And it’s quite clear his words are true. His sharp stare and rock hard erection digging into my stomach convey as much.
“Kayne, please.” Cocksucker has me begging already.
He hesitates for a beat then pushes off the wall, giving me the room I so desperately need.
“Whatever you want, Ellie.” His words send both a chill and a tingle down my spine. They’re as menacing as they are promising.
Kayne watches me with a guarded expression as I escape into the bedroom and slam the door behind me.
Once inside, I sink to the floor, breathing for the very first time since I stepped foot on this island.
THE DOOR SLAMS, AND Ithink I actually jump.
My dick is hard, my heart is hammering, and lips are tingling. That kiss was nothing but a fucking cock tease. Ellie and her monosyllables. I forgot how much I missed them—although, I’ll admit, I much prefer them when we’re having sex. I couldn’t control myself with her standing there all sexy and doe-eyed and completely irresistible. I wasn’t lying when I said I missed her every single second of every single day. It’s been excruciating living without her. And now that she’s here, under the same roof, she still feels just as unattainable as when we were apart. For now.
I hope.
Pray?
Okay, beg.
I rest my forehead against her door, silently pleading for her to come out. I contemplate going in, but I’ll give her space. I know that’s what she needs. Jett has been preaching it to me for almost a year. That’s why I didn’t pursue her sooner, even though I wanted to.
Every single second of every single day.
I sent the cupcakes to test the water, to see where her head was. Which, to my great disappointment, was nowhere near forgiving me, since she trashed them a nanosecond after she opened the box. How do I know that? I’m a black operative—spying is what I do. And I’ve been spying on Ellie since the day she left me. I know everything there is to know about her, right down to her little boy toy.
I pace the bungalow so many times I think I wear through the hardwood floor. I have a drink, and then another. I take a piss, and then wait some more. I’m about to go mad, so I finally say fuck it and knock on her door.
“Ellie?”
No answer.
“Ellie?” I jiggle the door handle.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” she yells. I wonder how long that is in girl time. I decide to call Matias and arrange for our ride. Here’s hoping, right?
After I hang up with the butler, Ellie finally emerges. She’s changed. No longer wearing the white little dress she arrived in. She’s transformed into a dark angel. Her light-brown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and her eye makeup is heavy, but it’s her dress that makes my jaw drop. It’s a loose fitting, shiny material that drapes over her body. It almost reminds me of a piece of lingerie, something Jett would dress her in just to entice me. The black strings curving over her shoulders so thin I could floss my freakin’ teeth with them. I think she’s trying to kill me.
“You look . . . amazing.” Yes, I sound just like a love-struck fool because that’s exactly what I am; a man stupidly in love with a sultry little kitten who holds his beating heart in the palm of her hand.
“Thank you.” She fidgets slightly.
There’s a knock at the door a moment later.
“Our ride is here.” I smile as genuinely as possible. Ellie exits first, brushing against me in the doorway. Her sweet smell is heady, and her contact makes me horny. Holy hell. This may just be the most trying night of my life. As Matias assists Ellie into the golf cart, I catch the hem of her dress riding up so far it makes my cock kick.
Damn.
I climb in next to her, and my big body crowds her small frame in the backseat. Our legs touch and shoulders bump. Ellie folds her arms over her chest and crosses her legs, withdrawing into herself. Typical body language for someone who is clearly uncomfortable. I hate that I make her feel that way. I hate that she recoils and is anxious around me. But I’m not exactly sure how to fix it. Fix us. I’m sure if I were Jett, I would think of something clever to say, get her talking, have her laughing and be completely open by the time we sat down to dinner. But here is where I lack finesse. I know how to speak with my body, but words are more difficult.
“Where are we going anyway?” she asks as we pass bungalow after bungalow.
“I set up a private dinner. So we can talk.”
Ironic, I know.
“Private?” The word dances warily on her tongue.
