Ravenous, he opened his mouth on her shoulder, biting her.
"Eli … " There was no sarcasm in the name now, only a husky heat that moved through him, unstoppable, inescapable. Making him want, making him even more desperate.
So he bit her again, harder.
Her hands were on his back, sliding down to the waistband of the shorts he'd put on for his workout, moving under the cotton of his tank to touch his bare skin and much to his horror, he felt himself shiver in response.
Jesus, what the fuck was happening to him? This woman was dangerous and in ways he'd never expected.
He jerked his head up, shifting to grab those wandering hands of hers and lifting them above her head, pinning them there against the arm of the sofa. He was careful with her injured wrist, making sure the pressure was on the one that hadn't been cut.
She blinked, looking up into his face. "I want to touch you."
"No." His voice sounded rough and unsteady, not like him at all.
"Why not?"
"Because I fucking said so, that's why."
She stared at him and for a moment there was only a thick, heavy silence between them.
Her eyes were so dark, all that vivid color a thin band surrounding the black of her pupils all full of arousal and heat. And he wanted to look away because she was staring at him like she could see everything there was to see about him. But that was a weakness he wouldn't concede, so he just stared back, letting her look.
Then she said suddenly, huskily, "I don't know what it was that Dad did to you, and I know that I can't make it any better. But"-she took a breath-"I'm sorry for whatever it was."
The statement was so out of left field that it took him a second to fully process what she'd said. And then, when he did, it was like she'd lit the fuse on his anger all over again, because what the fuck was she thinking? That offering him an apology would make any difference?
It didn't change things. It didn't make what her father had done to Marie any less than the horrific crime it was and it sure as hell didn't make Marie any less dead.
He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of that fucking apology, but she hadn't finished, because she added, still husky and soft. "And I want you know that you can have anything from me. Anything at all, it's yours."
Anything …
Heat flooded through him, because, Christ, he could think of exactly what he wanted from her. All the things he wanted to do to her. All the time he had to make up, all the cold, empty years he could fuck away the memory of. Payment for Marie's death.
It was wrong and it should only add to the anger since there was nothing, nothing, that could make up for what Evelyn Fitzgerald had taken from him. Not money, not power, and most especially not the warm, willing body of this young woman.
Yet he didn't move away or release her.
He only looked down into those beautiful eyes of hers, slowly darkening with a terrible sympathy he wanted to destroy completely.
"I don't just want anything," he said, not caring how harsh he sounded, not caring how rough. And then he leaned down so his face was inches from hers. "I want everything,"
CHAPTER TEN
The intensity in Elijah's black gaze was inescapable, leaving her in no doubt that he meant exactly what he'd said. And he would take everything, because she would let him.
It was a terrifying thing to realize and if it had been any other man, she would have shoved him off her and run from the room.
But he wasn't any other man. There was that bleak emptiness behind his eyes and the words that echoed in her brain, fury vibrating in every syllable.
Your father destroyed my life.
She hadn't fully taken on board that comment earlier, too caught in the fury and heat of him to understand, but now, looking up into his fierce, intent face, she began to understand that something truly terrible had happened to this man. Something her father was responsible for. And now Elijah was taking that out on her.
The weight of him pressed down her, and he was so damn hot. But there was nothing she didn't like about it, nothing she didn't want. She had to make up for her father's sins somehow and if that involved letting this man do whatever he wanted to her then she'd do it.
She hated that look in his eyes. Hated the bleakness. It felt familiar to her, as if she'd felt it herself, and all she wanted to do was take it away.
"Do it then," she said hoarsely. "You can take it all."
And she didn't expect for a moment that he wouldn't. He wasn't a man who hesitated about anything, let alone took half measures.
Sure enough, as soon as she'd said the words, black heat flared in his eyes and his head dipped again, his mouth burning against her throat.
Violet closed her eyes, shivering as his teeth nipped the fragile cords of her neck, his fingers tight around her wrists held above her head. She could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against her sex and she couldn't stop herself from rocking against it, trying to get more friction, more pressure.
But he wouldn't let her, the heavy weight of his muscular body crushing her into the sofa cushions, pinning her down so she couldn't move. Then his free hand was on her, moving from her shoulder down to her left breast, cupping it in his palm, squeezing, his thumb circling her hardening nipple. She tried shifting again, restless and wanting, arching into that teasing hand, gasping as he pinched her hard. Pleasure shot through her, a streak of it arrowing straight between her thighs, and then he did it again and she groaned, moving helplessly, unable to keep still.
His head dropped further, his mouth moving down her body. He cupped her breast in his palm, his tongue finding her nipple and circling, licking. Then he sucked it into his hot mouth, drawing hard on her, sparks scattering behind her closed lids as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter.
Oh, God, this was so good. She was going to drown in this if she let herself. And why not? It was better than slitting her wrists in a bath or running down a cold and icy street. Better than a gunshot ricocheting behind her. Holding back was overrated, clearly. Perhaps giving everything was the way to go, especially when he was going to take it anyway.
Elijah bit gently on her nipple and she gave a long, low moan of frustration, her hips shifting, trying to ease the intolerable ache that was building and building.
But he released her all of a sudden, sitting up and back, leaving her lying there on the sofa with her arms above her head, her legs apart, still trembling. Completely naked and exposed.
She took a breath, starting to bring her hands down.
"Don't move," he ordered roughly. "Stay exactly like that."
Slowly she put her hands back where they were, shivering under the intensity of his black gaze. Because he kept on looking at her as if he couldn't get enough of the sight, focusing particularly on her throat, then her breasts, then finally her sex. Hunger glittered in his eyes and she got the feeling he was testing himself. Perhaps even testing her too.
She tried to calm her breathing, but that didn't work with him watching the rise and fall of her breasts. Making her so aware of her hardened, sensitized nipples and the pulsing ache in her sex.
Elijah got off the sofa, reaching over to a brown paper bag that was sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up and took out whatever was inside it, crumpling and discarding the bag carelessly back onto the table. In his hand was a box of condoms.
Violet stared at it. "When did you get that?" Her voice sounded cracked and dry.
He didn't reply, taking out a condom packet and ripping it open, his movements unhurried and very deliberate, full of intent. With one hand he pushed down his shorts and his boxers, exposing the long, thick length of his erection. Then he rolled the condom down over it in one easy motion.
She couldn't stop staring. At the movement of his hand, at all that hot skin, at the size of that hard cock as he eased the latex down. There was something so unbearably sexy about the way he did it that she found her own fingers curling, wanting to touch him the way he was touching himself.
He turned back to her, the lines of his face drawn tight with the vicious hunger that was starting to sink its claws in her too.
God, she wanted him to take off his clothes. Wanted the oiled silk of his bare skin against hers. She wanted to run her fingers all over those hard, tight muscles, learn the shape of him.
She wanted too much. But then that had always been her problem, hadn't it?
He didn't take off his clothes.
Instead he knelt between her spread thighs, looking down at her, making her feel so very vulnerable and completely at his mercy. Which in turn only seemed to feed into the desire that was shortening her breath and sending her heartbeat out of control.
He reached out, his fingers trailing down her stomach to tangle in the curls between her thighs, then going lower, finding her clit, stroking and circling.