, anchoring me in place as he thrusts his fingers inside me and teases my clit. My head drops against his shoulder as tingles erupt all over my skin. I won't last long—not even a minute—before the orgasm drags me down in its clutches. It doesn't matter that he's drunk; Ethan knows my body more than I ever will, and I guess I got used to that. I got used to how easily he wrenches pleasure and feelings out of me. I'm still riding the wave when he backs me up, then flips me over and pushes me down. I'm on my knees on the carpet, but he lowers me further before I can react to the positioning. My breasts brush on the carpet, the soft surface hardening my nipples. What…?