Page 94 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott

Itwasstillstormingwhen Elliott next awoke; still night. The storm wasn’t as violent; it had settled into the normal rolling sort that often came through in waves as they marched across the Midwest.

But the storm wasn’t what woke her; it was the loss of body heat, the sudden removal of the rock-hard body she’d already acclimated to.

She heard him, though. Dragging her sleep-heavy lids open, she saw him complete the difficult task of donning still-damp jeans. He grimaced as he succeeded, bending a bit, trying to get his body comfortable in the encasing. He rifled through his pockets, and on his hand’s withdrawal, he gasped. A loud, clattering clank against the floorboards followed. His keys.

He whispered a curse, freezing.

She also froze, snapping her eyes shut as his head swiveled in her direction, no doubt checking to see if the sound had disturbed her.

Heart thundering—breaking—she feigned sleep. He was leaving, slipping out in the middle of the night. She was going to make it easy on him. Why wouldn’t he, and why shouldn’t she? She’d burst into tears after he’d provided her with mind-blowing sex—that’d probably been a first ever for him, to have a chick start bawling like that. He’d handled it with Jonah-level grace, but that had to have freaked him out. She had to give him credit for waiting until she was asleep and notfleeing immediately.

So she pretended, struggling to maintain her breathing as she heard him retrieve his keys from the floor and pad from the room. A tear leaked out of her eye as she heard him in the front, no doubt gathering the rest of his clothes. The door opened; the door shut.

Elliott turned her face into the pillow and cried.

Best fucking night of my life. Obviously said to lull her into calmness, to keep away her crazy, to get her to go to sleep. Had he been lying next to her, waiting for the moment to escape? Clearly, he had.

Elliott threw out her hand to indicate the door he had vacated through as an answer to herself. Shoving back the covers, she sat up and looked at the doorway, her tears streaking down her face. The light in the living room was still on.

She scooted to the side of the bed, her body reminding her, taunting her with its slight soreness, of everything he’d done to her tonight—that she’d never get the opportunity to have again. If he left in the dark of night, it wasn’t a good sign that all would be well between them tomorrow. He was literally getting out while he could.

Well, she’d warned him at the park to run. Guess he saw the wisdom in her advice.

A fresh flood of tears washed over her cheeks as she padded into the bathroom and grabbed one of Gage’s old T-shirts, slipping it on. Pushing her tangled hair out of her face, tugging the hem down past her bottom, she shuffled on sniffles down the hallway.

She wanted to see the vacated drive; she wanted the heartbreak. She deserved it.

As she reached the end of the hall, she noticed he’d picked up before he fled, and that somehow made it harder. She made a small bereaved sound noting her clothes were hanging off the peg by the door; the towels were drying over the back of the chair. His boots…

Elliott’s jaw dropped in shocked horror. He left so fast he’d forgotten his boots?

On the heels of that thought, her door flew open, and Jonah burst in, wet again from the rain that continued to pour outside.He hadn’t noticed her, looking down and rubbing the moisture from his hair as he blew out a breath, stepping inside and closing the door.

He looked up, running a hand down his wet arm, whisking away more moisture. He blinked, clearly shocked to see her. “Why are you up? Did I wake you?” And then in the next instant, he noticed the tracks of tears, and he took a step forward, concerned. “Why are you crying?”

His question startled her, and her hands flew to her moist cheeks. She gasped guiltily. She’d completely misread his exit. He’d gone outside to check on his car or the generator.

Jonah pushed his wet hair back as he looked at her. Moving toward her, he said, “You thought I’d left.”

Elliott forced out a laugh, wiping her cheeks. “I wouldn’t have blamed you. I didn’t blame you.”

Standing in front of her, he grabbed her jaw and forced her head back so she had to look at him. His green gaze blazed into her gray. “What did I tell you about that?”

Elliott’s heart slammed against her ribs, and she answered quietly, “You aren’t that man.”

He searched her face intently before repeating, “I’m not that man.”

Still holding her by the jaw, he guided her until her back hit the wall. His gaze skirted down the front of her, and he asked, “Are you wearing panties under this shirt?”

Her jaw held firmly in his grasp, she couldn’t shake her head, so she answered, “No.” She could barely produce enough oxygen to get the single word out, her body responding violently and quickly to his question.

His voice dropped. “Good kitty.”

The low, rough sound alone almost brought her to orgasm. As it was, wetness escaped her, and she squeezed her thighs together to alleviate the tension. Her T-shirt dimpled, further testimony of her arousal. That he could create such a response with only the cadence of his voice, a look, stunned her.Hestunned her, and she never wanted him to stop.

He kept one hand on her jaw, the other slipped beneath the hem of the T-shirt, expertly finding her, urging her thighs apart—it didn’t take much. Nose to nose, his gaze searing into hers, never leaving her, he slid his fingers along her, slipping one inside. Her eyelids fluttered on a strangled sound, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

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