and then my neck. It leaves a path of flames in its wake. The cool blood in my veins explodes into dangerous flames. And my heart explodes into hopeless shards of love.
I plant my hands on his chest and gather every scrap of strength to push him away. He jolts, but that’s about it. A second later, my wrists are seized and pinned against the wall behind me. ‘Becker, stop, please. Leave me alone.’
His face comes down to mine, close as can be without touching, his breaths forced into a steady pace. ‘You look me in the eye and say that again,’ he orders softly. ‘If you truly want that, you’ll look me in the eye and say it.’ My cheeks are grabbed and my face directed to his. He’s forceful but gentle with me. I’m made to confront profound magnificence. My eyes brim with tears, my stomach flutters with butterflies, and my skin tingles with need. His hazel eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen them. ‘Tell me.’
The words collect on my tongue but refuse to leave my mouth.
‘Tell me to leave you alone, Eleanor. Tell me to fuck off and never bother you again. Tell me you don’t want my body over yours. Our skin touching, our mouths touching, our fucking souls touching. Say it,’ he whispers.
‘I can’t,’ I whimper, trembling. The very thought of those things never happening again feels like a knife plunging repeatedly into my stomach, being twisted each and every time. I look into his eyes and let him see what’s harbouring in mine. Fear. Love. Hope. ‘I can’t. Just like you could never let yourself love me.’
My words seem to anger him, the flash of rage in his eyes confirming it, but I know for sure he’s angry with himself. Not me. He’s angry because I am right. ‘Do you want to leave?’
I feel my jaw tighten. ‘Yes. But I can’t, can I? Because you won’t let me leave with your secrets.’
‘It has nothing to do with my fucking secrets and everything to do with the fact that I don’t want you to go. Understand?’
We stare at each other; his hazel eyes are balls of fire burning into mine.
‘Understand?’ he asks gently.
‘No,’ I admit. ‘I don’t understand anything.’
‘Then maybe you’ll understand this.’ He’s on me like a lion, fast and ferocious, pulling at my clothes as if they’re the enemy. And I’m with him. I’m angry and confused, but I’m with him.
Our kiss is wild and crazy, desperate and passionate. His arousal is iron, pressing into my stomach, causing me to swivel my hips to ease the throb that’s hijacked every single piece of me. My body is acting on instinct. My mind is focused on accepting his punishing attack. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think.
So I do the only thing I have left – the only thing I’m capable of with Becker.
I surrender.
My clothes are being ripped from my body, his hands working fast while he maintains our manic kiss. ‘Skin,’ he pleads, sending my hands on a mission to remove his clothes. His T-shirt is gone first, my arms yanking it above his head, taking his glasses off with it. He doesn’t care. He kicks off his boots while pulling at the zip on my trousers, and I start on his jeans.
It’s fast and it’s clumsy.
It’s desperate and it’s hectic.
Hands are a blur of movement, and our mouths are greedy and unruly. I need to experience this disorder for longer, stretch it out and soak up the pleasure of his craving for me, because it feels so good to feel his need. But my own need is running away with me, the pressure in my groin increasing by the second. Patience isn’t featuring in either of our plans. I need him inside me, I need him moving and making me feel good.
‘Becker,’ I pant, biting at his rough cheek, pushing at the waistband of his boxers to find my target. I wrap my hand around his cock and squeeze.
‘Fuck.’ His curse is strangled and weak, and my bra is cast aside, exposing my breasts to the cool air. My nipples are hard and ready, and his mouth abandons mine, encasing my soft flesh, his tongue swirling fast. ‘You taste like nothing else.’ He nips my nipple, and I yelp, tossing my head back and dropping his cock in favour of his hair. I roughly pull at it, then push his head to my chest, pull