Page 38 of Revenge

He guided me into a dimly lit room. Before I knew it, I was pressed between the soft caresses of a duvet and Elliot’s arms as he touched me. I couldn’t lie—this was a fantasy of four years in the making, all happening in a matter of minutes. I wanted to cry, it was so real.

But that’s not who I was anymore.

“Wait,” I gasped, surprised that he sat up, giving me room to breathe. Instead of pushing him off of me, I got up on my knees and shoved him onto the covers, climbing on top of him.

“Whoa,” he said, blinking up at me. “Wasn’t expecting you to go all dominatrix.”

“That’s a stretch.”

Elliot smirked, relaxing under my hold. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

Rolling my eyes, I lifted my hands up his neck, feeling the skin under his dragon tattoo before cradling his face, sinking my hips deeper against his. His cock pressed up through the seat of his pants and up against my pussy and the sensation caused me to let out a slight gasp.

Before letting him go any further, I ground harder down against him, which elicited a sultry moan and a heavenly smirk from his lips. Elliot’s cheeks blushed like fire, and on a whim, I pinched his cheek, just for the sake it.

“Let’s make this quick,” I muttered, shedding my top. “I have a thing to go to.”

“Oh?” Elliot raised an amused eyebrow. “And what is that?”

I paused, and felt my own face flushing before replying, “A friend of mine. We’re supposed to play board games, or something.”

“God, you’re cute,” he said—his way of saying,dork—and sat up to plant a long, deep kiss on my lips.

Then, almost without parting from me, his lips fluttered across my jawline and down my neck as his hands moved up my back, undoing the rest of my shirt. I let him peel the shirt over my head until I sat bare. His touches felt almost caring, gentle, nothing like I’d imagined he would give me. If anything, the way I’d pushed him down on the bed, straddling him like a fuckingwrestler was the most aggressive thing that’d happened so far between us. And it was my move, my call.

I wanted to keep it that way.

Pushing him back down onto the bed, I pressed my hips deeper against his and began rocking against him. I felt his cock grow harder under me, and I ground deeper into it, pressing my head down against his shoulder.

“Takeemoff,” Elliot moaned, grabbing one of my wrists and guiding it to his waistline. “You’re killing me, here.”

Without saying anything, I began undoing his zipper as his hands glided over my back and undid my bra. Once his pants were undone, he kicked them off and tugged his shirt over his head all in two swift motions, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before—hehaddone this hundreds of times, I was sure of it.

“Hey,” he whispered, once his chest was stark naked. I sat still atop him, watching as he eyed the straps of my bra before his eyes moved to mine. “What were you doing with Leo?”

I squinted at him. “What do you mean?”

“He picked up your phone when I called,” he responded, raising an eyebrow as he moved a hand up my belly toward my bra.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said. “Wasn’t that part of your plan?”

His fingers paused as it made contact with the tight fabric.

“Plan?” He raised his other hand to begin slipping the straps off my shoulders. His touches sent shivers across my chest. “If that was part of the plan, he ruined it.”

I shook my head, trying to hold in a gasp as he undid the clasp at my back. I felt the weight of an entire day’s angst fall away from me as chilled air rushed over my breasts, hardening my nipples.

“Fuck,” I whispered, more to myself than to Elliot.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

For a moment, my vision blurred, and I thought I might faint until Elliot sat up straight in front of me. As I remained sitting on his lap, he put his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. My bra hung halfway over my breasts, the straps resting against the sides of my stomach. Despite my spastic heartbeats and the sweat that started beading at my neck, Elliot’s eyes, those lush, green eyes, kept me cool enough.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, forgetting to filter my words. But once they escaped, I didn’t regret asking. It was a true question—a necessary one. “Why are you really doing this?”

His hands dropped from my shoulders, slowly, tenderly, and he rested them on the mattress behind him so that he still sat up, leaning back a little so that he gazed up rather than right at me.

And waited.

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