AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When she had lowered herself down to the base, she pulled her lips from his, looking into his eyes as she moved her hips away from him and then leisurely let him fill her again. The pace was painfully slow and intoxicating. She felt her thighs object, shaking from both desire and strain. But she refused to go any faster. Elliott's hand remained around her hips, his fingers now digging into the soft flesh. His other hand went up her back, grabbing at the base of her skull and holding on as if his life depended on it.
Elliott's jaw was tight, his muscles in his arms and shoulders tense like desire to delay his climax was taking every last bit of control.
Hannah felt her orgasm building up in a leisurely pace then nudging over the edge, culminating in one powerful throb and slowly easing, leaving her collapsed against Elliott's neck, struggling to find the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She felt Elliott find his release, his body tensing and shaking once beneath her, his hands at her hips and neck grabbing in a punishing grip.
Hannah only stayed there a moment, worriedly wondering what you were supposed to say to each other post-sex, realizing the other few times had resulted in exhausted sleep. But given they were both fully rested, that seemed unlikely. Hannah pulled herself upward, her thighs at once objecting to being in the awkward position as well as her trying to move from it.
She avoided meeting his eyes, walking over to her bag and rummaging for an outfit. Finding black jeans, a white peasant blouse, panties and a bra, she finally turned around. To bump right into Elliott who apparently had the footsteps of a cat and had come up right behind her. He plucked the bra out of her pile of clothes and hooked it onto his pointer finger.
"You won't be needing this," he informed her, a smile playing at his lips.
"My shirt is white," she informed him, marveling at seeing the famously serious Elliott Michaels twirling a white bra around his finger. She almost wanted to laugh, if she wasn't about to blush. "I need it."
"That didn't stop you yesterday," he informed her. When she reached for it, he pulled it up higher.
"Different material," she objected, going up onto her tip toes to retrieve the bra in question.
Her fingers had just touched the material when he rose it up over his head. A shocked smile spreading across her face. "Really? We're really going to do this?" she asked, amused.
"Yup," he said, smiling himself as he watched her jump up once and miss it.
"Fine," she said, her smile becoming wicked. Before he had a chance to wonder what she had planned, she reached between them, grabbed his chest hair and pulled savagely. His hand dropped a few inches, surprised. But it was enough and she snatched the material out of his fingers with a satisfied grin. "I win," she informed him, retreating into the bathroom, hearing his laugh even through the closed door.
She checked her reflection in the ornate bathroom mirror, a big round thing with a huge gold frame. Her face looked strange to her, her skin rosy and her eyes bright. She looked happy, she realized with a start. When was the last time she could honestly say she looked happy?
Refusing to give that much thought, she tried running a brush through her hair but nothing but a wash and condition was going to fix the tangled mess. She put the water on, waiting an impossibly long time for it to warm up. She stepped under the spray, her body achy in strange places- her hips, her thighs. She reached for the shampoo and conditioner, small sizes of spa-quality products. Emily had kicked and screamed until she got that one small concession for the guest rooms. People from the busy cities weren't going to be happy with the dollar store varieties, she had argued. Hannah silently thanked her as she slathered on the slimy conditioner. Her hair was unmanageable without the right products.
She stood under the hot water until, despite the ceiling fan being on and the window cracked, the whole room was a blanket of steam. With a sigh, she dried and stepped out, reaching for her panties and bra.
To find her bra was missing. He had actually snuck in and stolen her bra, she realized, utterly shocked.
With a sign of resignation, she quickly dressed and ran a brush through her hair. When she walked back into the bedroom, Elliott looked up, his face a mask of false ignorance.
"You could look for it," he said, his voice teasing. He had dressed in gray slacks and a white button-down shirt. It looked both casual and professional and she wondered if the man even owned a pair of jeans, "but then we would miss breakfast," he said, tying his shoes.
"That's okay," she said, glancing around but knowing she wasn't going to find it. Knowing him, he probably threw it away, "we don't have to do breakfast."
Elliott looked up with a raised brow. "You need to eat," he said in a tone that almost sounded chastising.
Hannah shrugged, slipping into a pair of black flats. "Alright then," she said, grabbing her purse and opening the door, leaving him to rush to catch up.
He met her at the bottom of the staircase, coming up behind and placing a hand at her lower back. She wondered fleetingly if it was an act of possession or just a casual thing men did with all women they were with.
When they stepped into the dining room, Hannah noticed the eyes of at least a dozen townspeople she knew. They gave her a friendly smile which she returned, feeling self-conscious. Elliott led her to a table by the windows and pulled out the chair for her. She never realized before how nice of a gesture that was.
Apparently, Mr. Michaels had been raised with very good manners.
The waiter came over, offering no greeting as he handed the menus to them and poured two coffee cups. Hannah had a raised brow that Elliott shrugged at. When she looked up, she felt a jolt of recognition.
"Tristan Thomas," she said in the tone of a cross math teacher. Tristan looked up, surprised, "I know it's been a while," she said, noticing Elliott had put down the menu and was looking at her, "but I used to babysit you. And I'm sure Michelle would not be happy to hear about how rude you are to customers."
A look of recognition dawned on Tristan's face, a smile pulling at his lips. "Aww, come on, Hanny," he said in a fake five-year old voice, "don't tell mama I was bad."
Hannah laughed. A real, genuine unexpected laugh. "You were always a little terror," she remembered, making the staid Tristan grin.
"Some things never change," he winked, then gesturing to Elliot said, "he seemed to like my tableside manner."
"Yes well... that hardly recommends you," she said and Elliot chuckled.
