Page 40 of Breaking Him

I threaded my fingers in his hair and began to move. “Because I always want you.”

His hand tightened in my hair, and he pulled me down, kissing me hard and deep, groaning into my mouth as I fucked down onto him. His hand gripped my butt harder, then he was lifting me, bringing me back down, the pace slow and steady. I could feel all of him, the way he filled me on the way in, dragging out, making me desperate to have him inside me again instantly. “You’re so big.” I moaned. “Christ, Eli, you go so deep.”

He kept on kissing me, tilting his head, fucking my mouth the way he was fucking me—slow and deep.

It didn’t take long. I was still sensitive from the night before, and when he brought me down and held me there, grinding up into me, it hit without warning. I pulled back, about to drop my head to his shoulder, but he cupped my jaw with one hand, holding it where he wanted me, making me look at him. Watching my face as I rolled my hips against his, eyes fluttering, mouth open, cries filling the room.

His fingers dug into my hip, and he slammed up into me two more times, then he grunted, pulling my mouth back to his so I could taste his moans, those sexy growls, as he came hard inside me.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, and he smoothed his hands over my back, body sated, sleepy, like I’d been last night. Protected and treasured in his strong arms…

That’s when I remembered what I’d said before I went to sleep.

I’d told him I loved him.

I didn’t even know if he’d said it back, if he’d even wanted to.

I stiffened, and he tightened his arms around me like he could read my mind.

“Eli…” God, I sounded as unsure as I felt.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said against my hair. “Will you let me show you something?”

“Yes,” I said against his skin, heart hammering in my chest. He’d heard me last night; how could he not have? Was that why he was acting strange this morning? Was it more than what happened in town?

My first thought was to wish them back, wish back those two mumbled words said when I was at my most vulnerable, but then I realized I didn’t want that. I did love him. I loved him so much, the idea of not having him anymore physically hurt. I didn’t know if that was something Eli was ready to hear, but I knew he cared for me. It was in every touch, every long look, every whispered word.

Whatever it was he wanted to show me, it was important to him, and I got the feeling, to us.

I lifted my head. “When do you want to go?”

He smoothed my hair away from my face. “Now.”

…

Elijah drove us to the other side of town. It was a beautiful day, sun shining but not too hot.

I was sick to death of the damn sun.

We needed rain, badly. Still, I loved this part of the country, couldn’t imagine living anywhere else but here. I looked over at Eli. He was deep in thought, that troubled expression back on his face that had been there first thing this morning.

We’d showered together, then he’d taken my hand and led me to his truck. I had no idea where we were going, and the farther we drove, the more my belly squirmed. Wherever it was made him uneasy. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, brows low. Why was he taking me somewhere he so obviously didn’t want to go?

My nerves increased, and I ended up just as tense as he was.

Finally he turned down a narrow road lined with cornfields, brown and dry, the drought-ridden earth cracked and lifeless. I pressed my hands between my knees and squeezed them together to stop my hands from fidgeting. At the end of the road was a small house. As we got closer, I could see the paint was chipped, windows broken or gone, the front door left hanging open. The yard was as cracked and dry as the fields around it, obviously abandoned. It gave me the creeps instantly.

Eli pulled up a couple yards away and turned off the engine. His eyes were fixed ahead, locked on that open front door.

I reached out and touched his arm. “Where are we? What is this place?”

He was quiet for several seconds, then finally said, “Home.”

He still hadn’t looked at me, and I had to work to keep my voice even. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yes.” He dropped his hands to his thighs. “I was born in that house, lived there until my mother passed away.” He turned to me then. “The day she was buried, I walked out and I never came back.”

His pain was thick, a tangible thing. I wanted to reach out, pull him into my arms, but that’s not what he needed right then; I could tell by the rigid way he held his body. “Why did you bring me here?”