Page 243 of Fractured Loyalties
I swallow. “Green.”
His mouth brushes my shoulder. “Then be still.”
I hold my body in the shape he sets. He keeps one hand on my throat and one on my hip, and the control in that grip rockets me. He reads each twitch, each tremor. He gives me friction and denial in exact doses that make my spine arch off the mattress and then settle again, begging without words. He keeps me just under a rise and then steals a fraction back. I hate him for it and love him for it and I can’t get enough.
He bends to my ear. “Tell me what I am to you right now.”
“Everything.” It rips out of me. “You’re everything.”
“Good girl,” he says, and the sound almost ends me.
I push back into his touch without meaning to. He tightens his hand at my throat in warning, not pain, just pressure that pins my mind to his palm. The command in it is liquid iron.
“Ask,” he says again.
“Please let me come.”
“Not yet.”
A noise breaks in my chest. Then he releases my throat and slides his hand over my chest, thumb circling a peak through fabric. The friction sets nerves on fire. I hear myself beg. He rewards me by dragging his mouth down my neck, teeth grazing in a line that feels like promise and threat.
“Color,” he says again, relentless.
“Green,” I gasp, and his praise lands hot and heavy.
He rolls me onto my back, belts my hands to the headboard this time, pulls the knot firm and checks the give. The room blurs around the edges as he takes his time above me.
He’s bare but for the dark cling of his boxers, skin still damp from the shower, hair unruly from the towel he raked through it. No suit. No pressed shirt. None of the polished armor that makes him untouchable. He’s just muscle and heat and danger, stripped to his core, and it wrecks me how much more powerful he feels this way. Power wrapped in restraint. A king that kept his crown on to ruin me.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that’s almost violent, lips crushing, teeth dragging over the tender edge until sparks scatter down my spine. I taste soap and copper, the faint ghost of something darker he didn’t wash off. His hand fists in my hair, pulling until my neck bends back, baring me to him.
I gasp, but he swallows it whole. His tongue parts me like he has every right, and I let him. My thighs press together, a useless attempt at holding back the ache he pulls from me.
He shifts, pressing me back onto the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, his body caging mine, and the heat of him burns through the thin cotton of my clothes. He isn’t careful. He doesn’t ease me into it. He takes. He bites my lip until it stings, then drags his mouth down the line of my jaw, my throat.
“Say stop if you want it,” he mutters against my skin, voice torn raw. “If not—I’ll take every inch.”
I don’t say stop. I don’t even breathe the thought. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping across damp skin.
He groans, low and harsh, and yanks at the hem of my shirt. The fabric tears when it catches, a rip I should be embarrassed by but all I feel is the shock of cold air against my skin as he bares me to his stare. His eyes scorch me—dark, obsessive, a predator who’s finally cornered prey that stopped running.
“Beautiful,” he rasps, dragging his thumb over the swell of my breast before bending to take me in his mouth. Heat lances through me, sharp and consuming. His tongue circles, then sucks hard, making me arch up into him, shameless. He switches to the other, teeth scraping, mouth working me until I’m whimpering, wet and aching everywhere.
His hand slides down, finds the waist of my shorts, and shoves. He doesn’t peel them off like a lover might; he strips them like they’re in his way. I lift my hips and let him. Cool air hits the dampness between my thighs and I hear the way his breath stutters.
He palms me over my panties, fingers pressing hard enough to make me jerk. Then he hooks the fabric aside, two fingers sliding across the slickness there, slow at first—teasing me with how much he already knows I want it.
“Dripping for me,” he murmurs, voice a sinful scrape. “Say it. Say you need me inside you.”
Shame should rise up and choke me, but it doesn’t. My body betrays me, back arching, legs parting wider. “I need you.” The words are ragged, half a plea.
His fingers circle my clit once, twice, then he slides his fingers inside me, thick and unyielding. I cry out, the sound muffled when he catches my mouth again. He thrusts them slow at first, stretching, testing, then faster, curling deep until my vision bursts white at the edges.
I writhe beneath him, desperate, clawing at his shoulders. “Elias—”
“I know,” he growls. His thumb finds my clit while his fingers work inside me, merciless. The rhythm builds until I’m shattering, convulsing around him, a broken cry torn from mythroat. He doesn’t stop. He pushes me through it, keeps me trembling and gasping, wringing every drop from me.
His eyes lock on mine like a chain.
