“Elle,” he clipped, “explain.”
She went back to her earlier theme. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Put me down!” she cried.
“No!” he shouted.
“I can’t believe this of you. Not you,” she snapped then her voice dipped quiet, even hoarse, as if she was fighting tears. “Not you.”
Something was happening and the situation, out of his control and degenerating quickly (as… fucking… usual with Elle), was hitting the danger zone.
“Explain Elle.”
She shook her head and pressed against his shoulders.
He pressed her deeper into the wall, so much deeper, he heard the breath escape her lungs.
“Now, Elle. Explain how the f**k you can twist what just happened into something bad.”
She stared at him and he could swear he saw wetness trembling at the bottoms of her eyes.
“You treated me like a whore, to punish me for what I did. I can’t believe you’d do that,” she whispered.
Christ, what was the matter with her? Was she mad?
“I didn’t do it,” he bit out.
“Yes you did.”
“How could you think that?” he clipped.
He could barely hear her when she finally explained, “You didn’t kiss me.”
But he heard her.
And his body went solid.
For a second.
Then he relaxed, buried his face in her neck and burst out laughing.
He felt her stiffen again in his arms.
“This isn’t funny,” she whispered.
He lifted his head then he pulled her away from the wall. Then he walked with her in his arms to the bed.
“Prentice –”
His mouth came to hers. “Baby, I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to watch you come and I can’t do that when I’m kissing you.”
He heard her sharp inhalation of breath and her fingers curled into his shoulders.
They reached the bed and without hesitation he took them down, him on top.
His hand went to the side of her head, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he looked into her eyes in the moonlight.