Page 77 of The Anchor Holds

“I got off on that, Calliope.” His lips brushed against mine in a smile before he completely let me go, sinking back onto the pillows. “I get off on anything that involves you coming underneath me. Coming … anywhere, really. I get off onyou.”

The compliment wasn’t exactly something Hallmark would start putting on cards, yet it felt tender, nonetheless.

I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to breathe around the uncomfortable sensation in my chest. Everything felt like it was tightening, squeezing.

Elliot was watching me carefully, his smile slowly disappearing.

“I’m capable of fucking you like a dirty whore and making love to you, Calliope, and I think that scares you more than anything.”

His words prickled along my spine, two in particular sharp enough to break the skin, burrowing inside of me.

Make. Love.

That. Right there. That was what I needed to hear in order to slap myself out of whatever temporary madness I’d indulged in that morning. I’d promised myself a night of passion. And it was morning.

I scrambled out of the bed, all limbs and sheets, tangled in my desperation until I finally fought free with a huff of breath.

Elliot let me go, watching as I searched the room for my clothing until I remembered that it was all on his kitchen floor.

I could’ve just ran from the room, gotten my clothes and left. But that felt cowardly. Nor could I have a conversation while naked. So I stomped over to the set of drawers in the corner, opening them with more force than necessary, seeing neatly folded tees arranged in the space. I yanked one out at random, my fingers squeezing the soft, worn cotton, unwilling to acknowledge how much I loved that fabric.

I was hastily erecting walls in which to protect myself. Protect Elliot. End this madness.

“You have to be in love tomake love.” I shoved the tee over my head. “Of which we arenot.” I punctuated the last word with a hard tug on the hem of the shirt, glaring at Elliot in the bed.

“No,” Elliot agreed, and inexplicably, the single word settled in my stomach like a stone. He threw the covers back, standing in all his naked glory and crossing the short distance between us.

“Not yet,” he added, stepping forward and grabbing hold of the back of my neck, covering my mouth with his before I could spout out a sharp and cruel retort.

I struggled against the kiss. Or at least I told myself I should struggle against the kiss, given the enormity of what he just said. Alarm bells were ringing, lights flashing in a far-off corner of my brain, telling me to man battle stations, to go to war against theman who was promising to ruin his life by falling in love with me.

By the time the kiss ended, I was breathing heavily, my heart beating in my throat.

Elliot’s face hovered inches from mine. I could count his eyelashes, see the faint smattering of freckles across his face, the lines at the edge of his eyes as a result of UV rays and a lot of smiling.

I took in the bump in his nose, marring the perfection in his face that only served to make it more striking. The light dusting of dark-blond stubble on his chin that had left marks on my inner thighs.

In short, he was stunning.

And he was telling me he was going to fall in love with me.

Like it was a forgone conclusion.

Sense found me quickly, like a bucket of ice water.

I stepped out of his arms, shivering when seconds ago I’d been toasty warm.

“Don’t say things like that if you ever want to fuck me again,” I snapped harshly. “I get it, maybe there’s a shortage of women in wholesome Jupiter, Maine, who want to get kinky with you. And you know what? I’m fine with that because there just so happens to be a shortage of men I’m interested in fucking who do kink right.” I pointed my red-tipped finger at him. “You’re not endearing me with talk of feelings, though. I don’t need or want you to feel anything but attraction toward me. And I sure as shit don’t want you thinking you’re in love with some idealized version of me only to learn that the real me is nothing you could handle or respect.”

My brain was whirling at a thousand miles an hour, screaming all the steps I needed to take to ensure that once I walked out of there, Elliot would never want me again. I had plenty of cruel, hateful words I could hurl at him to kill hisfeelings. I’d made the promise to myself last night after all… One night, then it was over.

But I wasn’t brave enough. To hurt him. To end it yet. The mere thought of it had my throat closing with panic. I hastily rebargained with myself, restructuring promises. Not one night but an arrangement. For the duration of the short amount of time I had left here.

“Don’t fucking ruin this, Elliot,” I plead softly. “This is the only good thing I’ve had to myself.” My eyes squeezed shut in shame. “And I’m going to be selfish and keep it for a while.” I opened them to see Elliot’s somber yet somehow tender expression as he gave me his full attention. “On the proviso you don’t talk about four-letter words unless they’re referring to the act of fucking. Which is all we’ll be doing.”

I had my ‘I mean business’ tone on, which worked almost 100 percent of the time with fully grown men and slightly less with toddlers I babysat.

Elliot didn’t hop to agree, like I hoped he would, he just continued searching my face, looking for something.

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