Her throat moved as she swallowed and he could feel her hand tremble in his. But she sat up and he helped her, placing her other hand on his already hard dick and guiding her so she could roll the condom down on him.
Her touch was warm, delicate, and he had to grit his teeth as she put it on him. When she was done, she sat there, and he could see her tremble. They’d blindfolded her, those pricks. While they’d taken her. While they’d hurt her. No wonder she was afraid. But she was so brave. This was her commitment to the trust she’d put in him and if it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure her trust wasn’t misplaced.
That was another thing he wanted to give back to her: her trust in herself.
“Lie down,” he said.
And she did, slowly. That fine tremor still running through her limbs.
“Good girl.” He put a hand on her stomach, stroking gently, trying to ease it. “You’re such a good girl. One last question.” And he didn’t want to ask it, but he was going to. He had to know. “Did they force you?”
Her mouth tightened and he saw how difficult this was for her. But she didn’t flinch, though her voice when she spoke was a croak. “Yes.”
Fuckers. If he ever found out who they were, he would kill them.
“So this is your choice. Put me inside you. Claim me for yourself. And do it nice and slow, soleil. I want to watch.”
It felt natural to call her that, and even though it revealed more than he wanted it to, he didn’t fight the urge. He thought perhaps she liked it, so that couldn’t be a bad thing.
Her hand moved to grip him, guiding him to her without hesitation. Her breathing had become faster and she wasn’t trembling anymore. She lifted her hips and he kept his attention between her thighs as she moved to take him.
And fucking hell, the sight nearly blew his head off. She gasped as he slid into the tight heat of her, and this time he’d have laid money on the fact that the tremble in her thighs wasn’t from fear.
Jesus, she felt good. So bloody amazing.
He leaned over her, pushing deep into the slickness of her pussy, watching her blindfolded face. Her mouth was open, the sound of her breathing harsh.
“You weren’t wet for them,” he said softly. “It hurt.”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked.
“Does this hurt?”
She shook her head, hard and sure.
“Who are you thinking of, soleil?” He drew his hips back then thrust in a slow, easy movement.
Her mouth opened, a soft gasp escaping her. “You.”
“That’s right, me.” He drew back then another deep, slow thrust. “I am inside you, Eleanor. I am fucking you right now. Me. My cock. Not anyone else’s.”
She arched up, her mouth open, her breath coming faster.
And Christ, she felt so good around him. Soft and hot. Slick. Perfect.
“Yes,” he murmured, moving faster, keeping up the rhythm. “Think only of me. Only of what I’m doing to you. The pleasure I’m giving you. Not the pain or anything else. Just me.” And he thrust deeper. Harder.
Her back arched, her legs closing around his waist, her hips lifting in time with his. “Oh…Jesus…Luc…”
He shifted, gripping her hips, pulling her closer so he could go even deeper. Moving faster, the pleasure whispering like electricity down his spine. She reached for him, her nails sinking into his shoulders, small pricks of pain.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her even closer.
He slid his hands beneath her, gathering her into his arms, sitting her in his lap, her blindfolded face inches from his.
“Who are you thinking of?” he said raggedly. “Who is it now?”
“You,” she whispered. “Only you, Luc.”
The pleasure coiled tight inside him, an intense satisfaction propelling it. Because that felt like the truest thing he’d ever heard in his life.
His arms tightened around her and he gave one last, deep thrust. She cried out, arching her back, her pussy clenching around his cock.
And he slid a hand up her back, into her hair. Pressing her mouth down on his so that she could feel him and taste him as well. So that the only memory she would have was of him. Everywhere. Giving her nothing but pleasure.
Only then did he embrace the ecstasy himself and let it take him away, the orgasm thundering through him, all flash and fire, like a tropical rainstorm.
In the aftermath, he brought her back down onto the mattress, holding her close as their breathing slowed. He didn’t want to move or let her go, but eventually he had to do both. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She didn’t say a word as he got up and made a trip to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. And he was half-afraid of coming back to find her gone, his bed empty.
But it wasn’t. She was still there, a sheet now covering her beautiful body, blonde hair loose over her shoulders. She hadn’t even taken the blindfold off.
His heart was full and tight in his chest. Emotion pressing against it. A feeling he didn’t recognize or even know how to handle.
And like a frozen limb coming back to life, it was a raw, painful feeling.
He was a killer. A monster. And yet she’d given him her trust. What the fuck did he do with that? When she had no idea who he was and what he was capable of?
You made her give it to you.
Yeah, he had. And now he had to deal with the consequences, tell her the truth about himself. But…he didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to overshadow her trauma by telling her what had happened to him. It couldn’t happen.
Which meant he should probably let her go. Tell her to leave. Something. Because this had gotten out of hand, had become about more than merely sex. And he hadn’t intended it to be that way.
He wasn’t capable of giving her what she’d given him, not when merely surviving was so difficult.
But he wasn’t going to tell her to leave. Not now.
Turned out he was a selfish prick after all.
Chapter Twelve
It had been a long time since she’d woken up in a man’s arms, and she had to admit it was nice. Actually no, not nice. Pretty damn fucking good.
Eleanor lay on her side with Luc’s body hot against her back, his arms wrapped tightly around her. One hand possessively covered her breast while the other rested on her stomach, long fingers almost brushing her clit. And there was something aggressively hard pressing against the curve of her butt.
“I guess that means you’re awake,” she said sleepily.
“What?”
“You’re hard.”
His mouth brushed against the back of her neck. “I’m always hard when you’re around. And that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m awake.”
“It’s true.” She settled against him, giving her butt an almost imperceptible wiggle to be a brat.
Luc spread his hands out on her stomach. “Are you being bad, soleil? Because you know what happens to bad girls.”
Oh yes she did. Blindfolds and restraints and intense pleasure. And she had a feeling that was only a start. There were more things Luc could do. Things she could teach him, because he certainly had an aptitude for it. And now that she was free, she could do…anything.
She smiled. It had been a long time since she’d woken up feeling this good too.
“You speak French when you’re about to come,” she murmured, remembering the night before. “Quite a lot of French actually.”
He went still and she could feel his muscles tense. Hell, what had she said? “Sorry, is that a sore subject?”
Silence behind her for a moment. Then he said, “It’s my mother’s language. I grew up speaking it. And…just bad memories.”
Of course. His parents who’d been killed in front of him in some political unrest. Wasn’t that why she’d initially come here in the first place? To learn more about him?
She put her hand over his where it rested on her stomach, sympathy twisting inside her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sa
id anything.”
“It’s okay. It’s been a few years.”
She could feel him relax a little, his breath warm on her nape. And it struck her that she’d spilled her guts to him the night before, totally caught up in her own pain, not even giving a thought to him or what he wanted.
Kind of selfish.
Maybe it was. It was only that Piers had cast a long shadow and she hadn’t had the emotional energy to expend on someone else.
Be honest. You haven’t wanted to expend the emotional energy.
That was true too. Now, though, she felt different. And Luc was different.
An image flashed in her head, of him when he’d opened the door to her the night before, covered in sweat, his knuckles raw. A punching-bag accident, he’d said. Yet the look in his eyes had been… The only word she could think of was haunted.
Clearly he had demons too.
“So,” she said softly. “You know all about my dark past. What about you? Got any skeletons in the closet?”
“Not really. You know about my parents.”
“What were they like? Or is that too personal?”
“After last night you can pretty much ask me anything, soleil.”
Not that she would get an answer, she suspected. “Oh sure. So tell me about your mother. She was from the Ivory Coast, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. Dad met her while he was working for a charity in Abidjan. She was beautiful. Passionate. Idealistic like Dad. I guess if you’re working for charities you have to have some kind of optimism or idealism. She loved helping people and she and Dad were passionate about what they did. Or at least…that’s what my grandparents tell me. I can’t remember much about them.”
She could hear the thread of sadness running through his voice. It hurt her in a way she didn’t expect. Tightening her hand over his, she changed the subject. “So you grew up in Abidjan?”
“In a town down the coast a way. I don’t remember much about that either, except that I went to a French school, which used to piss me off because it kind of set me apart from the other kids I used to play with.”
“Your parents didn’t want to live in New Zealand?”
“Eventually that was the plan. My mother thought it was important for me to know my African heritage before we came back here, plus she and Dad had work they wanted to do on the Ivory Coast first. They wanted to bring me back here for high school but…that didn’t really work out.”
No. Because they had been killed.
The sympathy gathering in her chest became an ache. It must have been terrible for him to lose his parents like that. And then to come back to New Zealand, a different culture, a different language… It must have left him so lonely.
Jesus. Perhaps this wasn’t the best line of conversation she could have chosen.
She shifted her fingers, looking down at the lean, brown hand on her stomach. “These tattoos,” she murmured, stroking over his skin. “What do they mean? The lines and dots. They’re interesting.”
Luc shifted, his arms withdrawing from her, the bed dipping as he rolled away. “A friend did them,” he said in a flat tone.
She turned over, frowning.
He’d gotten out of bed, prowling over to a set of drawers and pulling out some clothes.
“Luc?” She sat up, puzzled. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
He tugged on some boxers and jeans, doing up the fly, the impressive muscles of his abs flexing. “No. I’ve got a lecture in an hour so I should get going.”
Oh bullshit she hadn’t said anything wrong. Something had killed his hard-on, that was for sure. Why else would he have gotten out of bed so quickly?
“Luc…”
He pulled a T-shirt on over his head, jerking it down in a short, sharp movement. Then he turned and strode back over to the bed, that dark, intent look in his eyes.
Her pulse accelerated as he leaned down, taking her face between his hands. “This isn’t over, soleil. I want to see you again.”
Jesus, when he held her like that, when he looked at her like that, she was putty in his hands. And she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. “Okay,” she murmured. “I want that too.” Because she did want to see him again. Now that she’d finally broken out of her cage, she wanted to explore.
Is it really only about the sex?
The thought disturbed her for some reason. It had to only be about sex. She couldn’t afford to get involved with him any further than they were already because he was still a student and she was still his professor. And aside from anything else, she wasn’t sure she was ready for a relationship anytime soon.
His thumbs stroked along her cheekbones. “I know you’re worried about the professor-student thing, so I’m going to see if I can find a way around it.”
She blinked at him. “I thought that didn’t matter to you.”
“Yeah, but it matters to you, right?”
Oh God. This could end up being very bad. Very bad indeed. “Yes.”
“Which is why I suggested finding a way around it.” He let her go and straightened. The corner of his mouth turned in a faint smile. “In fact, I’m warning you now, soleil, I’m very good when it comes to finding ways around things.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
His smile faded. “You know…I can’t promise you anything, Eleanor.”
Something pricked at her, a sharp, fleeting pain. She pulled the sheet more firmly around her. “Well, that’s fine. I’m not in the market for promises anyway.”
“Okay.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the strange fabric cuff on his wrist bright against the blue denim. “Look, I can’t stay for breakfast or anything. I’ve got some shit to do this morning. But I’ll come and find you in your office on campus today. We’ll talk.”
“What about locking this place?”
“Just pull the door shut when you leave.” He didn’t move for a moment, staring at her. Then he turned and abruptly walked out.
Eleanor swallowed. Christ, why had it suddenly gotten awkward? She got off the bed, hearing the front door slam shut behind him as he left, going over to where her clothes were and dressing slowly.
It had been her questions, she was sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to answer them. Why? What was he protecting himself from? Because he was protecting himself, of that she was sure. She was a master of the art herself, after all.
So he’d gotten her to come here with the promise of telling her his secrets but had ended up revealing precisely nothing. Why did that even matter to her? As the conversation had proved, neither of them were in this for anything more than the sex and yet…she wanted to know the answers to the questions.
She wanted to know more about him.
She’d been selfish the night before, had let herself be deflected. Getting totally caught up in her own pain, not even thinking about how any of this might impact him. And he had his own issues, that was clear.
Doing up her blouse, she looked around his bare room where there were no pictures. No photos. Nothing but the bed, the chest of drawers and some books. Like his lounge area, there was nothing personal at all about it. As if he were only a guest here.
She felt quite desperately sad all of a sudden.
He’s not your business. He’s merely a guy you’re sleeping with.
Yeah, of course he was. And she didn’t want anything more than that.
But he stayed in her head and he was still there when she finally got in to work, the essays she’d been marking sitting on her desk from the day before.
Dropping her briefcase beside her desk, she sat down and stared at all the red lines she’d drawn through someone’s work.
God, had it only been yesterday that she’d done that? It felt like a lifetime ago.
She really needed to get on with more marking. Instead she shoved the essays to one side and typed a name into her computer, bringing up Luc’s academic records.
Searching for clues.
&nb
sp; There wasn’t much to go on. His school marks were brilliant, though it was strange he graduated from high school at twenty, a good two years older than most high school graduates. If he was so brilliant, why had he spent that long in high school?
They wanted to bring me back here for high school…
What he’d said to her earlier that morning about his parents. He’d been twelve when they’d been killed and yet…
She frowned at the dates on the screen. He hadn’t started high school at the usual age for kids in New Zealand, which was around twelve or thirteen. He’d started at King’s College when he was seventeen. That couldn’t be right, could it? Because that meant there was a five-year gap in his schooling and that was…strange.
Had he even been in New Zealand? Or had he stayed with other family in Africa after his parents had been killed? And if so, why had he come back?
More importantly, why do you want to know?
Good question. Because no matter what she told herself, it felt like he was more than only a guy she was sleeping with. And she didn’t want to be the person who took and never gave anything back. Especially after what he’d given her.
But what could she even give him when he didn’t want to talk?
She sighed, closing down the window on the screen. And tried to get on with the rest of her day.
Luc finished his talk with the dean and headed down the corridor in the direction of Eleanor’s office.
Perhaps he should have checked with her first before he’d made his decision but, what the hell, it was too late now. And if it didn’t work out he wouldn’t have lost anything.
Fuck, even a couple more nights with Eleanor would make it worth the hassle.
You’re reorganizing your entire degree purely so you can keep having sex with her?
Luc ignored the thought as he approached her office door. He wasn’t reorganizing his degree. He was just making it easier for both of them to see each other. And sure, he didn’t have to do it that way, but he wanted to.
It mattered to her and what mattered to her was important.
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