Page 71 of Tears of Glass

He wipes off the shaving foam and turns to me, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair in short damp spikes. He looks like some sort of Greek god. “I’ll buy out the whole of M&S’s underwear section if you just agree to stay here with me.”

I roll my eyes and he pinches the end of my nose with his finger and thumb. “I told you, I’m not moving in. We haven’t been together long enough, or actually at all.”

He brushes a kiss across my mouth and it’s delightfully minty fresh. I want to slide in my tongue and explore further. “And I told you there is nothing about us that’s standard.”

“I’ll say.” I arch an eyebrow. “We still haven’t faced your mother or the psychotic grandbaronessy.” I think about Dan and the row we had. It hangs heavy on my chest. I should call him. I want to call him.

Elijah watches me in the mirror as I wrestle with myself, but he doesn’t ask what I’m thinking about. I flash him a smile and get back to my morning routine.

“They can wait.” He turns and leaves me in the bathroom and I hear him sliding open his wardrobe where he must be picking out one of his beautiful suits. He has an entire wardrobe full of the things—black, grey, navy, all of them are cut to perfection and next to them are an array of ties chosen to match. It’s a different world to the ripped jeans and pass me down T-shirts I grew up in.

“Which thousand pound suit are you wearing today?” I call, sniggering to myself.

I flick on the shower. I really need coffee and to get myself to the studio. I’ve got meetings planned today and I need to catalogue the work I’ve got in progress. But then I stink of sex and sleep, so I think maybe a shower should be my first call.

“Don’t forget I’ve got a late lecture,” I call again through to where he’s dressing at the other side. It should be weird, this domestic situation unravelling around me. After all, I’ve never had a boyfriend, let alone someone who I get dressed with, clean teeth with, and spend most of my time with. But Eli makes it normal and I’m falling under his illusion that him and I are something other than normal.

“I won’t,” he calls back.

“And then I’m with Tabitha at her midwife appointment.” Jeez, I can’t get my head around this development at all. But apparently, it’s happening. Not that anyone has told her mother yet. I cringe as I step into the shower and let the water flow over my head. Tilting my head down I let the powerful jets flow against the knots in my neck. I love this shower, it takes washing to a whole new level.

I open my eyes and jump out of my skin. Elijah is stood right there watching me from under a hooded gaze. “Shit, you scared me.”

He chuckles and steps closer, careful to avoid the droplets of water on his suit. Single-breasted with a navy waistcoat, along with a grey and navy striped tie, and pale-blue shirt, there is nothing more attractive. How is it even legal to look that good? His eyes are on my ink, the swirls and patterns that define me, or rather define my path. A cloud flits over his expression as he sees the shard of the glass above my heart.

“Shall we go out for a late dinner tonight?” I ask. “It would be nice to do something normal.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “Is this because I still haven’t taken you on an official date on our own?”

“Do I look like the kind of woman who worries about dates?”

He smiles, slow, sexy, breathtaking. I lean forward and kiss him, my bare breasts puckering to attention at the mere nearness of him in that suit.

“You look like the kind of woman who makes everything trouble.”

I grin and slide my wet mouth against his. “Trouble with a capital T.” He groans slightly and as quick as lightning I pull him under the shower, suit and all.

“Faith!”

“I just warned you right then.” My mouth is hot against his and my tongue slides through his teeth, delving deep, teasing his. His suit is drenched, and he hauls me up against the wet material. An electrical torrent runs through me, my insides warm and liquefy. My hands are in his hair, our teeth clashing as our kiss becomes desperate and fast. His hand snakes down my stomach, his fingers slipping into my core. My legs shake as he delves deep inside, his eyes burn on my face. The water still comes down, droplets rolling along our faces as he watches me react to his hands between my legs. I close my eyes, waves of delight shuddering and growing with every stroke of his fingers. When he drops to his knees, like a man praying under a waterfall, I groan outwardly. His tongue is the most wicked part of him. He peels my legs apart, burrowing his face and using his tongue to slide and flick my clit. “Turn around.” His command is low and gruff. My legs wobble as I follow his direction without hesitation.

He pushes me against the wall of the shower, his hands tugging at my ankles, separating my legs until he’s crouched beneath me. I cast a glance down to him, his suit is now almost black with water, his gold cufflinks catching the sunlight streaming through the bathroom window. As he licks at me from behind, his tongue from this angle now delving deep inside me, pulsing and probing, I almost come at once. A sharp crescendo of a wave lifts me higher and higher and I’m panting as his tongue slips out from inside me and runs along my crack as his hands spread my cheeks.

“Ah, fuck, no, Eli.” I’m panting with every word but it doesn’t make any difference. He carries on, licking, pushing, searching, seeking out every single piece of me with his mouth. I cry as I shudder to a climax.

He straightens and turns me around. Shit, I can’t even meet his eyes. “I’m going to be late for work now.” He pecks a kiss on my mouth. “I’ll be thinking about that all day.”

He steps away and moves out the shower, dragging a towel off the rail and rubbing at his drenched hair. I’m shaking under the shower, hearing him move about changing his clothes.

Fuck. I’m doomed. How will I ever get anything done with things like that swirling around in my head?

When I get out of the shower he’s already gone, but a shiny object catches my attention on the bed—which he’s made—lets be real, making beds isn’t on my to-do list any day of the week. It’s a key attached to a ribbon. On the ribbon is a brown label like the type used to address postage packages. Make yourself at home...

I sit on the bed and take the key in my hand turning it in the light.

Make myself at home? Is he being serious about me moving in?

I can’t, can I?