The Plight Before Christmas(77)

“You missed spring break with Alyssa.”

“Because I’ve been there done that, and I have another one next year. I wanted to spend it with you.”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need.”

“I’m not a prisoner, Eli, and I’m not standing here because I want something different. I’m standing here because I want what I’ve got. At least what I think I’ve got.”

“You’ve got me,” he murmurs before slowly kneeling and lifting the hem of my tank, exposing an inch of skin before running his tongue along it.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” I murmur, running my fingers through his thick hair as he attempts to distract me with his wicked mouth. “Y-you’ve been acting like this all week. I try to touch you, and you refuse to let me.”

His eyes flick up at me as he glides his tongue seductively along the hem of my shorts, leaving a trail of goosebumps. I repeat his name softly as he stares up at me, evident struggle in his tumultuous gaze. He’s fighting something I can’t at all identify.

“Tell me,” he whispers hoarsely, “tell me what you see in me, Whitney.” He runs his palms up and down my hips, his eyes intent as he studies his movement before encasing me in his hold and pressing his forehead into my stomach. Sighing, I grip his jaw and tilt his head up.

“Up until a few minutes ago, I saw an intelligent, good-natured, strong, confident, beautiful, well-mannered gentlemen who has his shit together, who challenges me, who brings out the best in me, and who makes me happy. Eli…Just talk to me. You’re not sleeping well, y-you’re barely eating, and you’re working out like you’re about to compete in Iron Man. I know you’re hurting, or something’s bothering you. You can trust me. You can tell me anything.”

Lost in his thoughts and unsure if he truly heard my words, he tugs my shorts and panties down, and they fall to my ankles.

“I do want you to touch me,” he confesses with an edge to his voice. “I always want to touch you.”

“Eli, you’re upset, we should talk—”

“Let me,” he says hoarsely, emotion shining in his eyes. “Let me make it up to you.” He slides his finger through my wetness, and I close my eyes, gasping as he begins to explore. Intent on his task, I stand in wait, my heart in my throat, blood pulsing through me as his touch electrifies me.

“Fuck,” he murmurs before pulling me into his arms and depositing me on his ottoman. In the next breath, my tank is discarded, and I’m lying naked beneath him, utterly at his mercy. Warm palms spread my thighs as he gazes at my exposed flesh from where he kneels on the floor. Biting his lip, his icy blue eyes flick to mine as he pushes a finger into me, and my back bows.

“So beautiful.” He dips and licks me smoothly before jackhammering his tongue along my clit. Body shuddering, I grip onto the felt of the ottoman as he lazily explores me, the torturous foreplay his typical MO. The night we first got intimate months ago and the weeks after where we spent long hours in bed getting our bodies acquainted seems like a lifetime ago because of the sporadic distances he’s put between us since. Without warning, we can go from inferno hot to ice-cold—the sudden change in temperature baffling and bewildering me. In the last week, he’s exasperated my patience, refusing my sexual advances, his reasoning vague.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, gliding his finger in and out of me as I writhe beneath him. “You’re the only thing that makes it bearable,” his apology is chalky, filled with remorse as he adds another finger and expertly works them inside me.

“Eli,” I murmur, his words confusing, his touch consuming. He dips, pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking lightly. My thighs shake around his head as a whisper of a smirk graces his lips before he dips again.

Lick, thrust, suck.

Lick, thrust, suck.

Just as my orgasm starts to build, he lowers a finger tracing my back entrance, and brings heated eyes up to mine. “I want this too.”

My eyes widen, and with a devilish twist to his lips, he slowly presses a finger in. I cry out in surprise, the foreign sensation pushing me right to the edge. “Not quite the gentlemen now, am I?”

All words die on my lips as I allow my moans to speak for me.

Lick, thrust, suck.

Filled with him, consumed by his wicked touch, I begin shuddering as he summons the orgasm from me, spreading me wider, his eyes blazing a trail from his working fingers up to mine.

“This pussy is fitted just for me,” he declares before pulling hard on my clit. “Perfectly mine,” he murmurs, twisting his fingers before running the tips of them along my G in beckoning. I detonate as the wave zings through me, and he increases his pace. Fast breaths pump out of me as I twitch with aftershock while he continues to feed, intent on more until I grip his hair in an effort for connection.

“Eli, baby, please look at me.”

When he lifts his tortured clear blue gaze to mine, I see nothing but conflict as fear eats the rest of his expression. Lifting, I capture his lips and protectively wrap my hands around his neck.

“I want you,” I murmur into his mouth, sliding my hand between us, and he stops me, encircling my wrist and shaking his head.

“Not tonight, okay? I’m just…”

“It’s okay,” I concede. “It’s okay.”