Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  It was Lottie’s turn to smile. “We are. Though I did the stupidest thing.”

  “What’s that?” Isis asked, leaning forward.

  “I went to his office unannounced.”

  “Surely he wasn’t bothered by that?” Isis asked.

  “I didn’t get past the front desk. His receptionist said he was busy and sent me on my way.”

  Isis narrowed her eyes. “But you checked that, right?”

  Lottie shook her head no, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck at her passivity.

  “But the husband did, right?” Isis’s tone had taken on an edge of questioning, yet hopeful disbelief.

  “He let her go.”

  Isis looked triumphant.

  “He fucking should have. He couldn’t let her do that to you.”

  “I feel so bad, though. I mean, I did show up unannounced and she was just doing her job.”

  “That doesn’t matter. If people won’t give you respect, you have to take it.”

  “Still, the woman lost her job over something petty.”

  “No less than she deserved. And she learned a valuable lesson.”

  “Still seems excessive.”

  “You’re heart is softer than mine.”

  “We both know that’s not true, Isis! You cry during those pet-rescue commercials.”

  Isis smiled sheepishly. “That’s different. But anyway, if you’re dropping by for visits, things are going even better than I thought.”

  “I like him, Isis,” Lottie said flatly.

  “Liking your husband is a good thing.”

  “I know”—Lottie heaved a sigh—“but it’s so complicated.”

  “Maybe. But you saying you like someone is tantamount to a declaration of undying love. We only get so many chances, Lot. Don’t let this pass you by.”

  Isis patted her jean-clad leg and stood.

  “And I need to get to work if I want to be out of here at a decent hour. See you later,” Isis said as she exited.

  Isis’s words stuck with her. Elah presented himself as unfeeling, uncaring, but his stubborn sense of morality, the one he tried to pretend didn’t exist, had him convinced that sleeping with her would be wrong. It was endearing that he cared, but damned annoying. She knew what she wanted, knew on some level what he wanted, and he was keeping them both from what she knew to be an explosive connection and a chance to go beyond that. She couldn’t let it pass her by, let him keep it from both of them. No matter how he pretended, Elah was not immune to her, immune to the thing between them, and she would make him see—and act—on what neither of them could deny.

  ••••

  “So you know that woman Charlotte works with? Isis?” Elah asked as he and Hart wrapped up the business of the day.

  “In another lifetime,” Hart said.

  Elah didn’t probe, respecting the man’s privacy. If there was an issue, he trusted Hart to tell him.

  “And speaking of other lifetimes,” Hart said, deftly changing the subject.

  “Steel Hearts, I presume?” Elah asked, referencing the motorcycle gang, which was an extremely sore subject for Hart.

  “Yes. You know they’re trying to get back into the fights?”

  “You told me.”

  “Seems they’re still trying to expand, get their fingers into other pieces of the pie.”

  “And this is problematic?”

  “It could be. I still have issues with…leadership, but I’m not sure how to approach this new development.”

  “What’s your gut say?”

  Hart scoffed. “My gut says ‘annihilate,’ but that’s the old me. I’m a new man now, and the new man doesn’t know what to do.”

  “He’ll figure it out,” Elah said.

  “And if he fucks it up?”

  “He won’t.”

  Hart didn’t look convinced, but Elah had complete confidence in him. Over the years, he’d proven a shrewd operator and almost single-handedly kept Elah in the loop on what was happening on the streets, and with Councilman Trufant as a result. But the Steel Hearts showing up in the city was personal for Hart, so Elah could understand his discomfort.

  “I hope you’re right,” Hart finally said.

  “Have I ever been wrong?”

  That got a laugh, and some of the concern that had Hart’s features drawn tight broke.

  “Well, I can think of one instance.”

  “Do I want to hear this?”

  “Probably not, but I can’t pass it up. All that bluster about your lovely wife being just a pawn, you were very wrong about that. It looks like the two of you are getting along swimmingly.”

  Elah shrugged noncommittally, having not yet come to any resolution in his head, let alone one that he could verbalize.

  “That face says it all.” Hart laughed heartily and then looked around the office. “And where’s Amanda?”

  “She wasn’t working out.”

  “Wow. I liked her.”

  “More like you liked gawking at her.”

  “A little skinny for my tastes, but not bad. Still, good help is hard to find. Care to explain?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, well. I hope you find an adequate replacement. Are we done?”

  “Yes, but let me know if you need a hand with that other thing.”

  “I will. I hope you and the wife have a lovely evening,” Hart said as he left.

  Elah lingered after Hart left, warring with himself. His desire for Charlotte had only increased, and seeing her today, the way her expression had brightened when she’d first noticed him, the way she’d hugged him close, was yet another reminder of how much he craved her. But as difficult as it would be, he needed to keep his resolve, hold tightly onto the threads of his control before he gave into the need that rode him and finally proved how unworthy of her he really was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hello, Elah.”

  Charlotte walked into his study, where, he’d admit, but only grudgingly, he’d been hiding out all evening. The sensible thing would have been to stay away, but his mind rebelled at the thought, so his study had seemed like a good middle ground. And he’d needed the space. The last few days had been torture. Charlotte was a sweet temptation that had tested every ounce of his resolve. She hadn’t done anything overt, but the nakedly lusty glances that she didn’t even try to hide, her sweet scent teasing him, her curves calling to him, his palms burning with the need to touch her had been almost unbearable.

  “Hello,” he said shortly and looked down at his desk, trying to convey disinterest.

  But he was acutely aware of her, felt her getting closer.

  “Elah,” she said softly, the hunger in her voice making his eyes move up of their own volition.

  Her full lips were moist and her brown eyes shone bright with desire. His cock stirred, instantly hard with the want that he’d tried to suppress.

  “What do you want, Charlotte?” he said roughly, his voice ragged, though he hoped she didn’t notice.

  She moved closer, stood next to his chair, the heat of her body rolling off her, her low exhale a tease of the moan he wanted to coax from her. He stood as quickly as his hard-on would allow and walked away, her proximity driving him ever closer to the edge of his control.

  “I want you, Elah.” Her words floated toward him on a throaty whisper. “I want you inside me.”

  He kept his back turned, unwilling to risk looking at her. The soft swish of fabric was a siren’s call that had him turning toward her. And the sight of her pulling her starched white shirt from her neat black slacks had the little blood left in his head running down to his cock and the last shreds of his tattered control flying into the wind.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said on a low, throaty growl, the words thick, almost indecipherable with his arousal.

  “Show me,” she said, leveling an unblinking stare at him.

  The challenge was clear in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders
, and something inside him wouldn’t let it pass unanswered. He stalked over to her, crowding into her personal space but not touching her. She had the sense to back up, stopping when she reached the wall. She squirmed, from fear or arousal he couldn’t tell, but she didn’t back down, the challenge still apparent. He touched her shoulders, slipped his hands down the sleeves of her shirt before grabbing the tails and ripping them apart, sending buttons flying across the room.

  “Fine,” he said, the mild word at odds with the emotion storming through him. “Have it your way. Maybe you’ll admit that your body would have been better off with someone else, someone who won’t take all you have to offer and more. Someone who won’t ride you so hard.”

  Her eyes widened and her posture straightened. This was it; she would back away now.

  But instead she said, “How hard?”

  “Harder than you could handle.”

  “Prove it. Prove I can’t handle it,” she said on a husky whisper, her breasts, covered by a prim, proper white bra, rising and falling with her deep breaths.

  The taunt in her eyes and voice was his breaking point. He hoped what she said was true, but it didn’t matter anymore. He was now a man possessed.

  He pushed his hands into her bra, scooping her tits out of the cups without removing it. Then he roughly pinched her nipples and leaned down to nip the left while he twisted the right. She moaned and then took in a deep inhale when he repeated the action. He unbuttoned her slacks and pulled them and her panties down her legs in one smooth motion.

  “Step out,” he said as he unfastened his own pants, releasing his fully erect cock.

  He stepped toward her, and she pressed flat against the wall, but her eyes shimmered with passion. Anticipation spiked through his blood when he stuck a hand between her thighs and felt the warm cream that already slicked her lips. He ran one teasing stroke, then another across the hood of her clit, and she yelped. Then he grabbed her full, rounded thigh and lifted, settling her leg on his hip and leaving her open and exposed to him.

  Her pussy shone with her juices and he could see her engorged clit, berry red against the dark skin of her labia. The grip of her walls as he buried a finger inside her was a reminder of her innocence. Rather than pushing into her with one hard thrust as he so much wanted, he moved that finger in and out of her, opening her up, bit by bit. At the same time, he bent and took her nipple between his teeth, biting down on the taut nub. She shrieked at the sensation and a fresh rush of cream ran from her hole to coat his finger. Her eager response to his rough treatment deepened his arousal, and he added another, and then another finger to the first, filling her.

  “Elah…” she said on a moan as she began rocking her hips and pressing down on his fingers.

  She’d be fuller, much, much fuller when his cock replaced his fingers, so he wanted to better prepare her untested flesh, but the beautiful picture of her open to him, head tilted, eyes closed with her passion, hips jerking out an erratic rhythm, was too much, and he couldn’t wait a second longer. He removed his fingers, drawing a pouting moan from her, and then lined his cock up to her hole and fed himself in, the sight of his broad cockhead disappearing between her slick pussy lips almost making him come. But he gripped her thighs and pressed on, then stopped at her sharp intake of breath, a clear sign of her discomfort.

  “Told you you couldn’t handle it, Charlotte. You want me to stop? Let you save what’s left of your virtue for someone else?”

  Elah couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Here he stood, half his cock inside her and his desire to give her the rest so strong that he’d throw away his fortune just to finish, and he’d offered to stop. It was madness, and for a few terrible seconds, he thought she might tell him to pull out. Doing so would kill him, but he would if she commanded. Her brown gaze met his, and he gripped her fleshy hips, prepared himself to find the as-yet-discovered control that would allow him to leave her heat. But with her eyes never leaving his, she pushed down, drawing him another inch inside her, the action answering his challenge phrased as a question better than words ever could. He didn’t stop to think, examine what this all meant; he was too far gone for that. He just thrust, seating himself balls-deep with that one hard, unrelenting stroke. She exhaled on a sigh, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh, and before he could inhale, he began moving in ruthless, unwieldy thrusts, the dull throb of their pelvic bones hitting and their deep breaths the only sound in the room.

  “This is what I do, Charlotte. I use and I take.” He reached between them, let his fingers hover above her clit. “If I were a nice man, a giving man, I’d return some of the pleasure, touch you right here, right where you want me to. But I’m not.”

  He pulled his hand away and grabbed her right breast, cupping the flesh that filled his palm to overflowing, enjoying the way it moved in time with his thrusts.

  Her slick walls gripped him like a vise, like she had been made for his cock, made for him…

  Pushing the thought away, he thrust one last time and then pulled out of her sopping pussy.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down to kneel in front of him. His cock was as hard as it’d ever been, veins bulging and the angry red crown copiously leaking precum. She leaned forward, her intent to take him into her mouth clear, but he stopped her.

  “No. I decide, not you.”

  He drew her head close and ran the tip of his cock over her lips, smearing them with precum and her own juices until they glistened.

  “I decide whether to come on your lips and let it drip down your face onto your pretty tits. Or”—he gestured for her to open her mouth, and she complied—“deep down your throat.”

  He fed a couple of inches of his cock into her mouth, careful, despite his frenzy, not wanting to give her too much. She moved her tongue, and that single stroke sent him over the edge. He came hard and his sweet Charlotte was there with him, swallowing his cum as he pumped his climax into her mouth.

  As he came down, shame, as deep and profound as anything he’d felt, settled over him like stone. He stepped back and tucked himself into his pants. He felt her there, heard her stir, but he couldn’t look at her, not now that he’d so callously taken her innocence, proven every awful thing ever said about him true. In fact, he didn’t even deserve to look at her.

  She stood, and bastard that he was, he didn’t even help her up. He braced himself, knew that he’d finally gone too far, that she was going to put an end to things.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  ••••

  His gaze flew to hers, and for the first time she’d ever seen, he looked surprised. And uncertain. He looked away abruptly.

  “What did you say?” he asked, his voice still that same gravelly tone despite the confusion on his face.

  “I think you heard me, Elah. I said thank you.”

  He said nothing, but the question hung between them. She wouldn’t answer it until he asked, knew without knowing why that it was critical she wait until he asked it himself.

  And so she did. Long moments passed, her standing there naked, breasts and ass exposed, her pussy aching for him to it fill again. She wanted to do something, run to him, run from him maybe, something, but she waited. And just when she thought she would explode from the tension, he spoke.

  “What are you thanking me for?”

  The tension faded, and her heart leaped at this opportunity.

  “I’m thanking you for being honest with me, for showing me a part of who you are, and for not treating me like a fragile piece of porcelain who doesn’t know her own mind, who doesn’t know what she wants and what she can take.”

  He looked at her then, his dark eyes icy with contempt, his face contorted in a mask of disgust.

  “Oh, you enjoyed that, huh? Liked seeing the dirty lowlife fuck like an animal?”

  “I didn’t see that at all,” she said, hoping he heard her sincerity even through the anger that gripped him. “I saw a man—my husband—being honest, taking w
hat he wanted, what I offered freely, and enjoying it. What’s wrong with that?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You deserve—never mind. You hate me.”

  “No, I don’t hate you, Elah,” she said.

  “You should.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I hate the way we were brought together, everything around it, but I don’t hate you. You’re mean sometimes on the outside. But inside, you’re almost…timid.” He cut his eyes at her and she quickly corrected herself. “Not timid, but I feel you holding back, I guess out of chivalry or something, but I don’t want that. I want you to be yourself, to take what you need, to take what I so much want to give.”

  He laughed, the humor softening his features and making him so handsome it bordered on painful. But the fact that he was laughing at her didn’t help matters.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking for, little girl.”

  “Don’t call me ‘little girl,’ Elah. I’m a grown woman, and I won’t be disrespected,” she said sharply.

  “Fine then, little—Charlotte. We’ll do it your way, or rather my way. So no more sweet caresses under the covers at night, no more worries about allowing you to keep your innocence.”

  “Well, that’s obviously no longer a concern.”

  He laughed again. “Oh, you think this little interlude means you’re no longer innocent? You’re wrong about that. But soon enough, you won’t be. I’ll have you when I want, where I want, and how I want. See if you can handle what you say you can.”

  “Agreed,” she said as she walked over to him.

  She leaned up and pressed her lips to his, slipped her tongue inside his mouth, and kissed him deeply. Then she pulled back.

  “I think I might surprise you, and I look forward to doing so,” she said and left the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Several days later, she began to question her resolve.

  She sat across from him at the kitchen table, him drinking orange juice and engrossed in something on his tablet. She was two seconds away from screaming.