Page 54 of Eyes in the Shadows

20

Eleanor

Well, I’m not going to get too hung up on that, but that’s new.

“W-what?” I gasp, shivering under the warmth of his hand on my butt. “What are you talking about?”

He squeezes my cheek, hard, and I whimper. “Wes sent me a picture. I told you that I—”

“Ididmake some for you!” I cry urgently. “I… there was plenty! I left it on the stove.”

“Eleanor, don’t lie to me. There was nothing in that kitchen.”

I can track his movements, from both the pressure against my skin and the scratchiness of the calluses on his palm against my soft cotton underwear. Heat has exploded through me, pooling in an urgent way between my legs. I’m so wet I know it’s only a matter of time until he sees what this is doing to me. And from the sharp bulge against my hip bone, I can feel what it’s doing to him.

My brain is foggy, too distracted by the way my breasts are pressed hard into the mattress, but I can still remember a few things. It’s too weird talking to the headboard, though, so I try looking at him over my shoulder. “Um… maybe Wes came back for seconds? Or, I guess it could have been Dimitri. I didn’t make any for him and I left the kitchen when he walked in.”

His hand moves again, squeezing, kneading thick handfuls of flesh so that the bite of pain is quickly replaced by the sensory overload of this massage. “Blaming Dimitri, huh?”

“I—please,” I whisper. I squirm, shifting my hips as much as I can, trying to get some pressure where I desperately need the relief.

“Please, what?” he replies.

The depth of his voice makes me press my legs together tighter. There’s so much dark intention, so much amused knowledge of exactly what’s happening to me, to my body, so much masculine pride in being the cause.

I’m just a jumbled mass of wants. I want him to stop, this is too embarrassing—I’m a fucking adult. And I want him to spank me, because I’m a fucking adult who’s never been this horny in her life, but I also want to… deserve it. And I don’t, not about this anyway.

Wait. I want todeservea spanking? Well, I’m not going to get too hung up on that, but that’s new.

But I also want him to keep going, because what he’s doing isn’t enough. I want the sting of his hand, the hard length pressing into my hip, the knowledge that he’s so consumed by me that he wants complete control.

His fingers dance along the fabric just covering my pussy lips and I’m undone. I moan and let my head drop onto the soft comforter. This feeling deep inside me is worse than a craving, how it needs him.

“Don’t spank me. Please, just… touch me.”

He groans, pressing harder into the seam of my panties. I’m sure he’s found the moisture. “You understand what you’re asking? It won’t just be touching and it’s not just sex. We do this; you’re mine. You want that?”

I nod, a bit grateful he can’t see how much I do, but I do lift my head so my voice isn’t muffled by the pillowy blanket. “I’m tired of fighting this—you and me. I may not love what you do, but I don’t think you’re a bad person. And… I really did make you dinner. I was even going to wait for you so we could eat together.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs. He slides the arm that was acting like a strap, holding me in place, under my breasts and stands a little to give himself leverage to turn me over and toss me back in a surprisingly fluid motion. He grunts a bit from the effort, but the noise I make of surprise is much louder.

I sit up, not wanting to miss a moment of him, and feel something like self-doubt creep in as I take in the full splendor. He’s so tall, so beautifully carved, so powerful. I want to be his, but even more than that, I want him to be mine. The knowledge takes a chunk out of my armor.

“Just try not to break my heart, okay? I don’t think I’ll survive it.” I look away, not really wanting to feel as laid bare as that confession makes me.

“I will never hurt you,” he says, enunciating each word. “No one ever will.”

I look back up and I can see the promise written all over his face, like it’s sealed in blood. My stomach does a little flip, and all that insecurity drains away. He really was serious. He really does want me as badly as I want him.

The knowledge gives me the confidence I need. I lean forward to get my legs under me so I can kneel at the edge of the bed, and he immediately closes the distance. The mattress is thick, and on a platform, so on my knees we’re close enough in height that he isn’t going to have to stoop.

He takes my waist; I wrap my arms around his neck. And we kiss.

It starts gently, softly. His hands grip just above my hips, holding me so we’re completely pressed flush—chest to chest. My torso is stretched, and I use one arm to hold my balance and the other to weave my fingers into his soft, silky hair. I tilt my head up, close my eyes, and as his lips brush mine, mine part.

When his fingers tighten, I let mine do the same, grabbing lightly at his hair. His lips are firm, but smooth, and the new growth of his facial hair rasps against the sensitive skin of my face. He tastes like the meatloaf I made earlier, and something almost indescribably human—the salty, earthy, textured sweetness of someone else’s mouth.

He slides his tongue just past my lips, then pulls back, and I almost fall forward from the unexpected shift. My shirt is being lifted, so I unwind my arms from his neck and hold them up. It leaves me bare, except for my underwear, and his eyes scan the expanse of skin with appreciation. His look is all reverence and eagerness. He runs the backs of his fingers against the curve of my breast, tapping my nipple with his fingernail and grinning when I go, “ah!”

---