Chapter 5 #2
I closed the distance, planting my left hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in. My body pressed against hers, not quite touching, but close enough to share heat.
"You think I’m holding back because I don't want you?" I growled, looking down into her wide, panicked eyes.
"I... I think you like the control," she whispered.
"I do like control. But do you know how much control it takes not to rip that sweater off you every time you walk into a room?"
I lowered my head, burying my face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like vanilla and sweat. It was intoxicating. I inhaled deeply, dragging my nose up to her ear.
"I want to ruin you, Angela," I whispered against her skin. "I want to make you forget your name. I want to make you scream mine until your voice gives out."
She whimpered. A small, pathetic sound that went straight to my groin.
"Then do it," she challenged, her voice shaking. "Stop talking and do it."
I pulled back to look at her. Her lips were parted, wet. Her chest was heaving.
"Rule Number Four," I recited. "No sexual intercourse until Phase Two."
"Screw the rules," she gasped.
"No." I moved my hand from the wall to her throat. I didn't squeeze, just rested my thumb against her pulse point. It was racing. "We follow the rules. But..."
I smirked.
"...the contract doesn't say anything about other activities."
I dropped my hand to her waist, then lower. I gripped her hip, digging my fingers in.
"Jump," I ordered.
She didn't hesitate. She jumped, wrapping her legs around my waist. I caught her easily, my arm hooking under her ass to support her. I carried her away from the wall, walking us toward the sofa. I sat down, keeping her straddling my lap.
We were face to face. Eye to eye.
"Elijah..." she breathed, her hands clutching my shoulders.
"Shh."
I kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was a collision. A starvation. I took her mouth with a violence that should have scared her, but she met me with equal force. Her tongue tangled with mine, hot and eager. She tasted like peppermint and coffee.
My right hand—the injured one—rested harmlessly on her back. But my left hand... my left hand went to work.
I slid my hand between our bodies, finding the waistband of her sweatpants.
"Lift up," I murmured against her mouth.
She obeyed, lifting her hips slightly. I shoved her pants and panties down in one motion, enough to clear the way.
The air hit her skin. She gasped, breaking the kiss.
"Look at me," I commanded.
She looked at me. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy. She was beautiful in her ruin.
"You wanted this," I said, sliding my hand between her legs. She was soaked. "You asked for this."
"Yes," she sobbed. "Please."
I didn't give her what she wanted immediately. I teased her. I circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb, watching her face contort.
"You’re so wet," I praised, my voice rough. "Good girl. You’re such a good girl for me."
The praise hit her like a physical blow. Her head fell back, exposing her throat.
"Elijah, please..."
"Please what?" I slid one finger inside her. She was tight, hot velvet. "Please stop?"
"No! Please... more."
I added a second finger. She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
"Tell me who you belong to," I demanded, setting a punishing rhythm with my hand. I curled my fingers, hitting that spot that made her hips buck uncontrollably against mine.
"Yours," she gasped. "I’m yours."
"That’s right. You’re mine. My debt. My brat. My girl."
I leaned forward, biting gently on her collarbone as I increased the speed. I felt her tension building, the way her muscles clamped down around my fingers. She was close.
"Let go, Angela," I whispered into her ear. "I’ve got you. You don't have to hold it together. Fall apart."
And she did.
She screamed, a raw, broken sound that I swallowed with my mouth. She convulsed against me, her entire body seizing with pleasure. I held her through it, keeping the rhythm steady until the last tremor faded.
She slumped against me, burying her face in my neck, breathing in ragged gasps.
I sat there, holding her, my own heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My dick was straining painfully against my zipper, but I didn't move to fix it. This wasn't about my release. This was about ownership.
I kissed the top of her head.
"Better?" I asked.
She nodded against my shoulder, too weak to speak.
"Good."
I slowly withdrew my hand. She whined at the loss.
"We have to study," I said, my voice returning to a semblance of normalcy, though it was still deeper, rougher.
She pulled back to look at me. Her hair was a disaster. Her lips were swollen. She looked thoroughly ravished.
"You’re a monster," she whispered, but she was smiling. A sleepy, sated smile.
"I’m a man of my word," I corrected. "I told you I’d handle you."
I adjusted her clothes, pulling her sweatpants back up with surprising tenderness.
"Now," I said, lifting her off my lap and setting her on the cushion next to me. The loss of her weight was physically painful. "Anatomy. Chapter 4. The Nervous System."
Angela stared at me, blinking. "You expect me to study? After that?"
"Especially after that," I said, reaching for my own laptop to hide the very obvious problem in my pants. "Your brain should be clear now. Dopamine levels are high. Cortisol is low. It’s the optimal state for retention."
She let out a incredulous laugh, shaking her head. "You are insane, Elijah Vance."
"Maybe," I muttered, opening a spreadsheet I couldn't focus on.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was soft. Sweet. A stark contrast to the depravity of ten minutes ago.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. If I looked at her, I would break Rule Number Four right here on the sofa, injured hand be damned.
"Read the book, Angela," I gritted out.
She opened her book.
The silence in the penthouse returned, but it wasn't cold anymore. It was warm. It was electric.
And I knew, with terrifying certainty, that I was in way over my head. I hadn't just claimed her body. I had started to crave her presence.
And that was a debt I wasn't sure I could afford to pay.