Page 94 of Cross the Line
When we reach the locker room entrance, he pulls me flush to his side so that our faces are almost touching as he promises, “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out… later.”
CHAPTER 26
JAYDEN
Fuck. Me.
My senses are all over the place, so heightened that each note of Eli’s scent has its own mouthwatering tang. Tart and spicy. Every time he moves and that scent hits deeper, my cock throbs harder.
I might come in my pants before we make it to my bedroom—maybe before we get out of my car—and that’s just from his fucking delicious smell and the skin-tingling friction of our forearms rubbing together on the armrest between us.
Good fuck, even the music on the car stereo is taunting me with its sexy beat and seductive melody.
Motherfucker. My stomach flips when Eli stretches his arm along mine. The back of his hand grazes mine as he reaches for the media center and replays Hozier’s “Eat Your Young.”
“I like this track,” he says, slowly, deliberately retracing the still-burning trail of his touch while he sits back in the passenger seat.
A not-too-innocent smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth when I clear my throat and tell him, “Me, too.”
“It’s sexy,” he says with a leisurely exhale.
Sexy. Did Eli Sylkes just use the wordsexy? Never in forever have I heard him use that word for anything. I’m grateful, because the way the two syllables roll and hiss off his tongue is a testament to the word itself.
He licks his lips, and I have to hold my breath to keep from groaning at the peripheral shadow of the action as he asks, “Don’t you think?”
I think you’re sexy. I think I’m losing my mind over you. I think I’ll die if I don’t get a fucking taste of you soon.
“Yeah.” The gravel in my voice jams my words together with my erratic breaths as his smirk cuts to a full-on grin.
Quiet, mercurial Eli is playing me at my game. I know all about teasing and edging; I’m fucking great at it. And this playlist—the playlist he made a point of picking out—istheplaylist. The one I use to set the tone because, yeah, I am that smooth.
Not right now, though.
Right now, he’s making a mess of me. I’m grasping at the last threads of my control.
We’re under five minutes from home, and there’s a chance we might not make it with the way my heart is threatening to burst through my chest, and my hands are fucking trembling.
Hell, my entire body vibrates with the electrifying combination of his scent and his touch and his proximity. I can feel his need pulsing between us. Living, breathing—a biological torture device that’s got my balls aching in the confines of my too-perfectly tailored slacks.
But that’s okay, I remind myself as I put the pedal down, because I’m going to make a bigger mess of him soon enough.
The gate to the underground parking lot is taking its sweet time while the song starts again, and Eli’s thighs part wider. Hard muscles bulge beneath the expensive charcoal wool of his pants. I swear I’m choking on my spit as it pools deep and thick in my mouth. My tongue burns with the need to lick over every dip and groove of his thick thighs.
My hand tightens around the steering wheel. The thread I’m hanging by will snap any second. I can feel the tension pulling tighter than ever. And Eli knows it.
For a quiet, moody bastard, he’s enjoying it too much. We’ll see how he fares when he’s at my mercy.
I don’t waste time parking or jumping out of the car—straight for the lift in a purposeful stride while he saunters behind me. The elevator doors open; Eli’s reflection in the mirrored back wall greets me with a barely-there grin. The kind that’s as flirty as it is taunting.
“Hold the doors,” he chuckles darkly. Yeah, his voice has that deep, raking drag to it that shivers down my spine, tightening the grip of my need around my muscles.
I’m going to fuck him up so good he’s going to forget his goddamn name. My cock leaks with anticipation. My stomach is rolled so damn tight it’s agonizing.
I’m literally hurting for him. Sure, I like a little pain with sex. Who doesn’t? It’s enlivening to ache for someone so deeply, so desperately…
“Thanks,” he says, walking in and turning to stand beside me.
His hands are in his pockets, and with his wide gait, his crooked elbow presses into my side.
