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But Elijah had given me pain.
He owed me pleasure.
His lips traced the other side of my jaw, the shell of my ear, the curve of my cheekbone. I squirmed in my seat, another low noise sounding in my throat, as my breath came faster. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, as if he could do this—would do this—forever unless I told him to stop.
I didn’t want him to stop though. I wanted…
As his lips moved over my cheek, I turned my head suddenly, capturing his mouth with mine. He jerked in surprise then responded, kissing me back, opening his mouth when my tongue demanded entry and sliding his tongue over mine.
I could taste a hint of coppery blood on his lips, but beneath that was a taste that was all Elijah—addicting and complex. I scooted even closer to him, and when I ran out of coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me, helping me crawl onto his lap.
Our lips didn’t part, and as I settled on top of him, our bo
dies pressed flush together. I could feel him hardening beneath me, and the press of that hardness at the apex of my thighs was like a promise of something exquisitely sweet. So I moved against it, making him groan into my mouth, as my hands found their way into his hair. The light brown strands were already mussed from his fight earlier, but I ruined them even more, sliding my fingers between them and running my fingernails over his scalp.
He shuddered beneath me, and I could feel his chest rising and falling fast against mine.
I didn’t feel pain anymore.
For this moment, there was just our breaths, our lips moving together, our hands grasping and stroking.
There was just pleasure.
I didn’t have to like Elijah, or even forgive him, to like this.
We rocked against each other, chasing the good sensations even through the barriers of clothing between us, as we kissed like we were the first two people in the world to have discovered it.
My clit throbbed every time he pressed his hips up into me, and the muscles of my core clenched around nothing. As if they were seeking something.
Suddenly, Elijah shifted his grip on me, lifting and turning me before laying me down on my back across the cushions of the couch. He settled between my legs, and the weight of him there made me clamp my thighs around him. He broke our kiss and drew back to look down at me, his battered face softer than it had been before, less tense. The eye with the dark circle under it had swollen slightly—not so much that he couldn’t open it, but he still looked like a boxer on a bad day.
His lips were red and swollen too, but that wasn’t from his fight.
He gazed down at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, his hips working gently against mine, watching the expression on my face change as he altered the movement.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, Tal.”
He was beautiful too.
In a wrecked way.
In a damaged way.
In a human way.
Reaching up, I ran a finger over the puffy bruise on the side of his face. He winced at the contact, but instead of pulling away, he pressed harder into my touch, as though even as he gave me pleasure, he wanted to give himself pain.
Then he kissed me again, so deep and consuming that I swore I felt us start to melt through the couch.
“Can I make you feel good? Please?”
The words were whispered against the skin of my neck as his fingers found the hem of my shirt, and when I nodded, he pulled my tank top off slowly. I lifted off the couch a little to help him, watching his face as he drank me in.
There was more urgency in his movements when he ran his palms up my stomach, cupping my breasts through my bra, but he kept his touch light. When he reached behind me to unhook the strap, I arched my back to give him access—and when he tugged my bra down my arms and tossed it aside, I kept my back arched, demanding the pleasure he had promised.
And he gave it.
He dropped his head immediately, licking and nuzzling the skin of my breasts before drawing a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.
