Kidnapped by the Billionaire (20 page)

He was going to make her wish she'd let him stay with the punching bag.

Spreading her with his fingers, he licked her, using his tongue to fuck her while his fingers stroked and teased the tender nub of flesh between her thighs, pinching it hard, making her give hoarse little sobs in his ear. Her body tensed, her hips trembling between his hands, and he kept going, kept pushing her because she never stopped pushing him.

“Elijah, please … I can't…”

The desperation in her husky voice only goaded him on, because, yes, he wanted her begging. He wanted her at his mercy, and if he couldn't get it through fear, he'd get it through pleasure. She'd been going to use sex to get what she wanted from him after all.

“You're not doing this to me again, princess,” he growled against her wet, salty flesh. “You're not manipulating any more fucking confessions out of me. I keep telling you I'm not a toy you can play with. It's about time you learned exactly who you're taking on.”

Lifting his head, he shifted his grip on her, sliding two fingers into all that tight, wet heat. Then he leaned in again, running his tongue in slow, deliberate circles around the hard bud of her clit.

Violet gave a low moan. “Oh … fuck…” Her nails were almost drawing blood on his shoulders, her inner muscles tight around his fingers as he slid them slowly in and out of her. “I don't … Elijah…”

“I want you to scream,” he murmured. “I want you to scream and scream hard.” And he pushed his fingers deep, licking her over and over, relentless. Showing her no mercy. Until she gave him the ragged scream he'd wanted, and her whole body shook, her pussy clenching hard around his fingers.

The scent of sex filled his nostrils, the taste of her in his mouth. She was panting, leaning against him as if she'd collapse if he wasn't there. And it should have made him satisfied that he'd gotten that from her, a surrender of sorts. Yet he wasn't satisfied. He felt just as hungry and desperate and angry as he had when she'd first touched his face.

Easing her away from him, he straightened and rose to his feet. Then he picked her up in his arms. She'd gone all soft and relaxed, her face flushed, her expression dazed, one hand rising to touch his chest. And he didn't know why he wanted to hold her, not when he was still so furious.

Turning, he carried her over to the sofa and laid her down on it, but instead of walking away, he found himself spreading her thighs and settling himself between them, the heat of her pussy pressed against his hard, aching cock. Then he put his palms down on either side of her head, bracing himself so his full weight wasn't resting on her, looking down into her face.

It felt good to have her naked and exposed and vulnerable while he was fully clothed, good to have her under him, smooth and warm just waiting for the touch of his hand. At his mercy completely.

Desire gripped him tight, like it had earlier that day in the alleyway, his dick in no way satisfied by that brief encounter. Fuck, she was so soft, her body giving beneath his, accommodating him, making him so very aware of everything he'd been missing.

He bent his head to her neck, turning his face against her throat and inhaling the musky, feminine scent of aroused woman. Then he licked her, the salty-sweet taste of her skin going straight to his head.

She shivered in response, her body shifting under his, her hips moving, rubbing that hot little pussy of hers against his jeans, leaving him in no doubt that despite what he'd just done to her, she was as hungry as he was.

Ravenous, he opened his mouth on her shoulder, biting her.

“Eli…” There was no sarcasm in the name now, only a husky heat that moved through him, unstoppable, inescapable. Making him want, making him even more desperate.

So he bit her again, harder.

Her hands were on his back, sliding down to the waistband of the shorts he'd put on for his workout, moving under the cotton of his tank to touch his bare skin and much to his horror, he felt himself shiver in response.

Jesus, what the fuck was happening to him? This woman was dangerous and in ways he'd never expected.

He jerked his head up, shifting to grab those wandering hands of hers and lifting them above her head, pinning them there against the arm of the sofa. He was careful with her injured wrist, making sure the pressure was on the one that hadn't been cut.

She blinked, looking up into his face. “I want to touch you.”

“No.” His voice sounded rough and unsteady, not like him at all.

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking said so, that's why.”

She stared at him and for a moment there was only a thick, heavy silence between them.

Her eyes were so dark, all that vivid color a thin band surrounding the black of her pupils all full of arousal and heat. And he wanted to look away because she was staring at him like she could see everything there was to see about him. But that was a weakness he wouldn't concede, so he just stared back, letting her look.

Then she said suddenly, huskily, “I don't know what it was that Dad did to you, and I know that I can't make it any better. But”—she took a breath—“I'm sorry for whatever it was.”

The statement was so out of left field that it took him a second to fully process what she'd said. And then, when he did, it was like she'd lit the fuse on his anger all over again, because what the fuck was she thinking? That offering him an apology would make any difference?

It didn't change things. It didn't make what her father had done to Marie any less than the horrific crime it was and it sure as hell didn't make Marie any less dead.

He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of that fucking apology, but she hadn't finished, because she added, still husky and soft. “And I want you know that you can have anything from me. Anything at all, it's yours.”

Anything …

Heat flooded through him, because, Christ, he could think of exactly what he wanted from her. All the things he wanted to do to her. All the time he had to make up, all the cold, empty years he could fuck away the memory of. Payment for Marie's death.

It was wrong and it should only add to the anger since there was nothing,
nothing
, that could make up for what Evelyn Fitzgerald had taken from him. Not money, not power, and most especially not the warm, willing body of this young woman.

Yet he didn't move away or release her.

He only looked down into those beautiful eyes of hers, slowly darkening with a terrible sympathy he wanted to destroy completely.

“I don't just want anything,” he said, not caring how harsh he sounded, not caring how rough. And then he leaned down so his face was inches from hers. “I want
everything
,”

 

CHAPTER TEN

The intensity in Elijah's black gaze was inescapable, leaving her in no doubt that he meant exactly what he'd said. And he would take everything, because she would let him.

It was a terrifying thing to realize and if it had been any other man, she would have shoved him off her and run from the room.

But he wasn't any other man. There was that bleak emptiness behind his eyes and the words that echoed in her brain, fury vibrating in every syllable.

Your father destroyed my life.

She hadn't fully taken on board that comment earlier, too caught in the fury and heat of him to understand, but now, looking up into his fierce, intent face, she began to understand that something truly terrible had happened to this man. Something her father was responsible for. And now Elijah was taking that out on her.

The weight of him pressed down her, and he was so damn hot. But there was nothing she didn't like about it, nothing she didn't want. She had to make up for her father's sins somehow and if that involved letting this man do whatever he wanted to her then she'd do it.

She hated that look in his eyes. Hated the bleakness. It felt familiar to her, as if she'd felt it herself, and all she wanted to do was take it away.

“Do it then,” she said hoarsely. “You can take it all.”

And she didn't expect for a moment that he wouldn't. He wasn't a man who hesitated about anything, let alone took half measures.

Sure enough, as soon as she'd said the words, black heat flared in his eyes and his head dipped again, his mouth burning against her throat.

Violet closed her eyes, shivering as his teeth nipped the fragile cords of her neck, his fingers tight around her wrists held above her head. She could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against her sex and she couldn't stop herself from rocking against it, trying to get more friction, more pressure.

But he wouldn't let her, the heavy weight of his muscular body crushing her into the sofa cushions, pinning her down so she couldn't move. Then his free hand was on her, moving from her shoulder down to her left breast, cupping it in his palm, squeezing, his thumb circling her hardening nipple. She tried shifting again, restless and wanting, arching into that teasing hand, gasping as he pinched her hard. Pleasure shot through her, a streak of it arrowing straight between her thighs, and then he did it again and she groaned, moving helplessly, unable to keep still.

His head dropped further, his mouth moving down her body. He cupped her breast in his palm, his tongue finding her nipple and circling, licking. Then he sucked it into his hot mouth, drawing hard on her, sparks scattering behind her closed lids as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter.

Oh, God, this was so good. She was going to drown in this if she let herself. And why not? It was better than slitting her wrists in a bath or running down a cold and icy street. Better than a gunshot ricocheting behind her. Holding back was overrated, clearly. Perhaps giving everything was the way to go, especially when he was going to take it anyway.

Elijah bit gently on her nipple and she gave a long, low moan of frustration, her hips shifting, trying to ease the intolerable ache that was building and building.

But he released her all of a sudden, sitting up and back, leaving her lying there on the sofa with her arms above her head, her legs apart, still trembling. Completely naked and exposed.

She took a breath, starting to bring her hands down.

“Don't move,” he ordered roughly. “Stay exactly like that.”

Slowly she put her hands back where they were, shivering under the intensity of his black gaze. Because he kept on looking at her as if he couldn't get enough of the sight, focusing particularly on her throat, then her breasts, then finally her sex. Hunger glittered in his eyes and she got the feeling he was testing himself. Perhaps even testing her too.

She tried to calm her breathing, but that didn't work with him watching the rise and fall of her breasts. Making her so aware of her hardened, sensitized nipples and the pulsing ache in her sex.

Elijah got off the sofa, reaching over to a brown paper bag that was sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up and took out whatever was inside it, crumpling and discarding the bag carelessly back onto the table. In his hand was a box of condoms.

Violet stared at it. “When did you get that?” Her voice sounded cracked and dry.

He didn't reply, taking out a condom packet and ripping it open, his movements unhurried and very deliberate, full of intent. With one hand he pushed down his shorts and his boxers, exposing the long, thick length of his erection. Then he rolled the condom down over it in one easy motion.

She couldn't stop staring. At the movement of his hand, at all that hot skin, at the size of that hard cock as he eased the latex down. There was something so unbearably sexy about the way he did it that she found her own fingers curling, wanting to touch him the way he was touching himself.

He turned back to her, the lines of his face drawn tight with the vicious hunger that was starting to sink its claws in her too.

God, she wanted him to take off his clothes. Wanted the oiled silk of his bare skin against hers. She wanted to run her fingers all over those hard, tight muscles, learn the shape of him.

She wanted too much. But then that had always been her problem, hadn't it?

He didn't take off his clothes.

Instead he knelt between her spread thighs, looking down at her, making her feel so very vulnerable and completely at his mercy. Which in turn only seemed to feed into the desire that was shortening her breath and sending her heartbeat out of control.

He reached out, his fingers trailing down her stomach to tangle in the curls between her thighs, then going lower, finding her clit, stroking and circling.

Violet trembled, a soft whimper escaping her, the arrow of pleasure becoming sharper, heavier.

“Look at me,” he demanded, low and rough.

And she couldn't help but obey, meeting his obsidian gaze, falling into it, drowning as his finger moved over her tight, aching flesh. Then his touch moved lower, sliding over her slick folds to the entrance of her body and pushing in, testing her.

Sensation rippled through her and she gasped, shuddering as his finger slid in deep then out again, pinned by the look in his eyes as he watched her.

It should have made her feel even more vulnerable, even more exposed to have him look at her like this, as he systematically tore apart all her walls and barriers with the touch of his hand. And she kind of did. But she also felt a certain sense of power. Because she wasn't the only one affected, he was too. It was there in the heat in his eyes, in the hard line of his jaw, in the tightness in his shoulders and neck. In the stain of color on his high cheekbones.

She affected him as badly as he affected her. And it came as a shock to realize she'd never been fully conscious of having that power before. Had never really felt she'd had much affect on anyone in her life. Sure, she'd gone out of her way to make her mother angry with her, but that hadn't changed her mother's behavior. Hadn't made Hilary pay any more attention to her. Her father too, had always seemed to be focused on something else, not her. Especially after Theo had disappeared.