I study him. I don’t know how he thinks he can be happy tied to a woman he doesn’t love…
…and I can’t be happy tied to a man who doesn’t love me.
Chapter Eighteen
Annabelle
Elliot’s eyes narrow as he studies me. Grim determination radiates from him like a palpable energy field, and I hold my breath.
He places his hands on both sides of my head, effectively caging me. The muscles in his shoulders shift and coil as he lowers his head until his nose almost touches mine. My mouth goes dry, and I flick my tongue over my lower lip.
His eyes flare.
I wait, shaky and unsure. Something’s shifted between us, and his proposal to rip up our contract is a huge step. But I can’t think when he’s this close, and his darkly masculine scent short-circuits my thought process. Tension stretches between us, and I—
He dips his head, slants his mouth over mine. The tension snaps, and I kiss him back, suddenly relieved. Lust—this I understand. He’s taught me what to do when it hits both of us…and overwhelms me.
This time he doesn’t limit himself to using just his tongue. His teeth scrape against the delicate tissue just inside my lips, gently, without breaking the skin. I return the aggression, pull his tongue inside and suck on it, while digging my fingers into his shoulders and back. The air around us feels thick with desire, and I breathe in his scent and sink deeper into the addictive kiss.
His hand slips underneath the nightgown and skims along my calves and thighs. The calluses on his palms feel hard and rough. He pulls the gown off me, baring me to his gaze. I don’t have anything on underneath, not even panties. He hisses out a breath. “God, you’re perfect.”
I know I’m not. But when he speaks so reverently, with such hot admiration glimmering in his lust-darkened gaze, I feel perfect.
His lips travel over my body, kissing all the bruises. The gesture is so tender and sweet, I feel like my heart is about to break.
“You have too many clothes on,” I murmur.
A corner of his mouth quirks up, and he deftly shucks his shorts and throws them over a shoulder. He is stunning, naked or otherwise, but nude, the strength in his body is more evident. The lean, strong torso gleams under the soft light, his narrow waist…lean hips…the long, powerfully built legs. His heavy erection juts out and up, the head almost touching his tight, ridged stomach.
I lick my lips, and his cock jerks as though I’m tonguing it. The sight is so hot that I push myself up to my knees, ready to take him into my mouth for a taste.
“No,” he murmurs, holding me away. When I look at him questioningly, he shakes his head. “Oh, I want your lips around my dick, but this isn’t about that.”
“Then what is it about?” I ask, my voice husky.
“You.”
Before I can demand clarification, his mouth is back on mine. This time it’s different. He ravages me, consumes me as though he wants to make me a permanent part of him. I kiss him back, my palm pressed against his cheek, helpless with wanting him. I’ve wanted him from the first time we met in that strip club, though I refused to admit it then. When we’re joined like this, it’s as though we’re puzzle pieces slotting together.
His hand is on my breast, his thumb tracing the pale blue veins. He kisses my jaw, my chin, then nuzzles the sensitive skin on my neck, his breath scorching. Liquid heat throbs in my blood, making me pant for him. My hands twist the sheet, and he places wet, open-mouth kisses along the curve of my breast. I arch my back, unable to wait, and shiver with a need too painful to bear.
He closes his mouth around my nipple, pulling it in hard, and suckles, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue flattening the tight tip. White-hot pleasure spreads through me from the contact, and I shift my legs restlessly against him, needing more. But he isn’t willing to give more. As though to soothe me, he runs his thumb over my other breast, and my hands fist in his hair. He finally lets go, and the cool air makes the wet nipple bead until I feel the tingling sensation all the way to my clit. He lavishes the same erotic attention to my other breast until I can barely breathe.
“Please…” I whisper. “Don’t tease me.”
“Oh, I intend to deliver,” he murmurs against my skin.
His finger strokes my clit then glides down the slick folds. I whimper at the incredible bliss of being touched by him, spreading my legs wider. Sweat mists over my heated skin. I’m beyond shame, beyond inhibition. If he doesn’t take me soon, I’m going to die.
He kisses downward over my belly and to the wet junction between my thighs. His breath fans hotly over me, and I moan.
“I love the way you smell,” he whispers. “The way you sound…the way you taste.”
My eyes prickle with emotion. Until him, I’ve never felt this—that I am enough, that I am what he desires, nothing else. And it makes me want to be more for him…
Rip up the contract.
The thought ripples through my mind, and I almost freeze. I don’t think that I can. The contract sets the parameters of our relationship. Once it’s gone, I won’t know what to expect anymore.