Page 29 of The Anchor Holds

Elliot leaned forward and caught my lower lip between his teeth. He held it there before he released it. “We’ll see.” Flashing me a wicked smile, I suppressed a groan at how sexy he looked.

Then his hips pumped. Stars erupted in my vision. My nails dug deeper into his back as he slammed into me with the perfect force, perfect rhythm.

I knew I must’ve been hurting him with my nails, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I wanted to punish him for making me submit so easily. For giving me an example of heaven, of what I’d never truly be able to have.

My body dove headfirst into an orgasm that took me away from Earth, but just as my body tensed, Elliot stopped moving.

The skin surrounding his eyes pulled taut, his forehead shiny with sweat I inexplicably wanted to taste. “Not until I fucking say.”

I roiled against the feral order and the denial of my orgasm. Yet I didn’t buck my hips, I didn’t spit fire. I just glared up at him in fury.

He didn’t smile, but the satisfied glint in his eyes told me my rage amused him. Turned him on. He leaned down to lay his lips against my nipple, cock still inside of me.

I arched my back, spears of pleasure raking through me yet not enough to tip me into an orgasm.

Then Elliot rocked forward. Slowly. Torturing me, watching every contour of my face as he did so.

My nails continued razing his flesh. Surely, I must’ve been drawing blood by then, yet he didn’t even wince.

Once he was bottomed out, I expected more torture. More waiting. Not for him to thrust back-and-forth, my vision blurring.

Finally, my orgasm slammed into me like a tsunami, unable to be stopped. My moans of pleasure mingled with the thunder of Elliot’s release. The waves crashed over me until I was unable to understand which way was up.

It didn’t matter.

For that night, at least, I let myself drown in Elliot Shaw.

Seven

Hiding Out in the Open — Feist

Iwas warm.

Very warm.

Which was unusual first thing in the morning since I kept the temperature in my room at a consistent sixty-eight degrees, the optimal temperature to promote deep and restful sleep. It also ensured that I didn’t get too comfortable and stay in bed too long. Something I practiced in every area of my life—making sure that everything was done with just a little discomfort, in order to not lapse into any kind of false sense of security, never able to linger in idleness.

Warmth was the first thing I noticed, though my first thought should’ve been to question the source of it. The giant presence behind me, the man whose torso I was tucked into. His long, muscular arm was lazily draped over me, not gripping tightly, yet the gesture felt casual, possessive and intimate all at once. A leg was hooked over my hips, half spooning me, half laying ontop of me as if he was trying to clutch on to me with everything he had.

I connected the dots quickly, even though I woke a little less aware than I was used to. I felt hazy … content. Satisfied.

That didn’t last for long.

As much as I wanted to revel in that place, a place I didn’t belong—in Elliot Shaw’s arms… That was dangerous.

Ripping the Band-Aid off was the only option. I quickly and brutally moved from his grip. A sharp inhale told me that my abrupt movement had roused him from his deep sleep.

Guilt speared through me quick and sharp before I banished it.

“I’ve woken up to some great views, but that ass tops them all.” I forced myself not to react to his sleep-clutched voice.

I’d all but jumped from the bed naked, and that comment, the feeling of his eyes on me, the deep appreciation and knowing in his voice… It all sent prickles of need through me.

The urge to get back into bed with him was so powerful that I had to sink my teeth into my lip to resist it, biting so hard I tasted blood.

I snatched my robe from the hook on my door without looking back at him.

“This was a one-time thing,” I told him as I slipped into my silk robe, finding the courage to turn to face Elliot.

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