Chapter Six
He should not be doing this, leaning over her like a predator. Should not be anywhere near her. And yet here he was, his hands on the arms of his office chair, looking down into her eyes, watching them widen, her pupils dilating. Hearing her breath catch.
He’d tried to get back to work on the Norton, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate. First time ever that hadn’t worked. And when he’d taken his hand out of his pocket, seen the blood all over his fingers, he’d known pain wasn’t going to work either. Nor was continuing to deny what his body insistently told him it wanted.
Ellie Fox had got under his skin. Had changed things between them. And by touching her, he’d been complicit in that change. He’d crossed the line and no matter how much he wished he hadn’t, he couldn’t cross back again. The only direction to go was forward.
Which meant admitting the one thing he was afraid of—that she wasn’t the child he’d once escaped to and hadn’t been for years.
It wasn’t what he wanted. But that choice had been taken from him the moment she’d undone her jumpsuit in his truck. And when your choice had been taken from you, there was nothing to do but embrace what fate had given you in its place. Make it your own.
The sound of his pulse beat loud in his head. Insistent. He felt breathless, aching. Adrenaline moved like lightning in his blood.
Desire. Yes. This was what he felt. For her. For Ellie. He wouldn’t fight it, wouldn’t deny it. He would accept it, embrace it.
Make it his.
He could hear Ellie’s breath catch, a flush creeping up her pale neck, over smooth white cheekbones. Could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat and he had the most bizarre urge to put his mouth over it. Taste her. Bizarre because the throat wasn’t a place on a woman he’d ever wanted to taste. There were other places he sometimes indulged himself with. When he wanted them to be helpless, mindless with pleasure. Oh yes, he’d become very good at rendering a woman blind with pleasure. So she didn’t see what he didn’t want to give.
Ellie would be no different. He couldn’t afford for her to be different.
“Hunter—”
“Close your eyes.”
“But—”
“If you want this, close your eyes.”
She blinked. Then obeyed, black-painted lashes lying still on her cheeks. Her breathing had become fast, shallow and through the tightly fitting cotton of her tank tops, he could see the hard points of her nipples.
“You know the rules?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I…what you said yesterday?”
“Yes. What are they?”
“I can’t move. I…can’t speak. I can’t t-touch you.”
“And you can’t open your eyes.”
“But why? I don’t—”
“No questions.”
Frustration crossed her face. “I don’t want it to end like yesterday. I don’t want you walking out on me. I want to know what’s going to happen after this.”
He found he was gripping the arms of the chair tightly. The warmth of her, the musky scent of her arousal had wrapped around him, ensnaring him. He was hard already and he hadn’t even touched her.
“I won’t walk out on you. But what I told you yesterday still holds true. This is all I have to give you.”
“But, Hunter—”
“Take it or leave it, sweetness.”
Her teeth sunk into the lush fullness of her bottom lip, sending a pulse of desire through him. He gripped the chair harder.
“Okay,” she said at last. “But I don’t want you to go back to treating me like a kid again. I want to be able to talk to you. I want—”
Hunter leaned forward and gently bit her lip, cutting off the flow of words before she could demand anything more from him. He hadn’t even realised he’d wanted to do it until now, until the softness of it was between his teeth, the taste of her in his mouth.
She gasped in shock then gave a helpless little whimper. Her head fell back, her mouth opening, clearly expecting a kiss. Except he didn’t kiss people. At least not on the lips.
He licked her lip instead, soothing the sting of his bite. Then he lifted his head.
Her eyelashes quivered.
“Don’t,” he warned softly.
A shaken breath escaped her but her eyes stayed shut.
Hunter pushed himself up, allowing himself to look at her. See her for who she was. Jesus, she wasn’t the skinny little redheaded girl he remembered. Oh she was skinny still, narrow hipped and small-breasted but that in no way detracted from her allure. Her neck was long and her skin like alabaster. And her legs… Holy Christ. He remembered them from yesterday, smooth and white, slender and so, so long.
“Put your hands on the arms of the chair,” he instructed, his voice becoming rougher, hoarser.
Ellie did so and he could see them tremble. His chest tightened, a familiar sick feeling gathering in his gut. This was wrong, of course, what he was doing to her, what he was going to do to her. He’d embraced his own fucked-up kink, had chosen it, but that didn’t mean he had to expose her to it.
Ah, Christ, there was a reason he only did this with strangers.
He bent over her again, pressed his thumb to the pulse at the base of her throat. It was wild, out of control. “You’re not afraid?” This was important to him. Fear had never been a part of the equation. Yeah, he was twisted but not to that extent. “You can speak now.”
“No,” she whispered. “The opposite.”
Desire knotted tighter, as did the sick feeling. They always went hand in hand, desire and guilt. But he’d made that his choice. Had owned it. It had been the only way to find himself again, the only way out of the shitty place he’d been in after Liz had finished with him.
Ellie too had helped, though she’d never known it.
And now he was going to change that forever.
“You can walk away, Ellie,” he said, keeping his thumb where it was. On her throat. Choice was important. It was always important. “You can leave. I won’t stop you.”
“No.” She was trembling. “No. No. Do anything, Hunter. I’m yours.”
They always were his. The women he had on occasion. When he couldn’t stand the need anymore. When work or the bike or running didn’t help. For that moment, when they were lying on his bed, naked, they were his. And he was selfish with them because it wasn’t about them and what they wanted. It was about what he wanted.
And yet this is the second time in as many days you’re doing what Ellie wants.
He took a long breath, struggling with the concept, though why he should find it difficult he had no idea.
“I’m going to look at you now,” he said, and he didn’t give her any other warning, jerking the double layer of her tank tops out of her jeans and pulling them up under her arms.
She shivered as he did so, as the curves of her breasts were exposed. Her bra today was dark blue and lacy, the soft pink of her nipples obvious through the lace.
He took a breath, looking. Drinking in the sight of her.
Beautiful. She was beautiful. How had he failed to see this? How had he missed it? Blind, that’s what he’d been. Willfully, determinedly blind. Well, now he wouldn’t be. He couldn’t un-see this in the way he hadn’t been able to un-see her in his truck.
She would never be that kid again. Never.
Embrace it. Choose it.
He reached for the buttons on her jeans, pulling them open one by one, then he loosened the denim on her hips, spreading the fabric wide. Her underwear didn’t match her bra. There was lace, oh yeah, but the lace was black. And he could see copper curls beneath it.
Fuck.
With a sharp movement he pulled her jeans down all the way to her ankles. Her mouth opened but she didn’t make a sound.
Hunter straightened and looked again. With her eyes closed there was no danger. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see his reaction and perhaps respond in a way he didn’t want. Perfect. Because he had to have control here.
“You have to do what I say, Hunter.”
“But I want to touch you.”
“No. You know you’re not allowed to, darling. But do what I tell you and I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”
Yes. Complete and utter control.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered.
Her lashes quivered again, and he could almost see the shock grip her. “Hunter—”
“You told me you’d do anything. That you were mine. So do it. Touch your pussy for me, sweetness.”
The breath went out of her in a rush. Then she lifted one hand from the arms of the chair and put it on her stomach. Slid it down. Her hand shook, a deep flush washing her skin as she pushed it beneath the waistband of her underwear, fingers sliding through her copper curls.
She gave a little moan.
Hunter eased her legs open then dropped to his knees between them, gripping her thighs gently. Watching. Watching her hand. Watching her face.
Yeah, this was what he liked. What got him off. Watching them do what he told them to do. Following his orders. Leaving him free to stay or go, depending on what he wanted because the choice always remained with him. Sometimes he stayed to get them off. Sometimes he left. Without a word, without any explanation, only walked out.
In the early years after those encounters, he’d go back to the tattoo parlor, get some more feathers. Erasing the sick, guilty feeling with pain. But it had been a long time since he’d needed to do that.