Page 29 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
This isn’t about sex. It’s about power, and the man who wields it outside this prison cell. The man who laughs in a low, pleased way when Elijah pauses to stare at my breasts.
“Hell,” he mutters. “This is hell.”
It’s not exactly the way a woman wants to be romanced. “I’ll close my eyes,” I whisper as if that will make it more palatable for whatever comes next.
His head descends. I feel the heat of his breath seconds before his lips glance across the upper curve of my breast. He kisses down the side and underneath. Then he presses a kiss to the tip. All of this without Adam saying a word, without him giving an order. It’s as if he knew—as if he knew that seeing them would be enough to make Elijah taste them.
“Make her come,” Adam says. “Make her come and you can have this.”
With a groan Elijah drops his forehead to my shoulder. He pushes open my thigh, rough and almost angry. Then his hips are between my legs. The length of his cock presses up against the tender space. We’re separated by my clothes, by his clothes, but it still feels like sex. He thrusts, and the head of his cock bears down on my clit. We’re perfectly matched for this, and my eyes roll back. In a world of cold and hunger, this forced rutting feels impossibly good.
He thrusts again and again, but I can’t come, it’s too much—at least, it feels like too much until he leans down to lick my nipple, to suck it into his mouth, to gently bite down. Then I’m bucking against him, keening, choking out a wordless cry that echoes back from the dark walls.
In the moments that follow, shame suffuses my cheeks.
Elijah carefully removes himself, and I’m painfully aware that he’s still hard, while I came—and came loud. I press my hands to my stomach, thinking I might vomit if there were actually any food inside. I’m clumsy as I right my clothes.
Adam holds out a bag, and I rush forward to take it. I am actually very thirsty. He holds it a foot away from the bars, and I reach through. I grasp the handles and pull, but he doesn’t let go. “It won’t be much longer,” he murmurs. His eyes are dark and mesmerizing, but I have no idea whether he’s sincere. It’s like trying to trust a pool of mercury.
Then he releases the bag and leaves up the stairs.
I’m already tearing into the bag. God. This is heaven. Only yesterday I turned down trail mix when the flight attendant came by. I would do anything for the tiny plastic bag now. Instead I find two water bottles, two wrapped cylinders that look like sandwiches, and small, grocery-store packets of Advil. It’s like I’m holding pure gold. Or maybe pure diamonds.
“So that’s what you’re doing here,” I say, twisting the top off my bottle.
He takes the other one more leisurely, though he must be just as thirsty as me. More. He tosses back a sip like a shot and puts the lid back on. “What?”
“Stealing another diamond.”
Sharp laughter. “You could say that.”
“I am saying that. You and Adam and the other guys. You’re all part of some heist, the same as last time at the Louvre. What, did the money run out? Or maybe you’ve been stealing things all along, never stopping.”
“Why would I stop?”
“Because it’s wrong?”
“You found it sexy before. You thought I was hot.”
“I was young and stupid.”
“Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong,” he says in a taunting voice. “Old enough to invite yourself back to my apartment.”
“That was before I knew you were a thief!”
“You didn’t turn me in.”
“How do you know? Maybe I went back to Paris and went straight to the Louvre.”
“I know,” he says, sounding very sure. I hate that he’s right. Why didn’t I tell on him? Because I found it hot. And I thought we had some kind of connection. Now it feels childish. Naive. He stole something important. Something priceless. I should have told.
“What are you stealing this time? More diamonds? An emerald? What?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“We’re in a church, aren’t we? Maybe it’s your confessional.”
A pause and I know I’ve surprised him. “Are you still worried I’m going to die? Going to give me my last rites? Don’t worry. I’m not going to confess anything. You’d lose your shit if I did.”
“Ha,” I say, defiant. There’s a lurking feeling of betrayal that he clearly knew who I was, but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t care if you die now that I know who you are.”
“You have no idea who I am, sweetheart. You never did.”
“That’s right. I don’t even know your real name.”
“It’s Elijah. Black-and-white on my birth certificate.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
