Page 3 of Breaking Him

“Do you want to touch me, Eli?” I could barely believe the words that just came out of my mouth, but I didn’t want to take them back, I wanted those massive hands on me, had wanted them on me for the longest time.

The tip of his tongue darted out, sliding across his bottom lip, then his head dipped, just a fraction.

“You do, don’t you?”

He stared down at me, his large frame, thick with muscle, towering over me, looking like he could pick up that tractor beside us and fling it halfway across the field, which made the almost innocent curiosity, the restrained excitement he was currently aiming my way all the more surprising.

“Yes,” he rasped, cheeks darkening further.

He made no move to touch me, though, kept his arms at his sides, fingers curled in loose fists, bracing for I didn’t know what. I reached down, taking one of his hands in mine, lifting it slowly. The skin was as rough as I remembered and hot, so damn hot. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, the soap he used. The combination was incredibly sexy. I uncurled his fingers and rested his hand just above my heart. My top was low cut, so we were skin to skin, and my body went up in flames from that simple touch.

I watched him, gauging his reaction. His eyes were locked on his fingers. His hands were scarred with cracks and gouges, dark and stained, as clean as they ever got. The contrast against my lighter, smooth, unblemished skin was startling—exciting.

“Is this what you want?” I asked softly.

He dipped his head again, fingers flexing slightly, stare intent, scorching.

“More?”

“Yes…please.”

Oh God, the way he said it, deep, rough… I jammed my legs together, the throb between my thighs making me reckless, making me do things, say things I might not usually. But here in the barn, so quiet and still, it was just us and this moment. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

Wrapping my fingers around his thick wrist, the coarse hairs tickling my skin, I lowered his hand slowly, until his palm grazed the swell of my breast. “You ever touched a woman here, Eli?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, jaw tightening, then shook his head.

I could barely believe it. No, he didn’t talk much, kept to himself, but he was smart, gorgeous, and a harder worker I’d never met. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes locked with mine. An answer wasn’t necessary. I knew why—the same reason everyone in this town kept their distance. Fear. I moved his hand lower, struggling to breathe when the rough skin of his palm dragged over my hard, aching nipple. He swallowed audibly and made another one of those hungry, low sounds.

“Your skin’s so hot,” I whispered, curling my fingers around his, encouraging him to squeeze me. He flexed them, but he didn’t let up this time, no, he pressed in, tightening around me in a way that had me soaking my panties. “Feels good?”

“Yes, ma’am.” When he said those words, there was a spark of something thrilling in his eyes. His nostrils flared. “Better than good.”

Dear God, it was. What the hell was I doing?

Chapter Two

Eli’s throat worked as he gripped my breast tighter. His hand looked giant covering me, engulfing me completely. His breath was choppy, getting harsher by the second. Then he pressed his palm deeper, a soft huff bursting past his firm lips as he moved his hand in a tight circle that had my legs close to giving out. When he squeezed again, pleasure shot straight to my core, wringing a whimper from me. His gaze slid to mine and he stilled, then slowly, he ran the rough tip of one finger across the top of my breast, lifting goose bumps instantly, before starting its descent toward the center.

He took his time, like he was relishing the feel of me, the discovery. His eyes were laser focused, nostrils flaring with each labored breath. That torturous finger continued until it bumped the top of my nipple. My breath jammed in my throat when he began to circle it slowly, methodically. I whimpered again, and he shuddered as he dragged his fingers lower, cupping me again, lifting me, then started sliding his thumb back and forth over the tight, hard point, watching my response.

I was going to come. I was going to come from just that alone…

A car door slammed, jarring me, followed by the sound of boots taking the steps to my house. Someone knocked. “Abi?” a gruff voice called.

I stilled. No. Please God, no. I wanted to scream in frustration, to pretend I hadn’t heard it. “It’s Garrett,” I whispered, voice breathy, barely recognizable. My father’s oldest friend often dropped by unannounced.

Elijah yanked his hand away like I’d slapped it.

“Eli…”

“Sorry,” he gritted out. “I shouldn’t have…I should never…” He backed up a step.

“Elijah…wait…”

He shook his head, took another step away, then turned and strode out the side door of the barn and into the night.