The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 317

Chapter 317

Cynthia's POV

Ethan’s hands moved over my body with deliberate, possessive slowness, like he was memorizing me all over again after six long months of hell.

He started with my hair, fingers threading through the wet strands, gripping just tight enough to tilt my head back as he massaged my scalp. The pressure sent little sparks of pleasure straight down my spine.

Then his hands traveled lower.

His thumb traced the line of my jaw before brushing over my bottom lip, pressing lightly until I parted for him. His dark eyes watched every reaction, hungry and unrelenting.

Down my neck, across my collarbone, his touch feather-light yet electric. Goosebumps exploded across my skin even in the warm bathwater.

“I forgot how fucking responsive you are,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “How every little touch makes you tremble for me.”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, his hands finally cupped my breasts, palms rough and hot as his thumbs circled my nipples until they tightened into hard, aching peaks.

I bit my lip hard, but a needy whimper still slipped out.

Ethan’s eyes flashed with dark satisfaction.

“Don’t you dare hold back,” he growled. “I want every moan, every gasp, every filthy sound you make tonight.”

His mouth replaced his hands, hot and wet, sucking my nipple deep between his lips while his tongue flicked and teased. His teeth grazed the sensitive bud just enough to make me arch sharply. At the same time, his fingers continued their descent—down my stomach, over my hips, and between my thighs.

The moment his fingers slid through my folds, I gasped sharply. I was soaked, slicker than the bathwater could ever explain, my pussy already throbbing and desperate.

“Fuck, Cynthia,” Ethan groaned against my breast, voice vibrating through me. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“It’s been six months,” I breathed, voice shaking. “Six months of needing you… oh God…”

My words shattered as two thick fingers found my swollen clit, circling with perfect, ruthless pressure before dipping lower to tease my entrance.

My nails dug into his shoulder as my other hand slipped under the water, wrapping around his cock. He was rock-hard, thicker and heavier than I remembered, the veins pulsing against my palm. I stroked him slowly at first, then tighter, twisting my wrist the way I knew drove him insane.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, hips jerking into my fist. “I love how good your hand feels on my cock. Don’t stop.”

We stayed like that for torturous minutes — his fingers fucking me with deep, curling strokes while I pumped his thick length, both of us breathing raggedly, eyes locked, tension winding tighter and tighter until it felt like we might snap.

Then Ethan snarled, “Fuck it.”

His hands gripped my waist hard and he lifted me straight out of the water, ignoring the sharp protest of his injured ribs. Water cascaded off our bodies as he carried me the few steps to the bed and dropped me onto the still-made covers.

“Ethan, your injury…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Don’t fucking care,” he growled, voice feral. “I need to be inside you right now.”

He shoved my thighs wide apart and positioned himself between them. The blunt, swollen head of his cock nudged against my dripping entrance, hot and insistent.

He looked down at me, eyes raw with six months of pent-up love, lust, and longing.

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