Page 30 of The Anchor Holds

He was still on my bed, sheets tangled around his naked body, which he didn’t seem to feel an ounce of shame about. Nor should he. He was a perfect specimen, with abs, muscles, and a long, perfectly shaped dick surrounded by just the right amount of pubic hair.

The skin on his body was just as tan as his face, telling the story of a life lived in sunshine, most likely on the water. I wanted to know about that life. Wanted to knowhim. My fingers twitched with the need to discover all his secrets.

His hair was delightfully mussed, curls falling in a curtain along his brow, eyes still heavy with sleep, gaze lazy, content, with an upward tilt to his lip. He woke up like this. Happy. Content.

“You need to leave.” I found his underwear and jeans in a pile on the floor, tossing them in his direction. I refused to look at him, to give him a chance to respond. Instead, I left the room. In search of coffee. And a sense of who the fuck I was since I felt scattered on the floor just like his clothes had been.

Elliot emerged from my bedroom only a handful of minutes later. I’d made sure my attention was firmly on the coffee machine, although I felt his presence the second he entered the room.

Ignoring people—specifically men—was one of my favorite hobbies, yet with him it was painful.

I wasn’t sure what result I’d get from ignoring him, but I’d been confident that it wouldn’t be a positive one. Men didn’t like being on the receiving end of a dance they’d been doing since the beginning of time—discarding women once they were done with them.

Nothing that he hadn’t likely done before, I told myself.

And if he hadn’t, if he was one of the rare men who treated women with respect and kindness, it was all the better to ensure that he knew exactly who I was and stayed far away from me.

I was not a woman who deserved respect or kindness.

The silence in the room yawned for longer than I was comfortable with, since it wasn’t filled with the sound of him stomping out of the room. Or him yelling at me to cover his hurtfeelings, bruised ego. Not that I could imagine Elliot yelling at anyone.

I continued going through the motions of making coffee until there was nothing I could do but turn around with my steaming mug and glare at the man still in my kitchen—fully dressed, thankfully. If he had been naked, I doubt my resolve would’ve held.

Unfortunately, his wrinkled shirt was wrinkled but clung to his lean torso, combined with the sleepy expression and ghost of stubble on his jaw, he was ruggedly adorable.

I’d never described someone I’d fucked asadorableand hadn’t thought I could be turned on by a man who could be described this way. Yet there I was, well fucked by him, and my pussy was already thirsting for more as his easy smile stretched even wider at my glare.

“I’m guessing a mug of coffee and some breakfast is out of the question?” His voice was playful with a rasp from sleep still clinging to it. Again, ruggedly adorable.

His eyes were bright, despite the early hour. He was like a puppy dog on cocaine.

“You fucked the wrong woman if you expect me to serve you in the morning.” I leaned back to sip my coffee, if only so I had something to do.

His crooked, white teeth remained on full display.

“I’m certain I fucked the right woman, and I do remember you being eager to serve last night.” His voice seemed to lower a few octaves, gaining the ability to slither across my skin like a caress.

I restrained the urge to shiver at the memory, to display the lust that erupted inside of me like a volcano at the rapid change in his demeanor, the reminder of the multitudes this man contained. He smiled easily yet could be cold and controlling in the most delicious and depraved of ways.

“Well, hold on to that memory,” I told him sharply as I cupped my mug. “Because that’s the only thing you’ll have of me going forward.” I took a measured breath while staring at him before I spoke again. “Do you need me to show you to the door, or do you think you can manage it on your own?”

The not so subtlefuck offdid nothing to dimmish the playful, knowing and possessive lilt to his gaze, which owned every inch of my skin.

“I’ll manage,” he winked. “And I’m certain that a memory like that will stay with me for the rest of my days, though I won’t be satisfied with just that. And neither will you.”

His words hit me square in the chest, knocking the breath out of me.

“I work at the Shaw Shack every Friday night, when you’re ready to get out of your own way and admit that. I’ll be there ready to make you a cocktail.”

Then he turned and left.

Because I literally couldn’t give myself a second to focus on his words, I was dialing on my phone before he even closed the front door.

“I told you not to use violence,” I said when Jasper picked up.

“You told me to get her to Jupiter,” he replied. “Which was what I did.”

I clutched the phone as his dead tone, cold and lifeless, chased away the lingering warmth from Elliot’s presence. Maybe a good thing. The difference between them couldn’t be starker. A familiar, icy chill was already creeping back into my insides.

---