Arrogant asshole. I grit my teeth, fighting the trembling in my body. “I feel nothing.”
He drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nothing?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you won’t care if I kiss you.”
“Nope.”
He grins, and I realize his true goal.Well played.His mouth descends on mine. It’s not a clashing of teeth or a whisper of touch I’ve experienced too many times to count. His mouth isfirm against mine as he lets the heat transfer between us. Our eyes open, and I stare at him in defiance. He sweeps the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips, and they part for him without question. My eyes flutter closed as he coaxes me into falling into a kiss. Falling because my stomach dips like it does when a plane descends. That delicious sting is back on my scalp, and it’s playing havoc with my senses. He’s everywhere, surrounding me with his mouthwatering scent and careful, yet strong, hands. I pant into his mouth while melting into his hands. This is why people write sonnets about kisses. This is what I’ve been missing.
He pulls away, and my eyes flutter open. His mouth is swollen, and I want nothing more than to push him to the floor, climb on top of him, and kiss him until we can’t breathe.
“Still nothing?” he checks, his eyes nearly black with need.
I shake my head, sucking my lips into my mouth and tasting him there. I can’t physically speak my lies—he’ll see right through them.
He sighs. “Then I’ll leave you to your toys.”
He pulls away, and cold air nips at my flesh as he leaves my space. My arm stretches toward him, but the words are stuck in my throat.Wait.Then he’s out of the room, and the outer door slams closed. He left? He. Left. I growl and yank open the bottom drawer. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. Time to remind myself of this right here, right now.
I stare at my options, fury and desire making my hands shake. But toys don’t kiss.Fuck.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hunter
You aren’t broken, but you are mine.
Ihad to walk away so I didn’t push her into more than what she’s comfortable with. If her answer had been different, if she had been willing to acknowledge the off the charts chemistry happening between us, I would have taken great pleasure in showing her what comes next—her—but I have to wait for her to catch up. I won’t rush anything with her, and I won’t allow her to make excuses or dismiss me as another partner who doesn’t put her first. That isn’t happening. Eleanor Austin wants to be loved, inside and out. Who doesn’t?
The problem is whatever she went through, whatever conditioning was drilled into her psyche, is still in play years later. I’ve done a little research on cults in general, ones similar to what seems to be happening with Jonathan’s—at least, on the surface. The sex trafficking appears to be something developed after he surrounded himself with vulnerable women and powerful men, building a society where he is king and his word his gospel. Now, Eleanor is hellbent on destroying him,and I can only imagine the horrors she suffered at his hands. But what started as a favor to a friend has turned into a mission to make her understand there is more to life than her revenge. I’m not stupid enough to try and stop her, and I don’t want to. I will stand by her side as she faces her enemies, but when the blood turns cold and she is left adrift, I want to be the tether holding her to this world. More importantly, I need to get under her skin enough for her to make choices which preserve her future. I’m trying to give her hope for herself, not for the thousands of victims she is praying will be her salvation.
Charlie trots happily at my side, feeling content but confused about his late-night walk. I do a complete sweep of the main road, nodding to some people on their way home after a night of ribs and line dancing. I don’t stop to chat as my head is too full of images of Eleanor’s flushed and panting body and her fake orgasm that had me hard in seconds. I catalog the differences, given I have had the privilege of witnessing her actually come, eager for my chance to be the reason she lets loose. She’s good at faking; much like the way she can insert herself into a social situation if given time to study it, but she’s never comfortable, which means she must have studied others orgasming. My steps falter, my cock lifting once more. Does my sex toy collecting little hacker watch porn? What kind? Would she be willing to show me?Fuck, I’m meant to be calming down. Huffing, I begin another loop of the street.
My blood cools with each step as I turn my thoughts to less sexy ones. Christopher and Jonathan are both sniffing too close to home. I have already had three of my properties in different states cleaned and stocked, ready for us should we need to move quickly. I know I’m on borrowed time—she’s going to run at some point, with or without me. I’d prefer it to be the first choice. I know she’d rather do this alone, but she won’t survivethis by herself, and I don’t know if I’ll survive losing her to her suicide mission.
Before entering the yard, I do a quick sweep of the perimeter, chuckling at the spot Carlson must have been lurking to catch a glimpse of his hero. You could see in his eyes Ghost is his idol, and the fact she is a beautiful woman has him completely and utterly stumped.Welcome to my life, kid.
Satisfied there is nothing suspicious on the grounds, I let myself and Charlie into the yard, where he proceeds to trot around the edge to make it known that this is his domain, and he is the boss. He makes a low grumbly noise at something, which normally precedes an episode of play.
“Come on, buddy, it’s too late, and we left our girl all alone. But you know,” he looks up with curious eyes, “you have to stop stealing her shit.”
He huffs as we enter the building like I’m the one being utterly ridiculous. “Yeah, I know, it’s interesting shit. But it’s still hers.”
He side-eyes me like I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite. I am. I’ll fully own that. My key slides into the door, and I expect, by this point, Eleanor has taken care of herself to solidify her “I don’t need a man” code of ethics and crawled into bed. But no. The lights in the kitchen are on, and I’m suddenly staring down a furious female. I was only gone an hour.
My brow creases as her gaze catches mine, and she storms out from behind the counter and squares up to me. I glance around, checking for dead bodies or the big flashing warning that should be happening given the level of emotion pouring from her. She is sans pants—again—and her shirt is gaping open, revealing no bra. Interesting.
“What happened?”
She jabs her finger in my chest, and Charlie barks. “You happened.” Okay... She throws her hands in the air, then grips the ends of her hair before grimacing. “You broke me.”
“I… what?” I wasn’t even home. How is whatever is happening my fault?
“You. Broke. Me.” She spits each word like they are covered in blades.
“You wouldn’t be walking if I’d broken you,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. But I also want to understand where this anger is coming from. It’s the first time I’ve seen her ruled by her heart, and while I might have chosen a much different emotion for her, this works. Anything to break down her walls and make her feel. I glance down at her legs, unable to resist any longer, not helping myself as the heat I walked off comes roaring back with a vengeance.
