Page 47 of Caged Kitten

Elijah conceded, slamming a hand to the door above me, bracing—almost holding himself back as our bodies eased apart. Sure enough, there was that magnificent chest, defined pectorals and cut abdominals and—yup—mouthwatering V-definition that seemed to come so naturally to shifters, that human men slaved in the gym for months to achieve. And there it was. Right there. All for me.

My eyes flicked to his, and while it should have terrified me to stare down the beast, there was something so beautiful about the gold, something so intriguing about his thin pupils. Calculating, almost. Gone was the warm chocolate brown, replaced by a golden sunrise that felt both ancient and cunning, primal and desperately wanting. I nibbled my lower lip, still chasing my breath, fingers toying with the open flaps of his navy blue jumpsuit…

I could say no.

I wasn’t here for this—for him. Could still walk away. Should walk away. Elijah was just a distraction—

No. It wasn’t my mind that screamed it, but my heart, my body. Stay.

My trembling fingers abandoned his jumpsuit for mine, hastily wrenching open my own buttons, careful not to rip any out. The unflattering white cotton panties I currently wore had cost a fortune; no telling how much I would have to sacrifice to replace a busted jumpsuit.

The pop of that first button was almost like his go-word. Elijah snapped into motion, just as frantic as me, following my lead by yanking his jumpsuit down his arms, inch by inch unveiling the definition of masculine perfection. Rugged, broad shoulders. Abs to die for. Thighs like tree trunks. Even his prison-issued briefs looked great on him, but the guy could wear a paper bag and still be mistaken for a born-again Adonis.

As I shimmied my jumpsuit down, every inch of me aflame, fire collecting in my cheeks and between my thighs, I pointedly avoided glancing at the huge bulge beneath that thin slip of white cotton, not wanting to read as too forward. Not that it mattered: Elijah lacked modesty, shirking the slow reveal by hooking a thumb under the worn-out elastic waistband and yanking it down those sculpted thighs and toned calves. Fabric pooled at his feet, and try as I might to avoid gawking, I couldn’t help it—not when his cock fell like a lead weight, its silky tip nudging my stomach.

He seemed just as taken with me as I was with him, that golden gaze raking across my body, lingering on the dip of my throat and the valley of my breasts. If we had the time, I would have liked to just look at him—maybe even desensitize myself to such a gorgeous creature so that I’d stop flushing bright red at the thought of what was hidden under his jumpsuit. But we didn’t have time. Someone was always watching in Xargi, always waiting to screw you over.

And no one was going to take this away from me.

From us.

I shoved my jumpsuit the rest of the way down, clumsily stepping out of the purple material and kicking it aside, not caring that it would be dusty and floury when I put it back on. Elijah went for my panties like they had their own gravitational pull, his expression hard and unfamiliar, everything taut—like he was fighting himself, pushing for restraint—his arm like steel when I grabbed it.

“Do not rip them,” I whispered hoarsely, shooting him a warning look that finally broke the tightness around his mouth, that shattered the dangerous glint in his eyes. He grinned down at me, all predatory and daring, like he saw my words as a challenge, and I huffed, pushing his arm away ever so slightly. “You know how much they cost.”

“Does that mean I can’t keep them?” Elijah rumbled silkily, his head cocked. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop my smile; this wasn’t a train of thought I wanted to encourage, even if there was something so wickedly sexy about him carrying my panties around in his pocket as we went on with the rest of our day.

“No,” I hissed, “you definitely can’t keep—”

He swallowed my words with another kiss, fierce and brutal, more punishing than those that came before, and I wilted against the door with a whimper. I’d never been one for rough stuff in the bedroom, but as I wriggled the cotton down my thighs, let it fall to the floor, I couldn’t imagine any other way with Elijah. Outside this room, he was sweet and thoughtful, protective and inclusive, patient to a fault about my struggle of coming to terms with being wrongfully incarcerated—kidnapped, actually, by a madman.

But right here, right now, Elijah was a dragon—the dragon, alpha to the core.

As soon as I was bare before him, his hands went wandering, roughly perusing my figure, mapping every curve, delving between my thighs and snarling when he found me wet. I whimpered as he stroked me, swept his thumb over my clit, wondering how his punishing mouth would feel against my folds.

But—no time.

My hands found his shoulders when he hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around him, locked my ankles behind his back and dug in, the pair of us driven by instinct, moving and rearranging and jostling each other like this wasn’t our first time. His cock nudged my slick entrance, and I speared my hands into his shaggy hair, into surprisingly soft waves I’d wanted to stroke and finger-comb and nudge out of his eyes for weeks. Today I twisted. I tugged. Just as my teeth and tongue and lips reminded him that I wasn’t passive, that I could give as good as I got, my fingers were cruel, using his hair like reins, driving him onward—

Elijah shoved me hard against the door, then filled me with a single, gloriously brutal thrust. I cried out into his mouth, eyes wide, pleasure and pain deliciously twining into one. Foreplay had always been my favorite part of sex, but having been single for years, most of my gratification came from one-night stands—and guys who didn’t plan to stay the night weren’t super keen on wasting time before the deed.

But this wasn’t that; Elijah wasn’t like them. This was frantic and hurried out of necessity, not only because of the time constraints, the threat of being caught by anyone, but also because in that moment, as he stilled and buried his face into my neck, as I adjusted to the sheer size of him, to the way he stretched me, it felt like we had been dancing around this all along. Like every conversation, every lingering glance, every heated argument, had led up to him and me coming together just like this, fitting so perfectly that it ought to be a crime.

“Are you a-all right?” he murmured, hands trailing up my body, rough at first, then gentle as he cupped my face. I swallowed hard, noting the way his eyes shimmered between brown and gold, like he was struggling against his inner beast. Fighting for control—for me, for my comfort.

“Hell yes,” I whispered back. I stroked his hands as they held me, then his cheek, the coarse stubble along his jaw, my smile blooming into something tender. There he was—a glimmer of the good guy I knew Elijah to be. Concerned. Thoughtful. Patient. Checking on me, making sure I was okay. The fact that he could be both, that he possessed such an exquisite duality, only made me want him more. Knowing he was still in there beneath the rugged, harsh exterior, beneath the glittering gold, the animalistic snarls, had me craving both sides of him.

In different circumstances, somewhere far away from here, he could ravish me all night long, fuck me within an inch of my life while I screamed for more, and then after, Elijah could be tender. He could cuddle me, hold me until dawn. He was my silver lining in Xargi. Him and Rafe, two men who intrigued me, two men who I’d quickly and unwillingly become infatuated with, were the only things keeping me from falling apart and giving up. This should have felt like a mistake, like I was ruining what we had and sullying the status quo. Instead, I swept his hair back, then rocked my hips. “Don’t stop.”

Elijah ducked his head with a groan, then nipped at my palm, my lower lip, and kissed me like he wanted to claim me. The first harsh thrust had me seeing stars, the sweetest ache burning bright between my thighs. Nibbling a blazing path down my throat, Elijah gripped me by the thighs again, almost like he was determined to bruise me, mark me, then pumped hard and fast, furiously driving me into the door.

Hopefully Jensen hadn’t meandered back in, because there was no subtlety in the way the door creaked and groaned, in the rapid-fire thump of my hips against the wood. If I could walk after this without limping, it would be a miracle—but in that moment, I preferred the limp.

Needed the brutality.

Craved this dragon’s fire.

Time fell away around us, and what could have easily been minutes or hours later, I imploded in his arms. My climax came out of nowhere, bright as the north star, savage as Elijah’s snarls, ripping through me like raging floodwaters hellbent on destruction. It soaked me from head to toe, fire in my blood, pleasure blooming like fireworks again—like a whole display of them, one explosion after another. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a sob, but Elijah soon yanked it aside, replacing mine with his, driving into me harder, faster, prolonging the ecstasy until I thought I’d just die.

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