Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,64

me forward, spinning us, and shoved me up against the door. The brief flash of pain in the back of my head felt oddly welcome, and I grabbed at his jumpsuit just as he descended on me, mouth crashing to mine. He caught me with my lips slightly parted, and he took full advantage of that, parting them further with his brutality, claiming me with his tongue, marking me with his teeth.

Elijah struck me as a nice guy. Stoic and quiet and contemplative most times, preferring to observe a situation before reacting—any situation that didn’t involve me, at least. Yet compared to everyone in here, he was so good. Earnest. Thoughtful and protective and selfless—

But he didn’t kiss like he was good.

He kissed like a villain, forceful and rough, taking what he wanted, thrusting me against the door with a soaring figure of pure muscle. He kissed me like he was guilty, like he had sinned and deserved penance.

And I loved it.

This side of him just did it for me.

And it shouldn’t. I didn’t need more reasons to be drawn to him, for my traitorous body to crave him, but I’d never be able to shake this feeling—the feeling of being dominated. Of wanting to be dominated, taken, ravished.

Highly aware that we had twenty minutes, maybe less, maybe a few more, my hands flew up his chest and reclaimed a bit of the control. My fingers seized the first button on his jumpsuit, frantic and shaky, fumbling to undo it like I hadn’t been buttoning my own for the last fifty miserable days. As soon as the first fell, the next came easier, and then the next, the next, until suddenly I’d parted the seas, the blue fabric falling open to reveal a sculpted torso. At least, I assumed as much from the feel, my eyes shut, my mouth occupied—plundered—by his. But when my knuckles brushed the searing skin of his navel, nudging at what felt like a sharply defined V headed southward, I tore my mouth away with a gasp.

The faintest touch of skin to skin and I panicked.

Elijah conceded, slamming a hand to the door above me, bracing—almost holding himself back as our bodies eased apart. Sure enough, there was that magnificent chest, defined pectorals and cut abdominals and—yup—mouthwatering V-definition that seemed to come so naturally to shifters, that human men slaved in the gym for months to achieve. And there it was. Right there. All for me.

My eyes flicked to his, and while it should have terrified me to stare down the beast, there was something so beautiful about the gold, something so intriguing about his thin pupils. Calculating, almost. Gone was the warm chocolate brown, replaced by a golden sunrise that felt both ancient and cunning, primal and desperately wanting. I nibbled my lower lip, still chasing my breath, fingers toying with the open flaps of his navy blue jumpsuit…

I could say no.

I wasn’t here for this—for him. Could still walk away. Should walk away. Elijah was just a distraction—

No. It wasn’t my mind that screamed it, but my heart, my body. Stay.

My trembling fingers abandoned his jumpsuit for mine, hastily wrenching open my own buttons, careful not to rip any out. The unflattering white cotton panties I currently wore had cost a fortune; no telling how much I would have to sacrifice to replace a busted jumpsuit.

The pop of that first button was almost like his go-word. Elijah snapped into motion, just as frantic as me, following my lead by yanking his jumpsuit down his arms, inch by inch unveiling the definition of masculine perfection. Rugged, broad shoulders. Abs to die for. Thighs like tree trunks. Even his prison-issued briefs looked great on him, but the guy could wear a paper bag and still be mistaken for a born-again Adonis.

As I shimmied my jumpsuit down, every inch of me aflame, fire collecting in my cheeks and between my thighs, I pointedly avoided glancing at the huge bulge beneath that thin slip of white cotton, not wanting to read as too forward. Not that it mattered: Elijah lacked modesty, shirking the slow reveal by hooking a thumb under the worn-out elastic waistband and yanking it down those sculpted thighs and toned calves. Fabric pooled at his feet, and try as I might to avoid gawking, I couldn’t help it—not when his cock fell like a lead weight, its silky tip nudging my stomach.

He seemed just as taken with me as I was with him, that golden