Chapter 13 - Elisse #2
My hand moved before I could stop it, and I shoved him hard in the chest. He didn’t fall. In fact, he barely even moved.
“Don’t you dare label my emotions like they belong to you,” I breathed.
He caught both my wrists this time, with a firm hold, and my back hit the sofa. He leaned over me, not crushing, not violent, but still dominant.
“You think I don’t see it?” he asked quietly.
“See what?”
“The way you wait for me to come home.” My breath hitched. “The way you don’t eat without me. The way you feel lonely when I am not around.”
“None of this is true.” I lied.
His grip tightened slightly.
“Then why didn’t you call?”
I couldn’t answer, because the truth was a blade. Because I hadn’t called and I simply knew that I couldn’t. Anger tangled with something darker in my chest.
“You don’t get to analyze me,” I snapped.
“I don’t have to. You’re loud about it.”
His face was inches from mine now, and I could feel his breath. I could see the faint scar near his jaw, which made me wonder where it had come from and if he had ever been injured in a way that put his life in danger. I suddenly had the urge to know everything about him.
“You’re furious because you want this,” he said.
“I do not.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, and heat sparked low in my stomach, traitorous and immediate.
“You want me to stop wanting you,” he murmured.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Let go of me.”
“No.”
His voice had changed. It was lower now and much rougher.
He was no longer being gentle or patient, and the space between us burned with a sense of quiet intensity that made no sense to either of us.
His touch scalded my skin in ways I enjoyed being scalded.
He released one wrist only to slide his hand to my waist, fingers pressing into my hip. My breathing grew frantic.
“This isn’t tenderness,” I said shakily.
“I never promised tenderness.”
“Then what is this?”
“Truth.”
His mouth brushed against mine, not soft and certainly not hesitant, but claiming instead, as if I belonged to him and he was no longer being shy about it.
I gasped against him, but I didn’t turn away.
The kiss deepened, heat surging instantly, anger transmuting into something far more primal.
My fingers tangled in his shirt before I could stop myself, and I kissed him back with equal force because I was furious and afraid and I wanted him.
I wanted him so much. His hand slid from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me closer.
I could sense months of tension, proximity, and unsaid things crashing together all at once.
“You’re still fighting,” he muttered against my mouth.
“Always.”
“Good.”
His teeth grazed my lower lip, and I shivered but only opened my mouth to allow his tongue to delve inside.
“You think this fixes anything?” I challenged.
“No.”
“Then why are we doing this?” I asked against his lips, and he smiled.
“Because you want it just as much as I want it.”
The truth of that settled heavily between his hands, and we moved slowly now, almost deliberately. He was tracing heat over fabric with his long fingers as if he was mapping territory on my skin. I arched instinctively, my breath catching.
“Say stop,” he murmured against my throat, but I didn’t.
The world narrowed to sensation and to the weight of him over me.
All I could focus on was the press of his mouth, his hands, and the way anger dissolved into something raw and undeniable.
He kissed a path down my neck, slow and deliberate, not soft but reverent in its intensity, and my hands gripped his shoulders instinctively.
“You’re impossible,” I breathed.
“And you’re not leaving.”
The words should have angered me. Instead, they sent a dangerous thrill down my spine as his mouth returned to mine, deeper and all-consuming.
When he shifted, lifting me effortlessly and settling me more firmly against the cushions, the line between fight and surrender blurred completely. Heat pooled low, sharp, and insistent.
“You hate me,” he murmured against my skin.
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
His mouth moved lower, deliberate and unhurried, leaving no room for denial.
I gasped as his hands touched the hem of the oversized t-shirt I was wearing and he took it off me in a single pull, leaving me in nothing but the black bra and panties I was wearing.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen my naked body before, but I suddenly felt conscious.
His dark pupils dilated as he sighed deeply, his gaze returning to mine.
“Fyodor,” I moaned his name as his thumbs traced the straps of my bra and he slid them down, unhooking the clasps with his other hand.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze intently on me, and I could not help but blush, turning crimson at the compliment. But the moment his lips latched around my already hardened nipple, everything flew out the window, and there was nothing but desire.
His fingers slid down further, his hand slipping inside my panties where I was waiting for him already.
His thumb traced my wetness, rubbing softly over my hardened clit, the softest of touches making me moan like I had never moaned before.
I quickly removed my panties and lay down, spreading my legs for him, wanting nothing more but to feel him completely, but he chuckled softly.
“Have some patience, Elisse. You will have exactly what you want, but before that, I want you to come for me like this.”
He dipped downwards, two of his fingers sliding inside me while his thumb continued to knead my clitoris in an efficient fashion that had me gasping for breath within seconds.
Just as I thought I had experienced everything, he bent down even further, his fingers replaced by his tongue, which made everything even better.
“Oh my god,” I moaned, my fingers tightening in his hair as I continued to ride his face, grinding until I could feel my juices covering him entirely.
Before I could realize what was happening, I was already coming in his mouth, his name escaping my mouth like a prayer.
It wasn’t a warning or a protest, but it was surrender disguised as his name.
I knew there was no war between us, only heat and hunger and the irreversible knowledge that whatever this was could no longer be undone.