Violet trembled, a soft whimper escaping her, the arrow of pleasure becoming sharper, heavier.
"Look at me," he demanded, low and rough.
And she couldn't help but obey, meeting his obsidian gaze, falling into it, drowning as his finger moved over her tight, aching flesh. Then his touch moved lower, sliding over her slick folds to the entrance of her body and pushing in, testing her.
Sensation rippled through her and she gasped, shuddering as his finger slid in deep then out again, pinned by the look in his eyes as he watched her.
It should have made her feel even more vulnerable, even more exposed to have him look at her like this, as he systematically tore apart all her walls and barriers with the touch of his hand. And she kind of did. But she also felt a certain sense of power. Because she wasn't the only one affected, he was too. It was there in the heat in his eyes, in the hard line of his jaw, in the tightness in his shoulders and neck. In the stain of color on his high cheekbones.
She affected him as badly as he affected her. And it came as a shock to realize she'd never been fully conscious of having that power before. Had never really felt she'd had much affect on anyone in her life. Sure, she'd gone out of her way to make her mother angry with her, but that hadn't changed her mother's behavior. Hadn't made Hilary pay any more attention to her. Her father too, had always seemed to be focused on something else, not her. Especially after Theo had disappeared.
She wanted to affect people. She wanted to feel connected. She wanted to make a difference. And she was definitely making a difference to Elijah.
He eased his fingers out of her and positioned himself between her thighs. Then he spread her open, impaling her with his cock in one deep, hard push.
Violet gasped, arching up, shuddering, her sensitive flesh burning at the stretch of him inside her. It had hurt the first time and although it wasn't nearly as sharp now, she still wasn't used to it, and he hadn't held back.
Staying buried inside her, he ran his hands up the backs of her calves and her knees, lifting them then pulling her legs up high around his waist, allowing him to slide even deeper.
A ragged, desperate sound escaped her, becoming even more desperate as he leaned forward pressing her against the arm of the sofa while he placed his hands on it, gripping tight. Then he lowered his head, his gaze inches from hers, and he kept looking at her as he drew back his hips and thrust. Hard.
She gave a hoarse cry, the angle grinding her clit against his cock, and the spear of pleasure grew edges so sharp they began to cut. He thrust again, hard and deep and ruthless, before drawing back and shoving inside her once more, pinning her between the arm of the sofa and his thighs.
Violet began to pant, her breathing ragged and broken. With each flex of his hips, with each slide of his cock, she felt herself slowly torn apart by sensation. The heat of him all around her, the heavy weight of his body pressing down on her, the feeling of him inside her, was intoxicating. Overwhelming.
His biceps flexed as he thrust, shoving himself into her, his own breathing harsh. And those inky eyes of his were so close, staring down into hers, so deep and dark that they were all she could see. The whole world was nothing but that dark, velvety blackness, the thrust of his cock, the furnace of his body, and the endless stretch of pleasure drawn so tight it was going to snap at any second.
Then it did, a hoarse scream breaking from her as he brought her to climax with another thrust, the pleasure a shock wave moving through her, bright as a bomb blast. But he didn't stop, he kept going, a driving rhythm that had her aching body gathering itself yet again.
"Eli … " His name sounded raw and desperate, and she didn't really know why she was saying it. Maybe to stop this because she couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't handle the sheer intensity of him. "Please … "
He ignored that too. Driving into her body, his gaze never leaving hers, his breathing becoming ragged and harsh.
Another climax began to build and she felt herself rushing toward it, falling like she'd just jumped out of a plane with no parachute, hurtling to the earth with no way to slow herself or stop. With no chance of rescue. Turning over and over, the ground rushing up.
"Elijah!" She screamed his name this time, her body arching beneath his as he ground his pelvis against her aching clit. As the push of his cock inside her became too much, too intense.
Screaming again, wordlessly, as the earth rushed up to meet her and she hit it, shattering beneath him like a piece of fine china. Becoming nothing but a thousand glittering shards as he moved faster and faster, his hoarse cry echoing in her ears as he followed her over the edge and into oblivion.
Elijah wasn't conscious of much but the blood roaring in his veins and the sound of his own heartbeat, loud as a drum in his head. The aftereffects of the pleasure that had just annihilated him still had him in its grip, moving through his body like small, sharp electric shocks.
He could barely breathe.
He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, disintegrating. Which was just not fucking acceptable. At all. He'd already disintegrated once in his life and that had been when Marie had died. He'd put himself back together, but he couldn't do it a second time. Not when there was so little of him left.
Pressure came against his chest, Violet's hands pushing, and he realized he'd fallen forward on her, his weight pinning her to the arm of the sofa at her back. Fuck, she was so soft under him, the warmth of her body surrounding him. He was still deep inside her and he could feel her pussy clenching him tightly, holding on like she didn't want to let him go. If he wasn't careful he was going to get hard again.
Easing out of her, he shifted back so he wasn't crushing her, giving her some room. The pressure against his chest lessened, but she kept her hands right where they were, just above his pecs, her fingers spreading out over his skin, splaying like starfish. Her lips were red and swollen from those hard kisses he'd given her and her face was pink, a flush that spread all the way down her throat and breasts, right down to her stomach where the indentations of the waistband of his shorts had been impressed into her flesh. She was pink below that too. And wet …
"You've ripped a stitch," she said, frowning, her attention on the bandages wrapping his shoulder, her fingers gently moving to touch.
And, fuck, it hadn't even been a minute since the last climax and already he was hard again, wanting again. Christ, he had to get some space, some air. Get where he couldn't see the marks he'd left on her skin or smell the musky scent of sex. Where he couldn't see her taut, high breasts or the slick folds of her pussy, or feel her hands on his skin.
Elijah pulled away, ignoring the confusion in her eyes, and got off the sofa, heading toward the bathroom. He didn't look behind him and she didn't say a word.
In the bathroom, he got rid of the condom then leaned on the vanity a moment, trying to get his head around what had just happened.
Sex. That's what fucking happened. That's all that fucking happened. What the hell is wrong with you?
Yeah, shit, he had to pull himself together. Had to stop letting her and whatever this insane chemistry was between them get to him. So he'd broken his pussy drought. So what? It didn't mean anything. He couldn't let it, not when he was going to be handing her over to Jericho. And as for all this "you help me, I help you" bullshit. … She was going to have to get over that right now.
She was his hostage. That was the beginning and the end of it.
Yet for some reason he couldn't seem to get his head around that thought. As if there was a part of him that wanted her to be more than that. As if there were shards of the man he'd once been still alive inside him. Shards of his forgotten humanity …
No. Fuck, no. He didn't want to be that man again. Never, ever. That man had allowed Marie to be taken. That man hadn't been able to protect her right when she'd needed it most.
That man had to die and stay dead.
He straightened, staring at himself in the mirror, his gaze catching on the stain of red on his tank. Blood. She was right, he had pulled a stitch.
Tugging off the stained cotton, he let it drop on the floor, examining the bandages on his shoulder. Blood had started to seep through, flowers of red against the white, an echo of the rose the eagle on his chest grasped.
There's always blood. No matter what you do, there's always blood …
"I was right."
He looked sharply in the direction of the doorway and there she was, standing with her arms crossed over her bare chest. Why the fuck had she followed?
She didn't look at him, her attention on the wound on his shoulder, blonde brows drawing down. Then, to his surprise, she moved into the bathroom, coming over to him. "Sit," she murmured. "I'll do this."