It feels too good. I’m mad that this feels as good as I wanted it to be. What if I just keep wanting to see him after this? What if every next moment spent with him is as electric as those wobbly, anticipation-butterflies hoped it would be?
And this guy has the gall to grin like he won a prize after that, as he fits his body alongside mine in the bed. Ellis props his head up in his palm, his body a wall of heat. “If I’d have known to, I would’ve stopped at a pharmacy beforehand.”
For a moment, I’m lost in the little aftershock twitches of my orgasm, imagining what that is like, how he’d do that. Maybe he uses the self-checkout lane.
He’s asking if I have condoms, I realize a beat later. Oh God, he’s going to dick me down. I’m still practically boneless from my climax.
“Oh, um. That’s fine, I’m on birth control, if that’s ok with you—”
He nods, tracing a clawed finger down between the valley of my breasts, his path curving idly down my stomach. “However you prefer we do this.”
I swallow, taking in his lean, strong body. Up close like this, and after every time he’s picked me up like I’m nothing, I’m realizing that I definitely don’t have the core strength to keep up with him. I think it might just leave a tidy little imprint on my psyche if he gives me an orgasm, cuddles me, and then pounds me into the mattress.
Not to mention everything Adrianna had speculated about before.
The snow has melted off his sleek black bodysuit. It doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination; the clear shape of his hardened cock is trapped between us. He catches me eyeing him, and I can’t help but blush a little.
“I want a chance to touch you too,” I admit sheepishly. After every moment we’ve shared, it still feels too secret to share, to voice my attraction to him.
“Yeah, I...could be into that,” he says slowly, a rumbly little breath of a sentence, his eyes tracing over me again. His expression goes soft as he leans back, and I push up onto an elbow.
There’s a zipper tag dangling from the high collar of his suit. My knuckle grazes his chin as I reach for it, and after a gentle tug, it slides down his neck, his chest, all the way to his naval, as if the fabric had been just barely containing him.
He stills as I lean closer, inspecting.
Unlike when he was utterly naked in the dim hideout, his markings are much more visible under the soft light of my bedside table lamp. They glint in the light in a way the rest of him doesn’t. It’s a lot easier to see the way they raise up, wrinkled and slightly off-color.
I run a finger over one of the strange markings, feeling how different the texture of it is from the rest of his soft, downy skin. They’re all skin, no fuzz.
These aren’t just markings. They’re scars.
I suck in a breath. “How did these happen?”
He presses his lips together, his mouth a harder line than it was a moment ago, before he lets the tension go with a shrug. “I’ve been through a few windows.”
Steel did these, I realize, a sick feeling curling in my stomach. I try not to imagine pieces of glass littering his flesh, in his shoulder and his side.
It must show on my face, because he rolls his eyes and takes my hand in his, tugging it away from his scars like I’ll forget about them if I just look away. “Some of them were my idea, though. It’s uh, rough and tumble stuff, sometimes, being a hench-goon.”
He holds me loosely, tracing a finger up and down one of mine, mapping the shape of my hand, stopping to circle overone of my knuckles. He brushes the back of my hand against his mouth. There’s something so sweet about that small gesture.
I open my mouth to speak, but a sound stops me. Ellis frowns and looks over his shoulder, then back at me. I can’t place where it’s coming from at first, but a mere moment later I recognize the deafening beats of blades chopping through the air.
It shakes my windows, the room even, as it grows louder, more intense. `
I gasp, sitting up. “Clayton must be landing on the building.” I scoot off my bed, bounding over to the window to look out. The flashing lights from the helicopter landing just a couple floors up reflect off the neighboring building.
“That sounds bigger than the rocket boots,” Ellis says, pushing off the bed and following to the window.
Then my phone starts buzzing, joining the cacophony, and Clayton’s picture flashes across my screen.
“His helicopter,” I tell him, frantically searching through the clothes I’ve discarded to the floor. I can’t find my bra or underwear, but maybe sweatpants and a big sweater will be enough.
“Oh, of course,” he scoffs, unhurried. “Well, you know those billionaire vigilantes. They love their toys.”
“You need to go,” I hiss over my shoulder, tugging my sweatpants on. The feeling of the fabric meeting my still-wet nethers only reminds me of everything we shouldn’t have done.
“Did you invite him over?”
