Page 11 of Breaking Him

He finally quit whaling on the sandbag and dropped his hands, but he didn’t turn to face me. The muscles in his wide back twitched, expanding with every panted breath.

I closed the space between us, moving in behind him, and reached up, resting my hands on his shoulder blades, breathing in his scent—clean sweat and leather. He stilled, like he often did, like I now knew he’d been doing since he was a little boy. Did he wish I couldn’t see him, that I’d go away? The idea was a pitchfork through the chest.

Biting my lip, I slid my hands up to his shoulders and leaned in, kissing the center of his bare back, his skin fevered and slick. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know exactly what I was apologizing for. That I’d been talking about him, that he’d heard what Cassie said, or that the whole town knew what he’d suffered and hadn’t lifted a finger to help him. They were small insignificant words, but they were all I had right then, all I could force past my dry, tight throat.

A tremor traveled through him, but he stayed where he was, broad back to me. He was in pain, and I hated that I’d been a part of the cause. It tore me up, and all I could think about was easing his hurt. I moved to his side, my breasts grazing his bulging biceps as I came around to his front. His jaw was tight, eyes closed, locking me out, keeping me at a distance. I hated it, loathed it.

Leaning in, I kissed his chest. His body went tight, every muscle hardening. I continued to whisper my apologies between kisses, tasting the salty, clean sweat on his chest, his ribs, his ridged abs as I dropped to my knees. Fingers trembling, I reached for the front of his jeans. He jolted but kept his eyes closed when I undid the button and eased down the zipper, when I slid my hand inside and took his quickly hardening cock in my hand, pumping the length of him several times.

His nostrils flared, but he kept his jaw clamped shut.

Releasing him, I worked the denim at his hips lower. I wanted to make this better, but I had no idea how to do that. My gut told me this was what he needed from me. I just hoped I was right.

The metallic scent of blood reached my nose, and I noticed his raw, bleeding knuckles. Taking one of his hands, I pressed my lips to his damaged skin, kissing it tenderly, and that’s when his eyes opened and he stared down at me. My own stung at what I saw. There was no anger, not even a little bit. No, there was only shame. He was ashamed of his past, and I could see he hated that I knew.

I leaned in and kissed the head of his painfully hard cock, sliding my hands up and down his heavy thighs and hips. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I rasped past my dry throat, fighting the tears threatening to escape. His muscles bunched tighter, more pain sliding through his gaze. It killed me, but I was determined to give him what he needed and stayed where I was, on my knees with his eyes locked on me.

We stared at each other for the longest time, my knees starting to smart, pulse racing like crazy, but I didn’t move. I waited. Eli needed to take back some of the control he’d lost as a scared kid; he craved it but continued to fight against it. That was what I saw in him, that dark, gritty thing he refused to let free, the part of him I was more than willing to surrender to. Shit, I was desperate for it.

I had no idea what was happening between us, but right then it was like I was gasping for air, like I’d been deprived of oxygen. I needed it to survive, this thing between us—this thing only Elijah could give me.

And deep down I knew he felt it, too.

Slowly, something shifted in his eyes, the pain transforming into hunger. A hunger so fierce, I had to squeeze my knees together when my core began pulsing deep. My lips parted on an indrawn breath as zaps of pleasure fired low in my belly, the excitement building low and hot, making it hard to draw breath.

I watched the fingers on his right hand twitch a second before he raised it, shaking slightly as he slid my hair over my shoulder, then carefully, he gathered it up and wrapped it around his damaged fist.

He spread his legs a little more, bracing his solid body, then gently applied pressure. The strands pulled at my scalp in a delicious way, causing goose bumps to rise across my skin and my nipples to harden to the point of pain. A whimper crawled up my throat, slipping past my lips, when he directed my mouth to the fat head of his cock.

“Open,” he rasped, a tortured note to his voice that made me want to do anything for this man, give him anything he wanted.

That one word, said that way, had me damn near vibrating with need. Dizzy with how much I wanted his cock in my mouth, how badly I’d wanted this from him, how much I wanted to give it to him, I did as I was told. I shuffled forward, and then that beautiful dick was sliding past my lips, into my mouth.

His grip tightened in my hair, and I relaxed my jaw. The first thrust came, and his cock went deep, bumping the back of my throat. I forced my muscles to relax more, and on the next thrust he went deeper. I nearly came, even as my eyes watered, even as I dragged much-needed oxygen in through my nose. His grunts filled my ears, his musky scent surrounding me. I dug my nails into his hips, holding him there, afraid he’d stop, afraid he’d pull away.

His grunts got rougher, more intense, then he tilted my head back, and all that dark, dirty heat was on me, eyes blazing, searching mine. I reached down and took his balls in hand, massaging their heavy weight. They drew up tight a second before he growled, and his cock began to throb against my tongue. Come filled my mouth, and I worked my throat, trying to swallow the load. Some slid down my chin, and his eyes tracked it, groaning as he continued to thrust until he was completely spent.

When he was done, his fingers loosened in my hair and he carefully slid from my mouth. I licked my swollen lips, and he grabbed his discarded shirt, using it to clean me up. Then he lifted me effortlessly, my thighs hugging his hips, and he held me tight, his heavy exhales ruffling my hair.

“I was rough with you,” he muttered against my temple. “I should never have done that…”

I leaned back so I could see his face and slid my fingers up the sides of his throat, cupping his stubbled cheeks. “It’s what we both needed. And Eli,” I whispered, “I loved every second of it.”

His arms flexed around me, and I dipped my head, kissing his firm lips, letting him get a taste of himself, of the control he’d taken, that I’d been happy to relinquish. His tongue slid against mine, his growling moan working through me in a way that made me want to crawl inside him and never leave. He took several steps, stopping when my ass was on the workbench.

He rested his forehead against mine, our panted breaths mingling. “Are you slick between your legs, Abigail?”

I started to tremble. “Yes.”

“Will you let me touch you there again?” His fingers flexed against my ass. “I can’t stop thinking about it, how you felt there, darlin’, wrapped around my fingers. It’s been making me crazy ever since you let me do that to you.”

If he didn’t, I thought I might break down and cry. “Touch me.”

He groaned and tugged at the button of my shorts, then dragged the zipper open, kissing me softly as he slid his hand down the front of my panties, pressing against my slick heat. “Oh, Jesus.”

His finger skimmed along my soaked slit, then pressed, pushing inside. I cried out, trying to get closer to him.

“You feel so good. So soft and warm and goddamn perfect.” He licked his lips. “Darlin’, you’re all over my hand.” I was gripping his biceps, and the muscles twitched. “I can smell you. Christ, I think I’m losing my mind, Abigail. Making you feel good, it’s all I want to do. I never want to stop.”