Chapter 12 #2
She stared at him, eyes clearly assessing everything. Just drinking him in. Then, she nodded. She was still sitting there when he returned a minute later, accepting the tee with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Colt moved over to the large chair, relaxing back in it as she used the washroom, leaving the door partially open as proof she wasn’t going to try and ditch him.
Then, she stumbled over to the bed—the shirt hanging down to her knees.
She barely got the covers pulled over her before she was asleep.
Just gone. Her breath evening out. Long lashes resting against her pale skin.
Watching her shouldn’t hurt the way it did. Right over his heart. The one he’d given to her. That still belonged to her. It made him restless. Always feeling on the edge of control. Waiting to see which way he’d fall.
He needed to make a move. Not, now. After.
When the threat was over. When she had options.
Surely, he could wait. Hell, he’d been waiting five years.
A few more days, maybe a week, should be easy.
Nothing compared to making it through Delta selection.
A decade of covert missions. Hiking his ass through jungles and deserts.
Then, why was he sweating? Sweating and shaking and breathing hard.
He’d compared her physical state to a junkie the other day, but he was the one who looked as if he were coming down off a high.
Jonesing. And all because of the woman softly snoring ten feet away.
The one that held more power over him than his team. His brothers.
No doubt about it. He was fucked. Good and royally fucked.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Couldn’t make a move.
Cursed to just bide his time in the wasteland between the past and the future.
Whoever had called it the present hadn’t experienced this kind of torment because the way he felt wasn’t a gift.
Pale squares moved across the floor, the rain giving way to patchy moonlight.
He watched the patterns slowly shift as his eyes drifted shut.
Not quite sleeping but not fully awake. Floating.
When he roused a bit later, she was sitting on the bed.
Knees pulled into her chest. Head resting on her folded arms. She wasn’t making a sound, just staring into the darkness, the stark white of the tee standing out against the shadows.
Ellis must have felt him staring. She tensed, inhaled, then looked over at him. Her hair falling across her arms to form a curtain around her. It was slightly lighter than the blackness of the room, the occasional splash of moonlight shimmering along the length.
She stared directly at him. Expression fixed. Not happy, not sad. Just…indifferent. As if she couldn’t quite figure out how to smile.
Colt slipped out of the chair, silently making his way to the bed. She tracked his movement. The indifference vanished, replaced by what he could only describe as hunger. Raw, unfettered lust.
He tamped down the urge to wrap his arms around her and take her back on the bed. Shove his pants over his hips and sink inside. It took all his focus. Had him tensing every muscle, but he managed to lower his ass to the edge—give her a smile without pouncing on her. “Can’t sleep?”
He glanced at his watch. Three hours. Not nearly long enough for her body to reap any benefits.
Ellis continued to stare at him. Eyes wide. Her breathing slightly quickened.
“El? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Her bottom lip quivered. If he hadn’t been staring directly at her—wondering what it would be like to claim her mouth. Taste it—he would have missed it. Put it off to a play of the shadows.
She released a shaky breath, reaching out to touch his jaw—brush her thumb over the thick stubble. “I like the scruff. It suits you.”
Damn. It sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, her voice thick.
Wavering. Had he done something? Said something?
Had she had a nightmare? He went to question her—to assure her she could tell him anything.
That he was there for her—when one dainty finger settled over his mouth.
Barely there but silencing him just the same.
She smiled. It lifted the corners of her mouth but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come to bed.”
He inhaled. Had she seriously just asked him to share the bed?
To make love to her, because he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been a hold-me-all-night kind of request. No, her eyes were dilated, her breathing escalated.
It was dark but not so much he couldn’t see her skin was flushed.
Not the angry kind like before, but the shade of pink that screamed arousal.
And if that wasn’t enough her nipples, so hard and tight, like tiny beads, were poking against her shirt.
Just stabbing at the cloth. Begging to be touched.
He forced himself to swallow, considered it a freaking miracle he didn’t cough, spit saliva at her, as he reached up—gently grasped her wrist.
She shook her head, all that soft thick mass of hair swirling around her shoulders, brushing across his arm. “I’m not asking for promises. I just…”
She closed her eyes, sighing as if talking about this hurt.
As if he might turn her down. No, he wouldn’t turn her down.
Not ever. He didn’t care if she was just scratching an itch.
If she simply needed the distraction. The comfort of familiar arms when her life was shattering.
Falling in pieces at her feet. He’d take whatever she gave then find a way to make it stay.
Make her stay because he wasn’t going to let her go. Not, again.
“You sure it won’t hurt? Christ, you still have stitches, still—”
“Unless you plan on dragging my ass around the bedroom like you did down the street, I’ll be fine. But, I guess it’s up to you whether you believe that.”
He kissed her finger, talking around it. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Ellis snorted then leaned in close, hovering just an inch away as she slowly let her finger slide down his mouth and across his chin.
“Then let me put it in clearer terms. I want you to strip down, get your naked ass in this bed, then spend the next hour grinding me into it.” She smiled. “Your move, soldier.”