Page 19 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
"I'd like that," he says softly, his hand finding mine on the table. The touch sends a warm thrill through me, and I realize that for the first time in a long while, I'm not afraid of where this might lead.
As we continue to talk and laugh, sharing stories of childhood mishaps and professional triumphs, I feel something shifting between us. It's as if the walls we've both built are slowly crumbling, revealing the possibility of something beautiful and real.
The candlelight flickers across Elliott's face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes as he gazes at me. My heart races, and I feel a magnetic pull drawing us closer.
"Liv," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."
I swallow hard, my fingers tracing patterns on his palm. "Me neither," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Elliott leans in, his lips brushing against mine with a tenderness that sends a shiver down my spine and makes my knees falter. His kiss is soft at first, hesitant almost, as if he’s savoring the moment. But when I respond, threading my fingers into his hair, it deepens—hungry, urgent, and utterly consuming.
My pulse quickens as his hands glide down my back, tracing the curve of my spine. His touch is both deliberate and searching, igniting sparks across my skin. The air around us seems to thrum with electricity, each shared breath pulling us closer until there’s no space left between us.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, breaking through the haze of desire.
I meet his gaze, my own breath ragged. “More than sure.”
The words seem to untether us. We stumble backward, his hands never leaving me, my own seeking him just as desperately. The trail of clothing we leave behind feels almost ceremonial, each discarded piece baring more than just skin.
When we reach the bed, Elliott eases me down onto the cool sheets, his movements unhurried but purposeful. His calloused hands explore my body with a reverence that leaves me breathless, his fingers brushing over my skin as though committing every inch of me to memory.
His kisses are everywhere—my lips, my neck, the hollow of my collarbone—each one sending a jolt of pleasure coursingthrough me. The weight of him, the press of his body against mine, feels grounding and exhilarating all at once.
Our lovemaking is a slow, deliberate dance of connection and surrender. Every touch, every sigh, every whispered word feels like a promise, unspoken but deeply understood. He moves with a mixture of power and gentleness, his strength tempered by the way he watches me, as though I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
I lose myself completely in him—in the rhythm we create, in the way his body responds to mine. Time seems to stand still, each moment stretching into eternity as passion and vulnerability entwine.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, skin still warm and slick with the aftermath of our shared intimacy. My head rests on his chest, and the steady beat of his heart lulls me into a contented haze. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my back, his touch as soothing as it is intimate.
In the quiet, I feel it—the depth of what just passed between us. More than lust, more than desire. It feels like something unshakable, something forever.
"That was..." Elliott trails off, a smile in his voice.
"Yeah," I agree, grinning up at him. "It really was."
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I never thought I'd find someone like you, Liv. Someone who sees past the 'Iceman' and just... gets me."
I trace lazy circles on his chest, feeling utterly content. "And I never thought I'd meet someone who understands my passion for baking the way you do. Or someone who'd willingly risk flour explosions just to spend time with me."
We both laugh softly, the sound filled with affection and shared joy.
A sharp rap at the door jolts us from our cozy reverie. I bolt upright, clutching the sheet to my chest.
"Liv! You there? It's Tilly!" A muffled voice calls through the wood.
I groan, burying my face in Elliott's shoulder. "It's my neighbor. She has the worst timing."
Elliott chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath me. "Should we pretend we're not home?"
I'm tempted, but knowing Tilly, she'd probably just keep knocking. With a sigh, I roll out of bed, frantically searching for something to throw on. "Hold on, Tilly!" I call out, my voice an octave higher than usual.
I emerge from the bedroom to find Elliott already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, looking unfairly put-together. He raises an eyebrow, smirking at my inside-out shirt and messy hair.
"Not. A. Word," I mutter, pointing a warning finger at him as I shuffle to the door.
I open it to reveal Tilly, resplendent in her Aquarium uniform of short khakis and navy polo shirt.
"Hey Liv!" she trills, sweeping past me. "My internet's doing crazy things again. Mind if I borrow your WiFi for a smidge? I'm in the middle of a very important —oh!"
