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“You want me?” He demanded, pushing up on one elbow and regarding her with cheeks that were slashed with colour. His eyes glittered with something more than sexual heat. There was such ice in there too. Rage and coldness, side by side.
But she pushed that thought aside; how could there be anything but desire in this moment? Besides, she did want him. She wanted him with all that she was. She nodded, a movement of acceptance and desire.
“Then say it. Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” she moaned, reaching around behind his rear and cupping him, trying to pull him towards her. But he held himself where he was, with just the tip of his arousal hitched into her entry, so much promise, and she was so impatient.
“Say please.”
Her eyes flew wide and a sharp blade of reality began to perforate the fog of her need, but damn it, it wasn’t enough. Her body was on fire and it was an almost intoxicating feeling, a sense of loss that would overcome her if she didn’t find a way free.
“Beg for me, Ellie.”
She was shivering against the bed, trembling all over from the passion he could light within her blood. But the words he was asking were heavy in her mouth, almost as though she knew that by speaking them she would be driving a wedge between them forever.
“Why?” She asked, her face unknowingly young and innocent.
“Because you have a lot of penance to pay,” he said simply. “And I will enjoy extracting it.”
She was quivering all over, her legs unsteady, her body trembling. He moved to straighten, and everything inside of her rejected that! Rejected the distance! She needed to feel him and to remember that when they were together, things made more sense. It was clearer – it would be clearer to both of them.
“Beg if you want me,” he demanded coldly, so if it weren’t for the visual clues of his state of arousal she would have thought him completely unaffected by any of this.
Her body ached, a throb of desire low in her abdomen and she knew only he could satiate it.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She asked again.
“Because I want to punish you,” he said honestly. “But don’t worry, querida. You’ll enjoy your punishment, I assure you.”
But at what cost? Her pride?
Damn it. “Please,” the word fell from her lips and her eyes, when they met his, were swirling with the pain of betrayal.
“Beg for me,” he said again, not moving, his face like granite.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, desire flashing in her but falling, too, so that she was sobering.
“Let’s see if this helps you remember,” he grunted, dropping his mouth to her womanhood, his tongue finding the cluster of nerve endings that were bunched at her opening and he flicked her with his tongue so she was arching her back and driving her fingers through his hair, and the words spilled from her mouth as he brought her to climax and then withdrew, softening his kiss, moving to her inner-thigh, while the waves of pleasure receded and then he stoked them anew, each time bringing her to the precipice of explosion without allowing her to topple over.
He did it again and again and her eyes had stars in them when finally she understood what they both needed.
“Please, Xavier, please, make love to me,” she said, over and over, until he pushed up on his elbows, bringing his hard arousal between her legs.
“This is not making love,” he said, the words hoarse with his own needs. “There is no love between us, Elizabeth, and there never can be. It is just sex. Don’t forget that.” And he thrust into her, splintering her world apart with one powerful movement, so that her fingers dug into his shoulders and she held on for dear life as the world obliterated before her, leaving them in free-fall. He didn’t ease up on her while she exploded, though. Wave after wave of pleasure racked her body and he continued to layer new ones over the top, tormenting her with the rhythm of his possession while his mouth teased her breast and tasted her sweet, soft flesh.
“Keep begging,” he demanded, but he hardly needed to speak. She was saying his name over and over again, imploring him to keep going, not to stop, begging him to take her.
And he was taking her – body and soul – but to the very fires of hell, she suspected.
She crested over the ridge of pleasure for a third time, her body heavy with the sensations that were coursing through her, and then he came with her, his hands pinning hers to the side of the bed as he moved his hips again and again, pumping all of himself into her and convulsing with his own powerful relief. His cry was a guttural noise of release and it ripped through the room, and into Ellie’s heart.
Even as their breathing was still rushed and their hearts still pounding, she woke up, as if from a dream. She saw their passion as it had been – she saw the way he had dominated and controlled her, demeaned her for his own pleasure, and shame and anger and hatred were swirling through her.
She pushed at his chest but he was already moving, straightening, standing from the bed and disposing of the condom in one smooth movement. He turned his back on her and the gasp that fell from her lips was involuntary, overtaking every other concern for the briefest flash of moments.
His back! A back she had kissed and worshipped four years earlier, a back that had once been smooth like just-melted caramel, was scarred and ridged all over.
He heard the involuntary sound and turned to her, catching the shock on her face. His expression was grim. “The accident.” He reached for his pants, pulling them on, then his shirt, without speaking. As though it didn’t matter. But the physical reminder of what he’d endured made her gut twist and for the briefest moment, she wished she could have stayed with him then, that she’d been able to tell him four years ago that no physical damage could change how she loved him.
