Page 100 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott

Elliottslippedintothebathroom, body still abuzz from him, his cum making her thighs slick, her pulse racing. Her heart took up an increased pace at this new experience, looking a man in the eye the morning after a night of incredible sex. A man who’d stayed the night.A man who had literally slapped her clit to orgasm.

But… what the fuck?Rope?She’d actually said it during sex. Awake—conscious. Well, as conscious as her sex-drugged brain had been. She could only hope he was so distracted that it hadn’t registered. That he wouldn’t try to revisit it in his head, wondering what the hell she’d been talking about. And if he did, that he’d chalk it up to being some sort of sex babble.

Of course, men didn’t usually think beyond the experience of their dicks in that moment, so she was probably safe. Anyone else, and she wouldn’t think twice about it. Jonah, however, noticed everything. Again, she could only hope that he was too distracted to have picked up on it.

Standing under the rainfall showerhead, Elliott let the hot water wash over her, easing her, comforting her. She braced her hands on the cool white tiles, head down as the water bucketed over her.

Jonah.Her smile, even though she was alone, was intimate. Lord, what the man did to her.

His outward demeanor was misleading. Yes, she’d seen glimpses of a predator, a man who was rough around the edges, someone who maintained a tight control but who did so effortlessly. His daily manner was charming and easy-going—she was certain this was his genuine personality, but when it came to his sexual appetites…day-um. She couldn’t have imagined that he would be so dominant, forceful, intense—wild and hard. Not that she was disappointed—oh, no.Not! At! All!

He was sure of his appetites, knew exactly what he wanted, how to please her, how to lead her along, like a…

Like a man who plays with rope.

She smacked her forehead into the tiles to knock the thought out. Jonah was sure and aggressive without apology, but he wasn’t a monster.

God, but she wanted him to be.

And that’s wrong, Elliott. You gotta lock this shit down.

Nodding to herself, she pushed off the wall. “I can do this.” Reaching for her shampoo, she gave herself a pep talk. She knew what she’d lost, what her impulses had cost her… had cost so many. That was behind her. There was a difference between aggressive and… her.

Elliott finally left the bathroom, wet hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, clean panties and another one of Gage’s T-shirts hitting her upper thighs. She could see Jonah on the deck already, his wet black hair testimony of his own quick shower, his bare legs stretched out, feet propped on the wooden railing.

Smiling to herself again, her heart leaped clear into her throat. The sight of his muscular thighs was enough to get her body revving. She could get used to seeing him out there every morning.

Opening the door, she stepped out and gasped in shock. “Holy crap!”

Jonah tilted his head back, looking over her possessively, appreciatively. “Yeah, about that.”

She stood just outside the door for a minute, looking out over the trees as though the Earth had betrayed her. “It’s a sauna out here. I feel like I’m getting an instant facial.”

Jonah chuckled, eyeing the hem of the T-shirt as he brought the coffee to his lips. “You can take your shirt off.” He looked up at her in part amusement, part challenge.

“Oh, ha ha.” She took a chair next to him, a small table between them holding her steaming brew. Although she appreciated his near-nude attire of only boxers.

He gave a half shrug. “Nothing I haven’t seen.”

With a lift of her brow, she indicated his apparel. “I could say the same thing.”

A grin appeared as he sat his coffee down. “Oh, absolutely, these can come off.”

Leaning over, putting out a hand, Elliott laughed. “No, stop! Keep your pants on. Literally!” She redirected her hand to her coffee cup as he settled back, still smiling at her.

Taking a few sips of her coffee, she drew her feet up in the chair with her. Jonah’s attention dropped to the view of panties and thigh before returning his curious gaze to her. It was a position of self-protection; shielding. She was aware of her body language. She did feel a bit vulnerable. She turned to consider the wind-battered trees.

She knew he was watching her.

“Is that your brother’s shirt?”

Elliott looked at him and then down at her shirt. She picked at the hem and answered, looking back at him, “Yeah. Why?”

Looking out over his feet, he answered, the possessiveness evident in his tone, “Because if it was anyone else’s, I’d be taking it off you.”

Elliott’s smile was small and fleeting. “No one ever stuck around long enough to leave mementos. No clothes of boyfriends past, no pictures, not even razors under the sink.” She looked away, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

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