Chapter Seven

Violet pushed down her skirt and did her best to get herself in order, so all the goods were covered. It wasn't like these four men standing above them hadn't had a very good idea—or seen—what they'd been doing only moments earlier, but she still didn't want anyone to get a show.

Before she could say much of anything to Elijah, he pushed up out of the box, using his arms to catapult his body outside.

"Asshole," he muttered before he popped back over the side and reached a hand inside for her.

She took it, grateful and a little dizzy. The dizziness had to do with what Elijah looked like. He looked like he had in high school, only now he seemed all man. Broad shoulders that pulled his white tee taut across his chest. Athletic shape that screamed he used the gym … a lot. Dirty-blond hair cut with a style that gave him an opportunity to either leave it in a wild mass of bed head or pulled back to keep out of his face. Right now, it looked as if he'd been sleeping or rolling around in bed with a woman.

Her cheeks heated at the thought, then she tried to get out as gracefully as she could in a skirt. Elijah gave up after about thirty seconds of her fretting, then scooped her into his arms and set her outside before she could blink. He clasped her hand in his and stepped forward, pushing his way past one of the guys grinning wide.

She barely had time to look around, finding them inside some large room filled with books, before he was pulling her along with him. Another guy on the other side of the box waved.

She flipped him the bird.

The three laughed.

"Come on, Elijah, don't go away mad. You should be happy," one with dark hair called after them.

His steps faltered and he turned, moving so she was behind him again, almost as if he were protecting her from these guys. Why? Was that just his nature or was there something more going on.

"We're going to talk about this," he said, pointing a finger at the guy who'd spoken.

The guy's smile widened. "Can we talk about it while watching the replay? Of course, since you lit the lighter, you're going to have to give me some details to plug in to all the spots my imagination can't fix."

Anger worked its way up her spine as she stiffened. Elijah was across the room in a few strides and his fist slammed into the guy's cheek before she could blink. The guy slumped over then rose, rubbing the side of his face with a wince.

"Jesus, dude, what the fuck?"

"You'll delete the entire thing."

The guy shook his head, and Violet's heart plummeted. Shit, even though it was out of her control, she didn't want anyone to have a video like that of her.

"You will," Elijah said. "Or I'll have to make a call to my father."

The guy's face went white.

Why? What would his dad do? He was powerful in his own right, but she didn't figure being the mayor of a small northeast town got anyone very far. Then again, this entire situation was unusual. She shook her head, not wanting to learn anything else. Not wanting to be here. She just wanted her own bed. Fuck these guys and whatever fucked-up game they played.

She spun around and walked toward the front door, which sat at the end of a long, dark-green carpeted hallway.

Her hand curled around the knob on the door, turned, and was in the process of pulling open when a large palm slapped down beside her head, shoving the door shut.

Her spine went stiff as she felt him come up behind her and press his body to hers. That damn mint and pine smell of his surrounded her as if a demand for attention.

"Violet," he said, his mouth at her ear.

She warred with begging him to let her leave but wanting to hear what he had to say. It was all a roller coaster of emotions that moved through her, something she thought she had felt regarding him for so long now changing into something else.

A craving, she realized. The taste of him was a craving she couldn't dismiss. But she wanted no part of the game this group of guys seemed to be playing.

"You're not leaving yet," he said, and her stomach fluttered at his words.

She turned her face toward his but refused to move her body or her hand … which was still on the doorknob. "Why? I want to go home. The game is over."

A low rumble came out from deep within his chest and he moved closer until the hard ridge of his erection pressed to her ass. "I've had a taste of you, Little Bird. But it wasn't enough."

She swallowed, a million mixed feelings rushing through her. She wanted to run, wanted to fight against him, wanted to turn and take the unwhispered promise of pleasure he gave. What would be the harm in joining in on this scene he was demanding? She was a grown woman in charge of who and what she wanted, and if her body was begging her to give in, what kind of harm could it possibly bring?

It'd either be her complete downfall…

Or he'd make the pain so sweet.

"Little Bird?" she asked, her decision made.

One of his hands curved around her hip. And swear to God, she had no control over her body. She arched into his touch, yearning to feel more. "You always seem to fly away, soar high, no matter what the circumstances." His mouth brushed against her ear, the bristles on his face catching her hair.

His explanation meant more to her than she let on. But it also helped her decision. She released the knob and turned to him, her back pressing to the door as he came up close. His hazel-colored eyes were more unique up close, with sparks of green and blue moving around the pupils. His face held a five o'clock shadow over what she'd always seen as a baby face. But as she noted before, Elijah Cunningham had grown a lot in the past few years, turning into every bit of a man.

There was a darkness to him now, one she thought she'd seen in high school but now realized she'd never recognized before. That darkness continued to push at her, teasing with hints of what things could be if she just gave in to him.

Little did he know, she'd already placed herself in his hands.

Her attention went over his shoulder to the other end of the hallway, where a guy stood rubbing the side of his face and watching them.

She turned back to Elijah, only to see him looking over his shoulder, too. He grabbed her hand, his palm seeming so much stronger than hers. She wasn't a small girl by any sense of the word. Taller than most her age with an athletic build. She'd always been proud of her long legs, hence the skirt she wore now. But with her hand in Elijah's, he somehow made her feel small and dainty. And as he placed himself between the gaze of the guy and her … protected.

The sudden thought was jarring. Especially seeing as he had been her high school bully.

Up a flight of stairs and inside another room, the door shutting behind them with the click of a lock, she stood against the wall as Elijah stalked her. His gaze had latched on, held hers captive as he moved toward her with the steps of a predator.

She lifted her chin, refusing to show any of the unease or fear skittering through her veins. She'd made up her mind, yes, but she was still in a situation she'd never thought she'd be in. One where she found herself in the bedroom of a man who desired her.

Jesus. Was she ready for this?

He came up to her then, pressed his body to hers, held her jaw in his palm and kissed her as thoroughly as he had in the box downstairs. A dozen butterflies took flight deep in her stomach, their wings brushing along private places no one had touched before.

She gasped and moaned softly into his mouth feeling her body come alive for him.

Then he moved her over until she sat atop a heavy wooden desk.

"Lift your skirt, Violet."

He pulled back and held her gaze, waited for her to move to do his bidding. This was her shot—she could either follow through and seek to fulfill the dark promise sitting in his eyes or refuse and ask to leave. Deny herself this opportunity to take a chance and risk it all. He'd let her leave. She didn't know how she knew, she just did.

But as she held his gaze, his thumb brushed along her jaw softly. The action was so out of place, she took it for what it was. A request of comfort. Of trust.

So, she lifted her skirt, revealing her lacy white cheeky panties beneath.

He dropped to his knees, the sound muted by plush carpet. His eyes held hers as he leaned forward. She bit her lip, indecision running through her veins. His hands stayed at her hips under her skirt. He didn't move to bring down the panties. Did nothing at all but lean forward until she was forced to open her legs to allow him entry.

"Put your legs over my shoulders."

"Elijah…"

"You're safe here, Violet. I know my words mean fuck-all to you, but you give me the word to stop, and I will. I'll also make sure you get home without any hassle." His thumbs swept a soothing motion over the exposed skin on her hips.

She bit her bottom lip, holding back a sound that wanted to escape.

"But I don't think you want to leave," he went on. He helped her set one leg on his shoulder, then the other. A thrill went through her as he looked up between her legs, so close to her core. "I think you're just as curious about this pull between us as I am."

He turned his face and brushed his lips across her inner thigh. That sound wanting to escape from earlier left in a gasp. Bristles along his jaw touched to the soft skin there causing her toes to curl.

"I think you also want to know if the promise of that connection is as strong as we think it is. If we'll come together in an explosion of pleasure that'll ruin us for all others."

His lips trailed along, moving closer and closer to where she wept for him. Indecision be damned—that had left out the window right around the time he'd helped her get into this very exposed position. Yeah, she still had on her panties, but with his face right there, inches away, she knew he could see everything. Could smell her need.

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. He glanced up at her as he moved closer. The fingers on his hand opposite from where his face was traced lightly along the edge of her panties. Up and down, moving along the seam. The action, along with his face moving closer, caused her to widen her legs.

She'd beg now if he stopped. There was nothing holding her back from wanting to experience this. Wanting to see what it'd be like to have him touch her there. Taste her there.

"And once we figure out this connection, Little Bird…" He laid an open-mouthed kiss at the junction where her thigh met with her pelvic bone. She lifted her hips or tried to, wanting to chase that feeling. He held her in place with his hands wrapped around her legs. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Warmth spread through her belly, like hot lava erupting from a volcano. This desire had no place to go, and it all centered on what Elijah was doing between her legs.

"Once we figure out this connection," he said again after she settled. But this time, his lips coasted over her core. She strained against the feeling, almost as if he played a feather over her. It wasn't enough. She burned for that touch of his mouth to her. Whimpered with the need for it.

"Are you paying attention, Violet?" He licked a path up one side of her. She felt the contact through her panties, but it wasn't anywhere close to where she practically wept for him. That bud strained as if reaching for him.

He nipped the same area, and she yelped.

"I asked you a question," he said.

"God, do you always talk so much?" she asked, panting as her head dropped back to the wall behind her.

A light movement against her had her looking down to see him smiling at her core. His mouth sitting right there but not moving.

"Elijah, please."

His face moved again as he growled low. His nose brushed along her clit causing her hips to chase it, but he held her down again.

"I so love the sound of you begging."

His mouth moved to where his nose had tweaked, then slipped over the bud. She let out a shocked moan that was full of relief. But it still wasn't enough. She wanted more.

"I want to know if you're paying attention, though," he said, then licked a wet hard path up the gusset of her panties. Stars of pleasure exploded in her stomach, tingles erupting up her spine and scalp.

He lifted eyes dark with lust up to hers. "After I taste you, Violet, we're going to fuck. The first time, it'll be gentle to get you ready. But after that," he said and pulled her closer, so he spoke right against her. As if he was settling in to get to work. "After that…" Another kiss against her. "You're mine."

She couldn't hold herself up anymore. Her arms shook with tension and her neck burned with need. She fell back to the desk, scattering papers and his keyboard in any direction.

He kissed her harder then, his mouth moving over her as if he kissed her lips. The noises coming from them both should have embarrassed her—growls and low moans from him, high-pitched incoherent words from her. But if he continued what he was doing between her legs, she could care less. She wanted to scream.

That barrier of her panties slowly started driving up her frustrations. As if he sensed it, he moved his face over to the inside of her thigh and laid another open-mouthed kiss there. She looked down to see what he was doing and found his eyes lifted to hers.

The ceiling fan drove air across her heated face, knocked tendrils of her hair around. Somewhere in the house, a door closed. But her entire focus remained on this man who used to be the boogeyman of her nightmares and what he was doing between her spread legs.

He rustled around in a desk drawer, but his eyes remained on hers as he lifted what looked to be a wicked switchblade, blade already out.

Her heart slammed against her chest, the organ already set in flight mode. She darted her gaze back and forth between his eyes and the switchblade, trying to figure out what he planned to do. Would he hurt her here, now that he had her in his bedroom? Was his game continuing? If she screamed, would someone come running?

Those darkened eyes lit up with what suspiciously looked like amusement and she narrowed hers slightly.

His mouth moved against her again, in that same spot along the inside crease of her thigh. She held her breath, waiting with anticipation on what his mouth—and his hand with the knife—would do.

His eyes dipped as his hand did, and she felt cool steel against her skin down there, then with one flick and two of his wrist, her panties fell away. She laid completely bared to him.

"Elijah," she said, his name coming out as she couldn't decide between gasping or breathing.

"I said you're safe here, Little Bird. And I meant it." She fell to her back, unable to hold herself up again, but looked down the side of her body to find him setting the switchblade in her grip. She held it tightly, met his eyes one more time before he dipped his head between her thighs again.

Then she was lost in pleasure. His hot mouth settled in and explored. His tongue focused on her clit, but moved to her entrance and caused her to gasp at the foreign feeling. He was relentless, driving her higher and higher with every swipe of his tongue, every movement of his mouth.

Her legs shook and she tried to lift her hips, move them, but he held her down. She felt the orgasm rushing up on her, almost painful in its intensity. It threatened to break her, overtake all common sense, throw her off the cliff into some deep recess of pleasure.

"Elijah," she gasped, feeling it coil tight deep in her stomach. She needed something, craved it. But she didn't know what. "Please," she begged, not knowing what she asked for.

He groaned against her, then moved his mouth to suckle at her clit and she swore stars exploded behind her eyes. She cried out, then felt the pierce of his fingers dive into her channel, deep … so deep. Her orgasm hit her then, washing over her with a blissful, painful pleasure. It spread out from deep inside, all along her body and scalp, tingles of rushed sweetness causing her to sing a sweet song of relief.

She slumped back to the desk, almost dazed, slightly shocked. He rose from between her legs, his eyes on hers, the juices of her body still around his mouth.

He moved back, only one step, but held out his hand.

An offering.

A promise.

A spark that just needed air to ignite.