Page 88 of Those Who Are Bound

Within minutes, she heard the generator sputter to life over the sounds of the raging tempest, and her little lamp surged to life. The air conditioner also kicked in, along with the beeping of her microwave. Seconds later, she heard a car door slam, and then feet pounding up the stairs.

Elliott stepped back as Jonah lurched through the entrance, at once shoving his sodden black hair back and slamming the door shut. She handed him a towel as she simultaneously knelt to wipe up the water pooling at his feet.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him. He was rubbing the towel against the back of his head, staring down at her.

“No need.”

His look confused her. It was intense and assessing. She was being sized up, and she didn’t find the sensation unpleasant. Dropping her gaze again, wondering at her own response to such an odd look from him, she reached for his boots. “Your boots are soaked.” She pulled at the strings.

He let out a soft chuckle. “And you went out there barefoot.”

“I wasn’t expecting to have trouble.” She pulled his boots and socks off him, setting them aside to dry. Leaving the towel on the floor, she slowly stood up, watching him watch her. “I’d have figured it out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You looked like a drowning cat.”

Elliott turned away with a scoff, but he reached out and caught her around the waist, laughing at her miffed response.

“My poor wet kitty,” he teased.

Elliott smacked his sopping shoulder lightly, giving him a mock glare.

Dropping his head to her ear, he asked in a deep, intimate register, “How wet are you, kitten?”

Her mouth fell open as her breath left her. She sagged against him, his words knocking the strength right out of her. The sound she made wasn’t intelligible.

His other hand found its way into her hair, grasping it tightly at the base of her neck as he said, “I don’t want to make love to you.”

Panic coursed through her, and her stomach plummeted sickeningly. He’d sensed something wrong with her. This was him telling her he couldn’t go through with it. She lifted her guarded gaze to his, uncertain.

He was looking back, his gemstone eyes gleaming with heat. He repeated himself, his voice low and quiet, “I don’t want to make love to you. I want to fuck you. I don’t want to be gentle.”

He examined her face, the rapid pulse in her neck. She had the sensation that he was going to bite into her, and she shivered. He didn’t normally talk like this; Jonah wasn’t coarse, and though bold, he didn’t lay out his need crudely. He had been measured and tempered, even though she had sensed there was a wolfish side to him—had teased him about it. And here he was, finally, that restraint about to be unleashed. He was asking for permission to abandon it. She gave a slight nod and answered breathlessly, “Fuck me, Jonah.”

On a sound akin to a growl, he yanked her head back by her hair, lowering his teeth to the pulse in her neck, biting. Her legs buckled. She grabbed on to his shoulders to ensure she didn’t fall to the floor at his feet as her oxygen was ripped from her, every nerve ending zinging to life. He kissed the spot he had bitten, working his way up to her mouth, which he ravaged hungrily.

She moaned against his lips, his tongue, the small sound barely expressing the tumult of sensation rocketing through her. Her fingers dug into him, releasing fresh streams of water from his drenched T-shirt. His tongue was in her mouth, taking everything from her, and she let him have it.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back, instructing, “Strip.”

Holy damn.

Elliott blinked. When Jonah bypassed control, he went straight to dominant. Grasping her shoulders, he physically set her back from him, his expression intense, waiting for—and expecting—her to comply. She was thrilled at the command; he had no idea how much. Her hands went to her shorts, his unwavering attention dropping to watch as she worked the clasp, then slid the zipper down, the slightest of narrowing occurring around the edges as he concentrated.

She pushed the shorts off, needing to wriggle a bit to encourage the clinging material to fall to the floor. He followed its descent, then traced back up her legs to her white lacy underwear, staring as though he could see through to all he wanted. Based on the intense throbbing between her legs, she wasn’t sure he couldn’t psychically caress her, because it felt as though he was doing just that, causing her thighs to tighten, her clit to throb.

He focused on her tank top, the non-verbal instruction clear that this was next to go. Obeying the command, Elliott peeled it over her head and let it join her shorts on the floor. She wasn’t shy, never had been, but she also hadn’t wanted anyone as much as she wanted this man; she wanted him to be pleased. She wanted his approval.

Jonah’s gaze wandered hungrily over her, lingering over the tight buds that pressed against her bra, evidence of her arousal. He flicked his gaze up to her, a puzzled look on his face when she stopped in only her bra and underwear. “I said strip. That means everything.”

She gave him a coquettish look, wrapping her arms around her midsection, then lowered her lashes. Again, not that she actually had a shy bone in her body, but a little humbleness didn’t hurt. “Maybe I want you to take it off me.” It wasn’t a maybe.

When she glanced back up, he was staring at her. She was shivering in the weak light from the corner and occasional flash of lightning, both from the cooling air and anticipation. Because it looked like he might punish her for not following his commands. Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind himself and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

She ducked her head demurelyin a gesture of feigned innocence, but she studied the expanse of his bare chest, the hard ridge of muscle over ribs and stomach, admiring the hardened planes from his belly button and downward, disappearing beneath his belt line. A corner of her bottom lip tucked under her teeth, the thoughts running through her head nothing less than a XXX-rating. His sodden shirt joined hers on the floor.

He reached out and grasped her arm, pulling her to him. She dropped her head back, closing her eyes, preparing for his kiss—or his punishment—but he only laughed softly. Startled, she opened them again.

He pointed out, “We haven’t discussed birth control.”

---