Taking Him (Lies We Tell) (7 page)

The water streamed over him and he concentrated on the lines of the tiles, noting that he hadn’t done the best job he could have since a couple were slightly off and the grouting wasn’t as neat as it should be.

Anything so he didn’t have to think of Ellie’s white thighs. Of her bright copper fingers playing with the hem of her tiny skirt. Tantalising, the way her fingertips brushed against her skin…

“Touch yourself, Hunter. I want to watch.”

The water in the shower felt abruptly cold. Then hot. Way too hot.

Where the fuck had that memory come from? And, more importantly, why? He hadn’t thought about that for years and years.

A weird feeling began to creep over his skin. A dirty feeling, familiar, tasting of shame and humiliation. And lust. Intense, inescapable, uncontrollable lust.

Ah, Jesus, he didn’t want this. Didn’t want to feel this way, not again. He was over it. Over the confusion and the anguish and the shame. And over the desire that always came with it.

The breath went out of him. He closed his eyes. Sometimes when the old feelings returned, he’d go out, find himself a woman. Make her do whatever he wanted to regain some control. Usually that made the confusing mass of feelings go away.

Perhaps that’s what he should do now. Go into town and find himself someone. He probably had a couple of names still on his phone he could call. Who didn’t mind being told what to do and when to do it. Who didn’t mind being watched. Who didn’t mind not touching him.

Alternatively he could take himself in hand and deal with the problem right now.

He curled his fingers around his cock, tightened his grip. But the thought of jerking off with Liz’s voice still in his head, with Ellie’s white skin burned into his vision, only made him feel even dirtier.

Cursing, he let go and turned the water off with a vicious movement instead. Then he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying himself roughly. As if he could scrape away the feeling that seemed to coat his skin, though it didn’t seem to work.

Going into the bedroom, he pulled on an old pair of jeans and a clean tee.

Yeah, perhaps he would go into town. Get away from the shitty, conflicting feelings. Put some distance between them and himself. Get some fucking relief.

Dressed and feeling better now he had a plan, he went down the stairs.

Only to find Ellie standing at the bottom of them.

She looked incongruous in his wide, polished wooden-floored hallway. He’d always preferred a minimalist, clean style to his building and his own personal space. White walls. Wooden floors. Clean and spare. A place to rest and not think.

But Ellie wasn’t minimalist in any sense of the word. She stood in his hallway with her copper-red hair, her tartan mini and her black mesh top, deep red bra underneath. Bright and messy and confronting. The kohl that lined her eyes and her black lipstick gave her a hard edge, and yet that edge was undermined by her bare legs. By her bare feet.

And by the way she was biting her lip as she watched him come down the stairs. “You walked away, Hunter,” she said as he came to the bottom of the stairs.

“We’d finished our conversation.”

“No,
you
told me we’d finished our conversation. I still had stuff to say.”

So she was going to do this again, was she? Impatience coiled in his gut. He wanted out. Wanted to get away. Didn’t want to stand in the hallway with her blocking his exit. Not while he felt like this. “Can it wait? I’m on my way out.”

She blinked. “Where are you going?”

“Out. Like I said.” He wasn’t going to stand here justifying himself to her. He went to the side to go around her, but she stepped in front of him, again blocking his exit.

Hunter stopped. “What the hell, Ellie?”

Her lashes were covered in mascara, black rimming her eyes. She looked tough but he knew she wasn’t. She’d been a little, lonely kid, wanting attention. Wanting to talk to him. Holding his hand and dragging him along to her bedroom where she’d shown him the microscope Vin had given her for her ninth birthday. Or nagging him to play Monopoly yet again after beating the pants off him for the second time in a row. Or resting against him, silent and still, as Vin had forced their screaming mother into the car for yet another trip to the hospital.

Vulnerable. Quiet. Sweet. There had always been a reason he’d called her sweetness.

The woman who stood in front of him now was vulnerable, yes, he could see it in her eyes. But there was also determination. And anger. And certainty. But not sweetness. Not this time.

She put out a hand, her palm on his chest, her touch like a lightning rod, conducting something hot and bright and burning straight through his body.

Hunter caught his breath, shocked at the touch. Shocked at his reaction to it. At the clean, white light that seemed to ignite in his bloodstream.

But like it had in his truck, seconds later blind instinct and fear kicked in.

One hand knocked hers away from him. The other went for her throat.

Ellie didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound. It happened too fast for her to do either. One moment, she was doing her damndest to stop him leaving, the next he had her by the throat, pressed against the wall.

Her heart slammed against her chest, adrenaline flooding through her. And it took her a couple of moments to realise she wasn’t, in fact, scared. She was intensely excited.

Because his hold wasn’t choking. It was firm but gentle, his palm resting in the hollow of her throat, long fingers resting lightly on the side of her neck.

Hunter’s gaze held hers, as if he was looking for something. Searching for it. He stood close. Close enough for her to smell the spicy scent of the soap he’d used in the shower, the warm leather of his jacket. Close enough to feel him towering over her. Big and strong, the way he’d always done when she’d been a child.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t feel scared. His height and his power had always made her feel safe, never threatened. And she didn’t feel threatened now. Only…aroused.

Oh Jesus, so completely turned on.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch me, Ellie?” The words were soft and yet the undercurrent of threat in his voice stroked along her nerve endings like a velvet whip.

Don’t fucking touch me…

She tried to swallow. Failed. Tried to breathe. Failed at that too.

“I can’t have you touching.” His thumb moved against the side of her neck, a soft, gentle stroke. “Understand, sweetheart? Not again.”

Ellie barely heard him. Every cell of her body seemed to be concentrated on his hand. Where it rested. The skin beneath it. He was touching her. Finally, after years and years, he was touching her. The way she’d wanted to be. The way she’d longed for.

A sexual, very dominant touch.

And she was so aroused she could barely speak.

“W-why?” Ellie managed at last. “I want to touch you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking questions, sweetness.” His thumb moved again and she shuddered, unable to help herself, every single inch of skin painfully aware of him. Of how close he stood. Of his warmth.

“Hunter…” His name was a raw plea she couldn’t keep inside any longer. “Please. Oh…please…” She’d beg. She had no shame when it came to him. None at all.

His gaze remained on hers, black as midnight, a dark flame burning there. The same flame she’d seen in his truck, the night she’d touched him. He said nothing, only looked at her, his thumb moving on the side of her neck, a lazy, stroking movement that sent chills up and down her spine.

“Please what?” he murmured after what seemed like forever.

“T-touch me.”

Again, he merely looked at her, his thumb still caressing.

God, how many times could she say it? How many times could she beg?

“Please…please…” Her breathing was fast and she couldn’t slow it. “I want you to.”

He searched her face. “And what else do you want, Ellie?”

“Anything.” She’d begun to shake because he’d somehow got even closer. So they were inches apart. All she wanted to do was melt against him. Lose herself in him. “Anything you want to give me.”

The expression on his perfectly carved features sharpened, became intent and hungry. It made him seem unfamiliar, not the Hunter she knew but a different man. A dangerous man. God, why was that thought so exciting? A thousand promises flooded her mouth.
Take me. This once. We don’t ever need to speak of this again. I promise. I’ll be good. I only want you to touch me. I’ve been wanting it my whole life. Please, Hunter, please.

His thumb stopped moving and she thought for one terrible, ghastly minute he was going to let her go and walk away. The thought made her want to weep. But he didn’t. Instead he moved even closer, still holding her against the wall so they were almost touching. Ellie tipped her head back, looking up into his dark, intense face. Trying to read his intentions and failing. Something fierce burned there. Something that spoke of desire and hunger, and other, darker emotions. Emotions she couldn’t read. A deep foreboding shifted inside her.

This man
was
a stranger. Someone different. Someone complicated. Not the man she knew.

Perhaps that should have made her afraid. Made her pull away. But it didn’t. If anything it only wound her fascination tighter.

His free hand touched her bare thigh, fingers stroking over her skin, and she gasped, the brush of his fingertips searing her.

“I have rules, Ellie,” Hunter said. “And they’re non-negotiable. So if you want this, you’ll have to obey them.”

Non-negotiable rules? Why did that sound so damn hot? “I-I can do that.”

“You don’t know what they are yet.”

“I don’t care what they are. I’ll do whatever you want.” And she would. She’d do anything.

The fire in his eyes leapt higher. “First, don’t move. Second, don’t speak. And third, whatever you do, don’t touch me.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “Okay, I promise I won’t.”

His fingers stroked along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, moving higher, up and under the hem of her tiny skirt. The tension inside her began to pull tighter and tighter, her heartbeat thudding like a drum. His thumb pressed gently against the pulse at the base of her throat as if measuring it. God, she could feel it herself, so fast. He’d know exactly what his touch was doing to her.

She tried to swallow, the feeling of his hand on her throat erotic and intense. His other hand moved on her thigh, tracing little patterns on her skin. She found herself rising on her tiptoes, trying to get him to go higher still. Desperate for his hand to touch the wet, aching place between her legs. He’d only have to touch her once and she’d come, she was
that
sensitive. That desperate.

“Keep still.” His voice was low and soft in her ear. “Do as I say, sweetness, otherwise I’m gone.”

Ellie froze, trembling, and shut her eyes. It was becoming too much, too overwhelming. She’d wanted this for so long. Too long. The mere touch of his hand on her thigh was a pleasure so piercing she didn’t know how she would cope with anything more.

His fingers moved, sliding along the lacy edge of her knickers. “This is all there is, Ellie. Understand me? There’s nothing more I can give you.”

“Y-y-yes.” She could barely form the words.

“Keep your eyes closed. Don’t open them.”

Her breathing sounded harsh, fast. She felt as if she were made of glass and the slightest move would shatter her into a thousand pieces.

His fingers slid gently between her thighs, stroking over the lace of her knickers. Ellie groaned, unable to help it, pleasure so sharp it was like a knife turning inside her. She wanted to say his name but she’d promised not to speak, and at this point there was nothing she wouldn’t do to get what she wanted.

Hunter’s finger slowly traced the outline of her sex through the wet fabric of her underwear, moving up higher, and Ellie went utterly still. One touch. That’s all it would take. One touch and she’d fall off the edge of the world.

Her teeth sunk into her lip to keep from saying his name, to keep from begging, and she tasted blood.

Then, when she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer, his finger brushed her clit. The lightest of touches and yet it shattered her completely.

Ellie cried out, the orgasm twisting viciously through her, years of pent-up need, years of fantasies finally releasing in a flood that overwhelmed her. Trembling against the wall, she couldn’t stop the tears that came, the aftermath of an emotional intensity she was helpless against.

“Ellie?” Hunter murmured.

Her eyes opened, met his. There was a strange look on his face. One she could have sworn was fear. She swallowed, trying to find her voice again. “I’m f-fine.”

His hand dropped from her throat, and for some reason it made her feel cold. “You’re crying.”

Sobs caught her in throat. Ellie bent her head, pressing her forehead against Hunter’s shoulder the way she’d often done when she’d been young and in need of reassurance and support. He stilled and belatedly she remembered his warnings. But this wasn’t
that
kind of touch, surely? Anyway, she couldn’t move. Not right now. Another sob shook her and she found herself curling her fingers into the warm cotton of his T-shirt and holding on, a vast wave of emotion moving through her.