Page 41 of Third Time Lucky

Fingers tangled in my thick hair, he tugs my head into place so he can control the kiss as well. Take more of my mouth. His tongue finds mine and I groan in approval, stars exploding behind my closed eyelids.

Yes. Please. Like that.

Elliot kisses the way he’s done everything else since I met him. He jumps right in without holding back. The sounds of surprise and pleasure rumbling up from his chest are honest and revealing, so arousing I resist when he tries to pull back enough to suck in some much-needed air.

Fuck oxygen.

“Don’t go,” he growls against my mouth, both of us gasping. “Don’t.”

What?

He’s kissing me again before I can respond, but I don’t think he has to worry. I don’t want to go anywhere without him. I do want to touch the body I’ve been salivating over, but with my arms pinned between our chests and my hands still on his face, I’m trapped. And Elliot doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to let me go.

I tilt my hips forward until my erection brushes against the iron between his legs. It’s heavy and hard. Obnoxiously thick. I imagine him working to get it inside me and shiver, rubbing myself against him again.

Please.

He pins me to the wall with a growl, eating at my mouth as he keeps me still. Then I feel it. A pulse of movement. One curious flex followed by a grunt of pleasure. Impatient, I lift my leg, and wrap it around his thigh to drag him closer.

He gives in with a hungry moan, rubbing his cock against mine, rocking in a rhythm that’s going to make me come in my pants. I want them off. I want us naked, his hot flesh in my hands so I can show him how good it can feel. I’ve never been this eager to please. This greedy for it. If I had the breath, I’d beg.

Please fuck me. Oh God, please fuck me.

One second I’m burning up on the edge of glory, and the next I’m alone, blinking at his back in confusion. “Elliot?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds scraped raw and ravaged. “I can’t. I don’t know what happened. I shouldn’t have...”

When his words register, all the heat cools until my veins are like ice. Familiar regret tastes acidic in my throat. I shouldn’t have.

I knew. I know. What other reaction could he have? And how many times does this need to happen to me before I overcome my compulsion for closet cases and curiosity seekers?

“In case you try to convince yourself later tonight that it was the other way around, you kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.”

You didn’t stop it either.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he starts, but I cut him off, suddenly exhausted.

“Don’t apologize. Do yourself a favor and forget it, neighbor. Put it out of your mind and I’ll do the same. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Before he can turn and see my face, I’m inside and locking the doors behind me. I don’t look back, walking straight up the stairs and into my bathroom to turn on the shower.

Did I finally find a flaw in Elliot Ransom?

I shed my clothes, step into the shower and turn my face into the spray, rehashing those last few moments. I begged him to fuck me. I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until it was too late. I didn’t mean to, but once it was out there it took him out of the moment long enough to remember who he was. Who I was.

He said he was sorry.

Whydid he kiss me? That’s what I can’t figure out. I had him ranked and slotted and firmly in the friendzone. Or the I-fantasize-in-private-but-manage-to-restrain-myself-in-his-company-zone. This never should have happened.

Was it pity after hearing that I’d been dumped and was forced to rely on my brother to find a man? All the honest, almost intimate conversations we’ve been having?

Someone else might want you, but I sure as hell don’t.

No matter how far I get from that small stretch of road, it’s still inside me, ready to pop up again every time I meet with failure or rejection.

Does some part of me think I deserve it? Is that why I keep finding men who don’t want to want me? Who regret me? Did I stay with my ex for so long because he gave me a regular fix of that dysfunction and kept me from looking for something better?

If so, that part of me is full of shit and needs its ass kicked. Fuck that loser. I have every right to have the kind of relationship JD has with Carter. That Royal has with his wife, Austen.

I lied to Elliot. I won’t forget tonight, but I won’t use it to torture myself. I’m almost glad it happened. That kiss helped me realize what I really want in a relationship. I want that kind of passion, that same level of intensity, only with someone who isn’t ashamed of it, or me. I want to feel the way I felt tonight with someone else.

You don’t want someone else. You want Elliot.

I’ll get over it.

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