He pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her, hitting her back against the wall again, knocking the words out of her mouth. A little cry of surprise popped out of her throat. “You never fucking listen. I knew it then, and I know it now. That was only one piece of our broken puzzle.”
“I do listen.” The weight of her body dragged at her arms, and she squirmed against the wall until he pushed his body against hers, all hard and hot. She forced herself to finish what she’d come to say. “You may not care anymore, but I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to make things right for you.”
She was breaking his fucking heart.
Again.
Goddammit. He wasn’t going to let her do this.
“What do you want from me?”
“N-nothing.” The tears brimming in her eyes finally spilled over, and, Christ, the sight tore him straight down the middle. “I just wanted to make sure you knew…”
“Why? So you could ease your conscience? So you could walk away feeling all better? Fuck that, El. Fuck you.”
He fought to lower his voice, but the lust and the need he’d been fighting from the moment he’d seen her in the cave in those goddamned cut-offs was roiling through his veins, mixing with anger born of hurt that had been simmering for years, creating a dangerous combustible on the verge of explosion.
“No,” she said, eyes wide, “that’s not what—”
“Then what?”
When she didn’t answer, Troy’s patience snapped, lighting the fuse on his volatile emotions. He was done with her goddamned games.
He bent his head and covered her mouth with his, pushing her into the wall, and kissed her the way he wanted to fuck her, long and hard. She gasped and stiffened. Troy plunged his tongue into her sweet, sweet mouth. He took and tasted and licked and took some more. She mewled, then moaned. Her fingers fisted, her body softened, and her mouth loosened, opening to him, taking him, and finally, finally, giving back.
The sensation eased all his muscles, and lust swept over him in a hot wave. His mind hazed. His body took over. God, he needed her. Needed her so badly, he ached with it. Needed her to want him as Troy, not as some stranger who could give her a thrill. Needed her to want him for him, not to fulfill some part that would edge her up the ladder toward success. Yet, he didn’t want her to want him at all.
He broke the kiss violently, fisted his hands in her hair, and pulled her head back. “Let me make this crystal-fucking-clear, Ellie. If you don’t leave this room—and I mean right now—I’m going to fuck you as long as you let me fuck you. I’ll call in sick tomorrow. I’ll get fired. I’ll die of starvation before I stop fucking you.”
She slid her tongue over her lower lip. “Why do you keep testing me?”
“Because I want you to get the hell out.”
“Then push me out the door.” She was breathing fast. Her throat rolled as she swallowed. “You weigh a hundred pounds more than me. You’re five times as strong. If you really want me out, push me out.”
She’d called his bluff, and now he was stuck with their bodies molded together, her big beautiful eyes staring at him with heat and need. And he couldn’t move. Physically couldn’t push her out the door.
A soft huff of dry laughter exited her mouth and ruffled her hair. “We’re both still so screwed up,” she murmured. “And I still want you so bad.”
Bittersweet pain ripped through his gut. He clenched his teeth and growled, “Goddamn you.”
He should throw her out, rail at her in the hallway, embarrass the hell out of her, get a restraining order, anything to keep them from self-destruction.
Instead, he took her face in both hands and kissed her, gaining instant relief from the feel of her lips against his, reveling in the euphoria of being wanted by the one woman who knew every dirty little corner of his soul and still wanted him. It was wrong. He didn’t know how, didn’t know why, didn’t know anything but the feel of her legs wrapped tight at his hips, her arms clutching his neck, her mouth begging for more.
He tasted her mouth one way, then tilted her head and slanted the kiss the other. He couldn’t get enough. Would never get enough. Had to take everything he could while he could. Because he’d lied. He was kicking her the hell out as soon as he regained control. She might be able to compartmentalize her life to deal with the loss, but he couldn’t. And he refused to live in that kind of constant pain. It had to end.
She moaned into his mouth. Her hands pulled at the tail of his shirt until it cleared his jeans. Then her hands were on his skin, and she could have had electrical current in her fingers. He unfastened the strap of her dress at the base of her neck. She fought with his belt. Fumbling and frantic, they couldn’t get at each other fast enough. Troy wanted it over and done with. Wanted to put her behind him.
Then her breasts filled his hands, and he forgot all about shoulds or shouldn’ts, goods or bads, rights or wrongs. Her supple mounds melted in his palms, and he squeezed and teased and groaned with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. He bent his head and dropped his mouth to one breast, sucked and licked, then bit and scraped. There was nothing gentle or sweet about this need. This was a fierce, dark need. The need to take. To claim. To own.
Then release. And do his best to forget.
She had his jeans open by the time he turned his attention to the other breast. And when her hand slid along his length, he winced at the excruciating thrill of it. Of having Giselle’s hand on him.
He pulled his mouth away from her with a raspy “Fuck, yes.” Then lifted her and pinned her against the wall with his body. She scraped the fingers of both hands into his hair, tilted her head and scanned his face with those gorgeous eyes, denim with lust, before kissing him deeply, pleasuring him with h
er tongue, her lips, teasing him with her teeth.