Page 135 of Stolen Voices
I swing my legs around and bring them up in the air behind me. “No pain.”
“That’s good.” Satisfied with my answer, Eli drops his shoulders from his ears and grins at me. He picks up the bags and walks them to the kitchen.
I’m not too far behind him and take a seat at the counter. I watch him putter around grabbing plates, napkins, and utensils.
“What did you get today?” I reach for the bag of food with the Pine Hills Boulangerie logo stamped on it.
I’ve become addicted to the food from this place, and the best part is they make specialty nut-free items. The pictures of the pastry shop online are spectacular. I’d give anything to go inside. It’s painted a mint green, with white mismatching tables and chairs, giving it that unique small-town charm. The wall of bread-filled baskets and pastry-filled glass case remind me of the French pastry shop my dad took me and my mom to before he died. I bet it smells like heaven too.
“Brioche French toast with berries, whipped cream, and bourbon maple syrup,” he says.
My mouth waters just hearing what’s in store. “My trainer is going to kill me when she finds out all I’ve been eating.”
“Fuck her. She’s fired,” Eli sneers, taking the stool beside me. “You eat whatever the fuck you want.”
I bark a laugh, fighting the butterfly uprising in my belly. He’s so sexy when he’s on my side. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve got you, princess. If anyone tries to tell you what to do, eat, act, or anything, you send them my way and I’ll either fire them or make their life a living hell.” He smacks a kiss on my cheek, then flips open the food boxes and transfers the food to plates.
My stomach nosedives as I fall more in love with Eli.
I love him.
Biting my lips, I stop the words from slipping out. It’s way too soon to say them. For him. For me? Now it’s easy to see how I’ve been in love with him for years. Even when he was breaking my heart and being an absolute asshole, my heart loved him. It’s not rational, but sometimes the heart sees its match and the brain just has to catch up. In this case, it’s Eli who needs to catch up.
Reaching for a fork, I dig into breakfast and moan as the fluffy, egg-soaked bread hits my tongue, and the combined taste of cinnamon and sweet bourbon syrup explodes in my mouth. “Wow, that’s delicious.”
I turn to find Eli staring at me, a pained look on his face. With an internal smirk, I ignore him and take another bite, this time letting the whipped cream drip onto my chest.
“Christ,” Eli curses under his breath.
I use my middle finger to wipe the mess, then lick it before turning to him. “Did I get it all?”
His gaze drops to the top of my breasts, and I can’t help puffing my chest out to tease him. He licks his lips and his eyes sparkle with a salacious mischief that I hope he acts on. His upper lip twitches as he fights flashing me a smug smirk.
“No. Missed a spot.” He keeps our gazes locked as he leans forward to flatten his tongue on the sticky smudge on the top of my boob, and slowly drags it up my chest and throat.
I groan in pleasure as he sucks the spot on the side of my neck that makes my knees weak and my pussy throb.
“All clean,” he whispers in my ear and nips the lobe. “Now, finish your breakfast.”
I take a deep breath to calm my overheated body.
The jerk chuckles, returning to his breakfast like he didn’t just turn me on and leave me hanging.
To stave off the pulsing between my legs with a touch of friction, I clench my thighs once more, then pick up my fork and take another bite, hoping to get my appetite back—for something other than Eli’s cock.
We talk as we finish breakfast, exchanging details about our lives, before I excuse myself to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I turn the water in the shower to the hottest setting and climb under the spray. My little slip with the whipped cream totally backfired, and now I’m needy and swollen.
I lift the shower head off the holder and switch the setting to pulse. Aiming the water at my clit, I lean against the cold tiles and imagine Eli’s head between my legs as he licks and fingers me. It takes less than a minute to come as I whimper, “Elijiah,” like I did the night we watched each other take our pleasure from our own hands.
Feeling much lighter than before, I finish my shower routine and turn off the water. As per my plan, I left my clean towels on the bed, so I call for him. “Eli. I need your help.”
The door flies open with a bang as Eli barges into the steamy bathroom, his eyes wild and a frying pan in his hand. I’d laugh at the scene before me if he didn’t look so terrified.
“What’s wrong?” He pants, searching the room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Sorry. I just … forgot my towel.” I try not to shrink away and hide. I point at the empty towel rack, which snaps him out of whatever trance he was in.
