Page 140 of These Tears

His breath catches against my neck, a rough sound vibrating out of him, too low and pleased to be pain.

My jaw loosens in horror.

‘See?’ he whispers, nuzzles his face into my neck again. ‘You’re more proficient than you’re letting on.’

I almost yelp when his hand closes around my throat, but he doesn’t squeeze. We remain suspended in the space between one ruin and another as he keeps me right where he needs me.

‘Another choice now…’ he whispers.

A small question. A quiet one. Enough to leave me with a sickening sense that something inside me has shifted out of place.

Whatever answer comes with it, it’s not going to be ‘no’.

My body freezes in his hold – and not entirely from fear. It’s that awful foreboding that begins calculating damage before pride takes the reins.

The fire beside us warms my cheek. The blizzard whistles in prayer behind the glass.

His breath moves against my skin. His scent winds around me. His hand holds my throat lightly as if to give the illusion that denial is still possible.

Even if it was, it wouldn’t come.

Because I am not really thinking about how to stop this.

I’m thinking about how much further he intends to push this. And how much of me will still be left when he’s done.

‘Your top or your bottoms?’ he asks.

24

‘Please don’t do this.’ The plea thins to almost nothing on my tongue.

‘I’m not.’ His gaze slides down to the bottom of my tracksuit top. ‘You are.’

My eyes follow his, my hands uselessly curling in my lap against the paperback.

‘Start with the hem,’ he whispers.

His finger hooks loosely into the fabric and traces a slow circle beside my stomach. The muscles there seize beneath his touch.

I lean away. His knees tighten around me slightly, pushing me back against the solid heat of his chest.

There is nowhere to go. No place for my hands except where he wants them.

I finger the hem. Untangle it from his hold, then pull it up – slow at first.

It catches on the lace of my bra as I squirm to keep clear of him.

Elias tilts away just enough to let the top pass over my head.

The second it is gone, cold air strikes from one side, the heat of his body from the other. I curl my shoulders inwards, arms folding across my front as if I can collapse into a small enough shape to hide from his gaze.

The book tumbles from my grip and lands open across my lap. Before I can reach for it, he catches the spine, lifts it from my thighs and raises it up towards me.

‘So you can be a good girl,’ he says quietly. ‘Continue reading.’

Every instinct screams to keep my arms where they are, keep myself shielded from his gaze, from feeding his hunger.

But he waits.