She coughs, spraying water against my stomach, and I want more of that. I want her gagging and choking on my dick. What’s wrong with me that I want that?
So I drag her to standing and lean her against the wall. She’s still panting, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as I kneel between her legs. I want her broken for me in every single way. I want her wet and sloppy and clenching hard because I made her come. I want the taste of her pussy ingrained so deep in my mind I remember it even when I’m asleep.
I hook one of her legs over my shoulder and rest her weight on me, so she won’t fall. Then I lean into her sex. That’s the only word for it. I lean. I press my face against her damp curls. I breathe in deep that beautiful feminine musk.
When I finally lick her pussy, I moan at the flavor. A few laps at her clit, and she’s rocking her hips, trying to get more contact, humping my face. Every kind of debasement turns me on, including this one. She begs me with her whimpers and her cries.
Seconds from coming, on the edge of the abyss.
I pull away.
She keens a sound that makes my dick twitch. Perfect. She’s perfect.
“Don’t stop,” she pants, but I have this perverse desire to make this last forever, as if I can stave off tomorrow with pure sex. No danger, no separation, nothing but this.
I shut off the water, and the room becomes suddenly silent without the rush of the shower. There’s only the sound of our breathing and the faint droplets of water that fall from our skin. I lead her into the bedroom, one that’s similar to hers but on the third floor. Directly above her, in fact. I’ve stroked my cock in this bed, imagining her below me.
We’re still wet, still slick when I toss her onto the bed. She half gasps at the coldness of the air, half laughs as she rolls away. I grab her ankle to catch her but the water makes me lose my grip, and she squirms away. So I tackle her with my whole body, using my weight to catch her against the mattress, to subdue her. Her smile fades, and she looks up at me.
Her hand touches my lip again, and I become aware of the throbbing. I hadn’t even felt the pain when I’d been fucking her pussy with my tongue.
A notch forms between her eyes. “Why would your brothers hurt you?”
“It was nothing. We were practicing sparring. I should have blocked it.”
“You blame yourself?”
“Maybe I wanted to feel pain.” To feel something, anything.
Confusion mars her pretty face. She doesn’t understand.
Of course she doesn’t. For all the ways that we are alike, for all the beautiful darkness inside her, she had a good childhood. She feels things deeply—love, concern, even betrayal. It’s why she rebels so hard against the control I try to place on her.
I find myself telling her things I’ve never told another living being, even as my cock nudges against her opening. There are two kinds of intimacy happening right now. “When Liam left, Josh and I stayed there. When Josh left, they assume I stayed there, too.”
Her brown eyes widen. “You didn’t?”
I push myself all the way inside her sweet pussy, and the clench almost kills me. It’s what makes it possible for me to continue. It’s like she’s connected into the place deep inside me, the one with all the secrets and all the fear. “Good old Dad liked to kick us around, but when Josh left, he went a little crazy. He just kept going, without anyone to stop him, and I thought…” I pull out and fuck back into her cunt. “I thought he was going to kill me that night.”
She bucks her hips, trying to dislodge me, trying to stop the sex. It feels wrong, talking about my shitshow of a family while I fuck her. I know it feels wrong, but that’s why it works for me. My wires are all crossed inside. Maybe one too many blows to the head.
“Didn’t even make it to the hospital. Just dragged myself to the woods behind our house. Slept there for a couple nights until I could make myself stand, and I left.”
Tears are streaming down her face, and it makes me hard. It makes me hard just like when I fucked her face and choked her little throat. “Elijah.”
“I lived on the street until I was old enough to enlist.” The memories have sharp teeth and claws. They threaten to rip out my throat so I can’t speak. My next words come out hoarse. “The things I did, Holly. You would be disgusted with me if you knew.”
“I wouldn’t.” She pushes against my chest, and it shouldn’t move me. There is not nearly enough muscle on her slender frame to dislodge me, but it works anyway. I roll over onto the bed, and then she’s on top of me, my cock still in her cunt. “There is nothing you could say—”
“Don’t,” I say, too sharp. “You have no fucking idea.”
“Maybe not,” she says, her hips moving, rocking. She’s riding me. “Maybe I don’t understand what you went through, but I do know my feelings. I know you can’t change them.”
Her pussy clenches around my cock, and I grunt in pleasure. “I got numb on the street. So fucking numb that I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel anything. Only pain could make me feel anything at all. Until you. You make me feel other things, terrifying things, but, Holly… God, Holly, what terrifies me is that sometimes even you aren’t enough.”
Determination darkens her eyes. I didn’t mean to lay down a challenge, but that’s the way she’s taking it. She puts her palms on my chest and lifts up, bearing down fast enough to make me catch my breath. Then she’s fucking me, riding me, a beautiful blur, and I throw my head back, unable to do anything but take it. My hands clench her thighs, and I know there will be ten finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. Is that the line? Where is the line? Then she comes, her pussy drenched with arousal, her secret muscles clenching me, and I don’t care about the fucking line. I thrust up into her, hard, coming in hard, wrenching, painful spurts.
She collapses onto my chest. I gently push her onto her side, away from me. There are only inches between us, but they might as well be miles.
I can’t believe I told her about my time on the streets. I may not have embellished with the details, but she’s a smart woman. She can figure some of it out.
Fuck. I’ve never told anyone that, and for damn good reason.
It’s me at my lowest point. Desperation. Hunger.
And endless, endless pain.
“Elijah,” she whispers. “Let me come with you.”
I stare at the ceiling when I answer, my heart a cold stone in my chest. “That’s the difference between London and me. She needs you. I don’t, sweetheart. You can’t help me. It will be easier on my own.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elijah
The meeting is set for noon. We leave with exactly enough time to get there. Normally we’d arrive early and scout the place, but the lieutenant colonel will expect that. There will likely be traps and a few rifles pointed at our heads. Anything we do to protect ourselves can be seen as an act of war against the American government. So we’re going with only a couple of knives and a handgun. Barely anything by our usual standards. It’s a risky move, but not going is not an option. The lieutenant colonel won’t shoot me on sight. If he only wanted me dead, there were easier ways to accomplish that. At least I’ll hear what he has to say before I tell him to go to hell.