“Shit, this is wrong, isn’t it?” he grated, his lungs heaving as she dipped her chin and locked that beautiful, hazy gaze with his. “Touching you right now puts me in serious dickhead territory.”
“Bullshit,” she argued, fisting her hands in his hair and pulling his mouth back to hers. “I’m a grown woman, not a child. I know what I want, Elliot.”
“Goddamnit,” he breathed roughly against her lips, sounding as if he’d been running for miles and miles. “I can’t resist you.”
And it was true. Jesus, it was crazy, what this one little perfect human could do to him.
“Take them off,” she panted, reaching down and tugging on the waistband of his boxers, and he had to bite back a wry, laughing curse. The fearless, addictive girl had no idea just how badly she was tempting him.
Reaching back, Elliot caught her slender wrist, pulling it up and pressing it into her pillow. Then he did the same with her other wrist, knowing the only way to keep his sanity was to keep her eager little hands off his body. “The boxers need to stay on tonight,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers as he rocked against her. “I can’t... My control isn’t... Christ, Skye. You fucking wreck me.”
“Good,” she moaned, bending her knees so that she could push up against him, the surge of her hips nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. “I want you wrecked. I want you to give me everything.”
He lifted his head, staring down at her like she was some kind of miracle, his heart turning over when she gave him one of her sweet, breathtaking smiles. “Come for me,” he heard himself say, the husky words thick with emotion. “I want to feel you fall apart for me. I want to watch it happen.”
“I want to watch you, too.” Her luminous eyes were heavy with desire. “Please.”
He started riding her harder, rubbing his rigid shaft over that sensitive bundle of nerves where she needed the most pressure. It was raw and achingly sweet, being this close to her—but he wanted to do so much more. Craved it, even though he knew he’d already tested the bounds of his control for one night. And this wasn’t about doing what he wanted. This was about proving to his conscience, as well as to her, that he could rein himself in when he needed to. Because the day would most definitely come when she would need that proof.
“When you look at me like that,” she told him, licking her lush, kiss-swollen lips, “it makes me feel like you’re already inside me.”
He growled deep in his throat, so damn close to losing it, because he could see it in her eyes, the fact that if he wanted her, he could have her. Could press himself against her silky entrance and make her his. Claim her with his body, if not with his fangs, the way his instinct was driving him to.
But he couldn’t do it. Not...not like this, when there were still so many secrets and lies between them. Because if he did, she was going to feel the sharp sting of betrayal when she learned at least some of those truths. And she would learn them. Once he could convince her to come back to the Alley with him, and live with him there, she would have to be told the truth about what he was. That he was so much more than just a man. That living inside him was a creature capable of extreme violence, but also unwavering loyalty. An animal that would fight to protect her with its dying breath.
That would worship her for all its days, if only she would let it.
Want her. Need her. Now! his wolf roared, and Elliot shook his head in sympathy for the poor devil, understanding exactly how he felt.
“Oh... Oh, God!” she suddenly cried, her chest and throat flushing with a rosy burst of color, and he knew she was coming. Lowering his head, he covered her trembling mouth with his, his tongue thrusting past her parted lips, eating at the delicious sounds that she made, unable to get enough. They were like drops of honey on his tongue, warm and succulent, making him ravenous. And in that moment, it was almost impossible to ignore that darker spill of hunger spreading through him—the one that was biting and sharp, demanding he sink his fangs into her tight flesh and lock on to her—but he somehow managed to hold himself in check.
Clawing on to his control with every ounce of strength he possessed, determined not to screw this up, Elliot thought only of Skye. Of how much he wanted to please her. To be good for her. Not to mention how badly he wanted to press his open mouth against that drenched, softly cushioned mound he was thrusting against and fuck her with his tongue, licking her until she shuddered and begged and screamed for him.
And then he was following her over, his release slamming into him with a violent, jolting force that made him shout, the guttural sound echoing through the room. Their lips stayed in contact the entire time, her hot, tender mouth driving him mad, as the pleasure kept rolling through him in wet, blistering waves.
They stayed like that for several long minutes, sweaty and breathless, and it took everything Elliot had in him to finally find the strength to pull away from her. He pressed one more soft, grateful, my-head-is-still-spinning kiss against her lips, then moved to his feet. Feeling her curious gaze on him, he grabbed a clean pair of boxers from his bag and stumbled toward the bathroom, his legs like goddamn jelly.
“Be right back,” he rasped over his shoulder, before closing the door, just needing a moment to get himself together. He turned toward the sink and washed up, then splashed some cold water on his face, trying to get his useless brain to kick into gear. But he felt... Christ, he felt like he’d just been caught in the eye of a storm. One that had completely changed him. Slipped into his DNA and shifted everything around, creating something...new. Something that was...unknown.
He felt like a man who had just been given a gift of blinding sunshine after years of endless night, and his eyes were still adjusting to the light. It was sappy as hell, but what man wouldn’t be spouting off like this after getting the chance to lose himself with Skye?
When he came out of the bathroom, she was lying on her side, facing him, with that juicy lower lip caught in her teeth. Her big eyes were watching him with a cautious optimism, as if she hoped he would come back to her, while a tiny part worried he might brush her off. He forced a crooked smile onto his lips and went to her, climbing back onto the bed and reaching for her, pulling her close.
She fit so perfectly against him, he couldn’t help but give her a possessive squeeze, his damn heart tumbling over when she pressed a soft kiss to the middle of his chest. And then she completely blindsided him as she said, “You’re so different, Elliot.”
He wanted to curse, knowing it would have been impossible for her to miss the way he stiffened beside her, his long body going hard with tension. And then he had to make it worse by choking out a gritty, defensive-sounding “What do you mean?”
“Just that you’re not like other guys.”
God, if she only knew.
Guilt sat heavily in his gut, making him feel like shit. “Skye, I...”
“No, don’t say anything,” she murmured, wrapping her arm around him as she snuggled closer. “Just...just hold me, and let’s sleep.”
Elliot knew a reprieve when he heard one, and he was desperate enough to grab it, holding on to it—to Skye—with everything that he had. And then...then a miracle happened. For the first time in years, he didn’t toss and turn, jerking awake from nightmares that were more horrific fragments of actual memory than anything conjured by his imagination.
Instead, he slept like the dead.
Or a man who had finally found exactly what he needed.
Chapter 8
There was definitely something to be said for sleeping in the arms of a gorgeous, rugged, warm-skinned male who held you like you were the best thing he’d ever found. Especially when that male was Elliot Connors. With everything going on in her life, Skye had expected to have a restless, frustrating night, when in actuality her sleep had been deep and peaceful.
She’d literally loved every single perfect moment of it—of being in Elliot’s arms—and yet, the only thing that saved her from a world of embarrassment over how forward s
he’d been was the fact that when she opened her eyes that morning, she was alone.
It probably made her sound like a wimp, but she honestly didn’t know what she would have done if she’d had to face him first thing. As she sat up in the middle of the bed, she couldn’t even see her robe—and it was going to be a cold day in hell before she pranced around in front of the guy wearing nothing more than a tank top and tiny shorts. Elliot didn’t have an ounce of fat on his ripped, mouthwatering body, and despite how much he’d seemed to enjoy touching her, she didn’t see how she could ever feel confident about her shape in front of him.
It kind of made her pissed at herself for feeling that way, but damn it, she didn’t know how to change it.
Climbing out of bed, she spotted her robe folded up neatly on top of the dresser, a small smile on her lips as she grabbed her backpack and headed into the bathroom. She took a long shower, taking the time to wash her hair and shave her legs, grateful for the scalding temperature of the water as it ran over her head. Then she brushed her teeth, dressed in a pair of jeans, black tank, and her favorite gray sweater that was so slouchy it hung off one shoulder. She couldn’t find a blow dryer in the bathroom, so she towel-dried her hair and then scrunched her fingers through it, knowing it would dry in loose waves. When she was younger, she’d hated her wavy hair as much as she’d hated the curves that had started to develop on her long before the other girls she went to school with. But as an adult, she appreciated how easy it made her hair to maintain and style.
Padding down the hallway on her bare feet, she didn’t think it was possible that Elliot could have heard her coming. But he was leaning back against the kitchen counter when she stepped around the corner, a sexy, almost boyish grin kicking up the side of his mouth as he held a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, looking for all the world like he’d been expecting her.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said in a deep voice that was a bit rougher around the edges than it’d been the day before.
“Sorry I slept so late,” she managed to scrape out, completely dazzled by him in his jeans, boots and tight black T-shirt, as he stood in a stream of wintry sunshine pouring in through the kitchen window. Holy mother of God, but he looked good in the morning. She loved the dark scruff on his cheeks and the way his thick hair was still all tousled. Loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned at her.
“Don’t be,” he murmured, after taking a sip of his coffee. “You needed it.”
She thought she might have mumbled something in response, but wasn’t sure, too caught up in staring at his mouth. Every scorching, erotic detail from the night before was playing through her head, and even as the telling heat started in her chest, rising steadily higher, she couldn’t look away. The guy kissed like it was his most favorite thing in the world. Like he could live off it, each brush of his lips and swipe of his tongue like a sweet that’d been left to melt in the tender recesses of her mouth. She’d never been kissed like that in her entire life, the experience so intense it’d probably destroyed a few of her brain cells. So deep and drugging and scalding with pleasure, she couldn’t help but crave more.
And that was before she even thought about the wicked, wonderful things he’d done to her body. The way he’d moved over her...against her...his deep voice rough and low as he’d told her how sweet she tasted. How delicious.
“You’re such a blusher,” he said with a teasing, husky rumble of laughter that pulled her back to the moment, his dark eyes gleaming beneath his thick lashes. Pushing off from the counter, he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer to him, before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss against her...forehead.
Uh... What the what? My forehead?
Skye tried not to frown as he stepped back and asked her if she wanted coffee or tea. She murmured something about loving a cup of coffee, sick with disappointment. Oh, God. Had...had she only imagined that he’d enjoyed what they’d done as much as she had? Had he simply been humoring her? Passing time? Trying not to hurt her feelings?
She started to grimace as he turned to the coffeemaker, ready to run and hide under the covers, when he angled his head to the side, sliding her a quick glance from the corner of his eye, and she could have sworn he looked like he wanted a hell of a lot more than that innocent touch of his lips to her forehead. He looked like he wanted to bend her back over his arm and kiss her until she was melting for him. The surge of relief that rushed through her was so sharp she had to reach out and brace a hand against the counter, trying to force a neutral expression onto her face as he turned back to her.
Handing her the cup of coffee he’d just poured, he murmured, “I got another fire started for you.”
She smiled a little at him from behind her mug, her voice a bit thick as she said, “Thanks.”
With a sigh, he leaned back against the counter again, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I hate that you’re feeling weird about what happened.”
“I’m not,” she said in a rush, squeezing her hands around the warm mug as she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”
His brows shot up. “Are you kidding me?”
She exhaled a shaky breath. “No.”
“Skye, the only thing I could regret is if you didn’t let me touch you again.” He set his mug down and closed the distance between them, until she had to tilt her head back to see his handsome face. Reaching up, he pushed her hair back from her brow, and pressed another one of those sweet kisses to her forehead. But this time, instead of stopping there, he made his way lower, kissing the upper curve of her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “I’m just trying to be good this morning. I don’t want to scare you off.”
She blinked up at him as he took a step back from her, straightening to his full height, and all she could get out was a dazed-sounding “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, then shook his head a little, an almost shy laugh slipping past his lips. “So, uh, let’s get some breakfast.”
They ate thick slices of toast and honey at the breakfast bar, chatting about little things, like their favorite movies and bands, and she was surprised by how easy it was just to be with him. When they’d finished the dishes, he said he needed to use the laptop in the office to send a few emails, one of which would be to Monroe, asking the guy to sort things out at the diner for her. Rolling her eyes at herself after she gave him a dorky little wave goodbye, Skye settled into a corner of one of the sofas, took her phone from her pocket and sent another short message to Viv that basically said the same thing as the one she’d sent the night before.
It was driving her mad, not knowing what her best friend was doing. Was she okay? Was she still running? Had she found a safe place to stay? Had she seen any sign of the assholes who were likely chasing her? And if they’d found her, had she been hurt?
The questions just kept looping through her head, over and over, until she was ready to slip on her sneakers, go out into the woods and take it out on one of the innocent, unsuspecting trees with the toe of her shoe. But that wouldn’t solve any of her problems, and Elliot would probably end up thinking she was crazy. Or a flagrant tree abuser, which didn’t seem any better.
Less than a half hour later, he came and joined her on the sofa. He sat on the other end, leaving plenty of space between them, and she could tell he was doing his best to keep her comfortable around him. She was trying to figure out how to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t have to keep his distance, without sounding like she was dying to jump his bones, when a text came through on his phone. He frowned as he read the message, telling her it was from Max.
“What’s it say?” she asked, fighting the urge to grab the phone out of his hands so she could read the message for herself.
“He says that Vivian’s phone has been broken, but that she’s with him and she’s okay.”
“Ohmygod! That’s awesome!”
Dark eyes still focused on the illuminated screen,
his brows started to pull together as he went on. “But he’s going silent for a few days. Says that he’ll explain later, but for us not to worry. That he’ll contact us again as soon as he can, and for us to watch our backs. That the assholes coming after you and Viv are everywhere.”
“I...uh... Wait. I don’t understand.”
He typed something into the phone, then sighed as he shoved it back in his pocket. “They’re going off the grid,” he explained in a low voice, turning his head toward her, his shadowed gaze impossible to read.
“Yeah, I get that.” She licked her lower lip, trying to get her thoughts straight. “But...why?”
“I honestly don’t know,” he replied, and she could tell there was a bit of frustration at the edges of his calm tone. “But I trust Max to do right by her, Skye. I swear I wouldn’t let this go if I thought she wasn’t in good hands with him. He won’t let her get hurt.”
She searched his brown eyes for several long, weighted moments, then leaned back against the sofa again. “Okay,” she said softly, hoping he realized just how much trust she was putting in him. How desperately she needed him not to let her down.
He held her worried gaze for a few more moments, and it seemed there was a roomful of unspoken messages flying between them. Then he pulled in a deep breath, and as he slowly let it out, he nodded his head toward the TV that was mounted on the wall. “You, uh, want to watch a movie or something?”
“Sure, but...if there’s something you need to be doing, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to babysit me.”
Some of the tension around his eyes eased, and his wide mouth curved with one of those crooked grins that made her go all ridiculously gooey and warm. “Babysitting would imply some weird dynamic here, and I’m only a few years older than you.”
Gripping one of the throw cushions to her chest, she shrugged her shoulders. “I just feel bad. You’re going to be bored out of your mind up here in no time.”
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