And he couldn't stop. He pulled out then flexed his hips, slamming back inside her. She made another soft, desperate sound, her body trembling, but even then he didn't pause, didn't take a breath. He did it again and again, watching her body move restlessly beneath him, her head turning to the side, her lush mouth open, panting like he was.
Pleasure and that primitive, savage need began to unfurl inside him on great, black wings, making him grab the back of her neck to hold her still as he drove himself inside her. Violet jerked, her spine bowing, a long, low moan breaking from her. He could feel her pussy squeezing him tightly as the orgasm gripped her, and he felt the satisfaction of it rip through him like a hit of Columbia's finest.
Oh fuck, yes. He couldn't resist this. He'd been too long without it, without warmth and softness and the smooth skin of a woman under him. He'd been too long without Violet. And hell, maybe he didn't need to go without anymore. She wasn't going anywhere in any hurry and he could gorge himself on her while he had the chance. He didn't have to let her in, he didn't have to open himself up. But he could give her this. That would be enough wouldn't it? He wasn't the only one who'd gone without.
He slid his free hand down her back, feeling her muscles shift and flex as he thrust into her, listening to her hoarse cries. She shivered under his touch, the cries turning into little sobs.
"Again, Violet," he murmured roughly.
She shook her head, but he reached for one of her hands, gripping her wrist and pulling it down, guiding her fingers between her thighs to her clit. "Touch yourself," he ordered. "Again, princess. Again." And he covered her hand with his, moving her finger on her own slick flesh.
"Eli … " His name was a broken sound. "Please … "
He slowed his thrusts right down, easing in and out, watching her shift and tremble beneath him. She'd told him she wouldn't fight him, and she wasn't. She was all soft and pliable, like prey in the jaws of a wolf.
She had surrendered.
Yours now.
Satisfaction spread through him, the hunger coming with it, and there was no thinking anymore. Only the raw, savage desire that gripped him tight whenever she was around.
Elijah held his hand over hers, guiding her finger in tight, slick circles around and around her clit, stroking his cock in and out of her, not stopping, not pausing. Driving her closer and closer to the edge. She sobbed then gave a sudden hoarse scream, her whole body shaking as she came.
Then he pushed her down flat and leaned forward, right over her, his hands on either side of her head, covering her with his body. And he began to fuck her hard, deep, fast. Giving into the savagery inside him, so that the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room, along with the hoarse gasp of his breathing and her sharp cries.
He lowered his head as the pleasure began to tear into him, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, wanting the salty taste of her skin on his tongue as he came. And when the orgasm finally detonated, blowing his mind completely, he came down on her, pressing her softness into the couch.
"You're mine, princess," he whispered as it began to hit. "You're fucking mine."
Violet kept her eyes shut tight, her brain cloudy with the effects of two intense climaxes in a row, fighting to breathe. Because he was all around her, the heat of his body, the scent of forests and snow and sex, and Jesus, she could even hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
It should have been suffocating, she should have felt crushed. But she didn't. In fact, there was a part of her that wanted to lie here forever and never move. There was something comforting about the weight of all that muscle, all that contained power. She felt safe tucked beneath him, anchored. No longer alone, but protected.
You're mine, princess. You're fucking mine.
The words echoed and reechoed inside her head, and the warm, safe feeling began to dissipate. What the hell did he mean by that? He'd been very clear that he wasn't going to let her in, so why was he getting all possessive of her?
She swallowed, her throat dry, the aching, lonely thing inside of her shivering with pleasure at the thought of such possessiveness. At the raw heat in his voice as he'd said it. No one had ever gotten possessive of her. No one had wanted her enough, and even thinking about it made her feel desperate. And also afraid. She'd lost so much already-did she really want to let herself think she could have this?
The weight on her eased, and she had to bite her lip to keep from protesting, wanting it back. He slid from her body, shifting away from her, and then there was cold air at her back, the couch dipping then rising up again as he got off it.
She kept her eyes closed, listening to his footsteps recede, then she curled up tight, folding herself around the ache in her chest.
How had it come to this? That she'd fallen for the man who'd kidnapped her at gunpoint? A hard, cold man, twisted by grief and the need for revenge. A man who wouldn't ever let her help or heal him. A man who wouldn't ever trust her.
She'd hoped that by not fighting, that by surrendering to him completely, she'd get him to drop his guard. Yet he hadn't, not even a little bit.
How naive of her. How stupid. Perhaps she should have used that damn code when he'd given it to her and just gotten out.
Footsteps sounded again, coming closer and closer. He moved quietly for such a big guy, but she could hear the sound of his breathing as he paused beside the couch. She could feel the heat of his bare skin too. He was close.
She didn't move, keeping herself curled up tight. With any luck he'd just leave her alone, which would be good, because right now she had nothing left, feeling bruised and hard, used both physically and emotionally.
Pathetic. He won't give you what you want and now you're sulking like a little bitch.
Well, okay, yeah, it was pathetic. But shit, she'd had a hell of a day. All her fears about her father had not only been confirmed, they'd ended up being worse than anything she could possibly imagine. Her mother had basically told her not to call her. And now she'd ended up having feelings for a guy who shot at her.
How fucked up was that?
You really are your father's daughter.
The thought was like a knife sliding beneath her skin, cold and sharp. Perhaps she should never have let herself believe it when he'd told her there was nothing wrong with her. After all, there had to be a reason why her brother had disappeared. Why her mother had always been distant. Why her father and ended up being such a monster.
No, she was being ridiculous, wasn't she?
She curled up tighter, only to feel a pair of powerful arms slide beneath her, lifting her, gathering her up against the hard, hot wall of his chest. She opened her eyes, finding his inky stare looking down at her.
"I don't want to talk," he said in a soft, rough voice. "And I'm not going to give you my life story. But if you need someone to make you forget for a while, I will."
The dryness in her throat intensified. It wasn't the capitulation she'd wanted and she was starting to think he just wasn't the kind of man who'd bend, not even a little. But it was an olive branch of sorts. "And if I don't?"
"Then you don't, and you sleep on the couch."
Violet swallowed. What a bitch of a choice. Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off, that she'd take the couch and to hell with him. But she was too raw and too lonely, and the feel of his arms around her was far too good.
"I don't want to sleep on the couch," she said thickly.
He stared at her for a second, his gaze merciless. Then he turned and headed toward the hall doorway with her held tight in his arms.
"I couldn't save her," he said, short and abrupt.
She glanced up at him in surprise. "Couldn't save who?"
"My wife." He wasn't looking at her, his attention on where he was going, so she took a minute to study the forceful lines of his face, all hard planes and harsh angles. Not daring to breathe in case he stopped speaking.
"Fitzgerald befriended her. Promised to help her with her career. I told her it was too good to be true, but she told me not to worry. That this would be great for her. I shouldn't have listened."
Her throat was tight, her heart heavy and hurting. So he was giving her something of himself, even though he said he wouldn't. Yet it made her ache even more. "That wasn't your fault," she murmured.
A flash of darkness as he glanced down at her. "No. It wasn't. It was Kane's."
She swallowed past the tightness. "It wasn't his either."
"Bullshit." Elijah's voice was flat with certainty. "He made a mistake. He should have been harder with her. Should have protected her more. But he didn't. He loved her too much instead."
Violet felt something curl up tight in her chest as they made their way down the hallway to the bedroom, felt her eyes get dry and sore. Of course he'd loved his wife. Where else had all this rage come from? Love. Love was always the problem.