8Freya’s heart was beating a mile a minute, but she was trying to keep her composure. The thing was, she knew she was doing a shoddy job at it because Elijah could see the emotions written clearly across her face and in her body language. She kept shifting her body on the couch, she knew that, but the fact was he stared at her, looked at her with those piercing eyes, his big body so masculine, so powerful, that everything in her was on edge.
“Freya…” He said her name softly but deeply. His voice could make a woman drop her panties and grab her ankles, and as crude as that statement was, Elijah was one of those insanely handsome, magnetic men. He could make women do whatever they wanted with just a snap of his finger or a lift of his eyebrow. He was so attractive in his suits, but in this casual attire, the jeans and loose-fitting shirt, he screamed masculinity.
He screams masculinity, sexuality … power, no matter what he wears or how he acts.
“I really want to kiss you right now.” He leaned in an inch closer, his arm on the back of the couch as he came closer. She didn’t move, couldn’t.
“I think I want that, too.” She could have groaned in humiliation that she’d said she thought she wanted that, too. Of course she wanted that. Yeah, she really wanted him to kiss her.
They looked at each other for several more seconds, neither speaking, but their breathing increased gradually. She could see signs of his arousal for her in the way he held himself stiff and his big body coiled. Although he looked in control, his expression giving nothing away, his hands were bunched into tight fists, his lips slightly parted, and his gaze was trained on her mouth.
She could tell he was losing control, as well.
Freya wanted to be bold and take what she wanted, but of course she was afraid. But she wasn’t that teenager anymore, who didn’t see herself as having a meaningful future. She didn’t see herself as lost in a world that had no place for her.
So, finding that strength deep inside her, knowing that what she was about to do might be wrong to many people, Freya took what she wanted.
Leaning forward, she was a hairsbreadth away from Elijah’s mouth now. They kept hold of each other’s gazes, and then he reached out, wrapped his hand in her hair behind her head, and yanked her forward. Freya had to brace her hands on his chest from the force of him pulling her closer, but she loved that, loved that he wanted her so close.
He pressed his mouth to hers, and for a second, they stayed like that, neither moving, neither seeming to breathe. His pectoral muscles were so hard beneath her palms, so powerful. She curled her nails into his shirt, heard him hiss, but when she was about to pull her hands away, he groaned against her mouth.
“No, Freya. I like it. I like your hands on me,” he said against her mouth. And then he was kissing her harder, more thoroughly, as though he couldn’t get enough. He swept his tongue out and licked at her bottom lip before doing the same to her top. Over and over, he licked her sensually, slowly. She was wet, so damn wet between her thighs that shifting to relieve the arousal only made it worse.
“Elijah.” She breathed out his name, not knowing exactly why she’d done it, but loving that she had because he pulled her tighter to him. Their chests now touched, her breasts molded to his hardness. She opened her mouth for him, touched her tongue with his, and it was like fireworks exploded inside her, rendering her motionless.
She pulled him as close as she could, which was almost impossible, seeing as their bodies already touched. Freya took one of her hands and lifted it to the nape of his neck. Running her fingers up the back of his hair, she tightened her hold on the short strands. Elijah moved his hand down her back, gripped her ass, and did the same with his other hand.
Fireworks continued to explode inside her, lighting her up, making her wet, causing her to lose her mind.
He held the sounds in his hand, and with a strength she sensed in him from the very beginning, he hauled her off the cushion and onto his lap. She straddled him, one leg bent and pressed against the back of the couch, and the other hanging off it. He leaned back, clenching and unclenching his hands on her ass, and moaned.
“You’re so damn hot, so fucking sweet on my lips.” He seemed to moan the words out. “Touch me, Freya. Fucking hell, I need you to touch me.”