Falling in Between, page 12
His thumb circles my clit, and my hips jerk in response.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers against me, the rhythm of his thumb an unhurried caress.
I want his tongue on me. Inside me, so I lift my leg, placing my foot on his shoulder to grant him better access.
He glances up with a smirk, his lips only inches from where I want them to be. “Tell me what you want.” He slowly trails me, front to back.
“I want you.”
A seductive chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You can’t have me.” He’s playing with me like he’s a cat and I’m a cornered mouse.
“What do you want, Demi?” He traces my crease. “Do you want me to touch you, lick you? Make you come?”
“God, yes,” I breathe and knot my fingers in his hair, angry as my need builds like a dormant volcano.
He inches closer and closer, until his heated breath fans over my pussy and my skin prickles with goosebumps.
“Tell me fuck yes.”
I fist his hair, tempted to force his face against me. “Fuck yes.”
“Have you imagined me between your thighs?”
I can’t catch a solid breath. “Yes.”
With each passing second, I grow frustrated, but I revel in it.
“Fuck,” he says against me. The feel of that word, hot and long, nearly does me in. “So wet for me, tiger lily.” He inhales, slipping his fingertip inside. “And Jesus Christ, so tight.” He licks his thumb. “What do you want? Tell me what to do.”
I’m so desperate for relief. “Fuck me with your mouth,” I beg.
With a deep smile, he leans in, spreading me open again before he flicks his tongue over my clit. I hiss an inhalation, tightening my hold on his short hair. I’m so worked up, each loop of his tongue, every kiss has me on the edge. Breathless. Panting.
As much as I want to close my eyes and blindly drown in the way this feels, I can’t stop watching him. The attention he pays me, the way his tongue works slowly, diligently, between his pleased growls; it’s like watching an artist paint. He’s so into it—so into me. Such a beautiful man, on his knees, with his mouth between my legs. It is nothing short of art.
“You taste so good.” His eyes lock on mine. “I could do this all day.”
That’s it. I’m sent over the edge.
“Shit,” I whisper. My head falls against the window with a soft thud, and my eyes slam closed.
I find myself thrusting my hips over his mouth, my foot digging into his shoulder as I chase the orgasm that threatens to ruin me at any second.
“I love your greedy little cunt.” He nips at my clit while burying his fingers deep inside me, crooking them to send that final jolt coursing through me.
The orgasm is like a tsunami, forceful and destructive.
My ears ring. My legs threaten to buckle, but Elijah holds me steady against the glass where everyone on the waterfront can witness our escapade. He sucks and licks until I’m begging him to stop. Until I’m coming again, saying his name like a prayer I’ve rehearsed my entire life. And when I feel like I can’t handle another touch, he sits back on his legs and wipes at the corners of his mouth.
“Good girl,” he says, then stands.
The bulge in his jeans is evident form here. Even though I’m still reeling from the orgasm, all I can think about is pleasing him. I have never been a woman who wanted to get on her knees, but for Elijah Banks, I most certainly will. I would do anything to watch his eyes roll back in his head with a groan while he comes from my touch.
Greedily reaching for his fly, I practically fall to my knees, already imagining what it will be like to take him in my mouth.
“As beautiful as you are on your knees, Demi,” he says, combing through my hair. “That’s not what I want. Not tonight.” He grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet before turning around and heading to the stairs.
I’m not exactly sure what just happened. Part of me is angry. Part of me confused. No man turns down oral sex, ever. I’m still beside the window when he reaches the top of the stairs and looks down over his living room.
“Come to bed,” he says before disappearing from view.
I grab my underwear from the floor and slip them on and then pick up my jeans. Exhaling, I make my way to his room.
“You’re so strange,” I say when I crawl onto the bed next to him.
“Am I?”
“Yes, what man turns down a blowjob?”
His brows pinch together as he tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “I just wanted to please you.”
“Well, I want to please you, too.”
He stacks the pillows behind him, then props himself up against them before pulling me to his chest. “This pleases me,” he says. “I don’t talk to many people like I talk to you.”
Elijah is like a pendulum constantly swinging from one extreme to the other. I never know what to expect.
He brushes his fingers through my hair. “Are you close to your family?”
This is an area I don’t discuss. Some of it’s complicated, and some of it’s painful, and people too quickly judge you if the answer is no. “My mother,” I say. “She was my best friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stare straight ahead at the wall in silence. He couldn’t have picked up on that.
“What happened to her?” he asks.
I inhale, fighting the mounting tension in my muscles. “Car wreck.”
“It must be hard to lose someone you love.” He continues sweetly combing through my hair.
“It is.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No, it was just me and her. after my father left.”
I feel him nod. We sit quietly for a moment, holding each other in a soft embrace. I bring my hand against his chest, tracing his tattoos.
“Your father is the stars?” he asks, drawing me closer.
I can hear the rhythmic thump of his heart beat under my ear. “Yes,” I admit quickly and try to change the subject. “What about you? Are you close to your family?”
“Only my grandmother.” And maybe that’s the invisible connection between us.
I assume we’ve both been hurt by those who should never hurt children. We know that unconditional doesn’t exist, every love has bounds.
“What happened to your parents?” I ask, still tracking the loops of black ink on his pecs.
“My father died when I was five. I don’t really have any memories of him, and my mother…” He inhales. His heartbeat grows harder, faster, and I hear it beneath me. “Some people are better removed from your lives.” And there’s his cello.
“I thought my father was the most amazing person in the world when I was little.” I sigh. “I looked up to him. My mother adored him. As long as he was with me I felt safe, like nothing could ever hurt me.” I laugh. “The fallacy of being a little girl, I guess. And then one night, before I went to bed, he opened my bedroom window and pointed out. He told me if I ever missed him to look at the stars. That he’d be looking at the same sky and missing me, too.” I shake my head. “He left that night and never came back.”
“So that was his way of telling you goodbye?”
“I guess so. Pretty shitty, huh?”
“It’s cruel at best,” Elijah says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“We found out he left us for his pregnant mistress. He chose them over us. A year over a decade…” I trail off, worried I’ve exposed too much. It’s easy to undress my body in front of someone; undressing my soul is much harder.
“Some people aren’t worthy of our devotion, Demi. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I eventually figured that out.”
Elijah shifts in bed. I want to question him about the cello. I’m hungry for his soul. His touch… But I don’t want to push him. It’s a fine line we’re dancing on here, so I settle on asking, “What’s your fondest memory?”
He’s silent for a moment, thinking. Then he takes a deep breath. “Every summer my grandmother would take me to Coney Island. She was fearless for a grandmother,” he laughs. “She’d ride anything.”
When I glance up, there’s a warm smile on his face. “We should go. Tomorrow.”
“To Coney Island?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s not far.” I pat the hard planes of his abs. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to count as date three.”
He tilts my head back and kisses me. “I’ve stopped counting, and you should, too.”
17
The next morning, I wake to Elijah’s heavy arm thrown over me. I turn on my side, watching him sleep. And I chew on my lip in thought, wondering exactly what he meant last night on the bridge when he told me there was something about me that made him feel good. I could read into that so many ways, and the thing that’s the most upsetting is how I want to read into it.
I want it to mean something more than sex. More than an ego stroke.
Shit! This is bad.
I sneak out of bed and slip into one of Elijah’s T-shirts, inhaling the familiar scent as I tiptoe across the living room to the windows. My breath fogs the glass when I press my palms to it and stare out at the concrete city. The massive gray structures lay hidden behind dawn’s shadows.
Slowly, I crack the door and step out just as a chilled breeze howls around the corner. The halo of pink and red creeps around the silhouette of the city as the sun slowly rises behind the skyscrapers. And while I should enjoy this beauty, my mind is lost on what an anomaly Elijah is.
Sex is his hobby, yet he shows a level of attention not common in most men. It’s as though he craves affection more than he does sex. A foghorn blares as the first of the tour boats pulls away from the dock on its way to Ellis Island, and I’m no closer to figuring things out than when I first stepped outside. All I want to do is crawl back in bed with Elijah.
Sighing, I turn around and quietly step back into his apartment where everything is so put together it looks unlived in and staged. A place like this is unaffordable for ninety-nine percent of the population, and here I am, invited in by a beautiful man who promises to be my undoing.
The magnetic, all-consuming pull I feel to him is beyond explanation. Even though he’s only two steps away from a stranger, a piece of my soul seems well acquainted with him. It’s completely irrational.
So I’ll pretend to be blindly dangerous while knowing this is safe, because he’ll be leaving in no time, and we will no longer be a possibility.
On my way to the stairs, my eyes land on the cello in the corner. I wonder why he hates the instrument. Men like him—dominant, powerful—they seem as though emotions can’t touch them.
But touch him they have.
The light gleams over the smooth, cherry-colored curves of the instrument as I make my way to the corner of the room. When I sweep my fingers over the strings, a muted pluck echoes into the tall ceiling.
“Did you sleep well?”
My heart leaps into a sprint, and I jump at the unexpected sound of his voice so close behind me. “Yes. Did you?” I ask.
His warm, bare chest presses against my back, and his arms wrap around me gently. “I did. I enjoy sleeping next to you.”
Trailing my fingertips over his forearm, I think about how much as I adore sleeping beside him. But that is something I will never admit.
He kisses along my neck, causing my muscles to loosen and my head to drop to the side while I relish his lips against my tender skin. “When you play an instrument,” he whispers, “you must be willing to expose your soul, your innermost demons.” He reaches for the cello and methodically plucks over the C string. “If you can’t do that, it’s not music; it’s just empty notes.”
I bite my lip to hold back the countless questions I’m afraid to ask, and I settle on: “It sounds as though you loved music.”
He crosses his arms over my chest and rests his chin in the crook of my neck. “It’s what saved me, and ruined me all at the same time.”
“It’s such a shame. How long has it been since you’ve played?”
The muscles in his chest tense against my shoulder blades, and I swallow. “How long has it been since you looked at the stars?” He unwinds himself from me and takes a step back. That was too far, I guess. “Would you like some coffee?” he asks, already halfway to his kitchen.
“Yes, please.”
I take an uneasy seat on the sofa, my gaze locked on the instrument. There must be some strange connection between music, the cello, and his need to fulfill fantasies, but trying to figure that puzzle out is like trying to play connect the dots without any numbers. I have no idea where to start.
_____
The scent of saltwater and funnel cakes blows in with the warm breeze drifting across the boardwalk. Heat radiates from the wooden planks sprinkled with sand. A whirlwind of music, rattling rollercoasters, and the subsequent screams of thrill seekers swirl around me, mixing with the rumble of the waves crashing onto shore.
Coney Island has a certain magic to it one can only appreciate while they’re here.
A group of girls loiter outside one of the boardwalks’ public restroom. Nudging each other, their eyes all aimed at Elijah. Shortly after we pass by, there’s a gaggle of girlish giggles. Even with his windblown hair, white T-shirt, and black board shorts, Elijah looks like he stepped off a high-end, fashion runway, and here I am in a pair of cut-off shorts, an Aerosmith T-shirt, and my Converse. We’re quite the pair.
Eventually, we stop underneath the entrance of Luna Park. The red and blue pinwheels seem to float above the metal archway.
Elijah studies the sign. “This wasn’t here when I was a kid.”
The racket of the rollercoaster zooming past catches my attention, and I grin. “That one looks fun!”
“You’ll ride these?”
“Most of them.”
“That’s a surprise.” He grins. “The woman who’s afraid of bridges will ride carnival rides.”
I hold up a finger. “Only if you don’t ruin this; I suggest you keep your safety information to yourself.”
“I wasn’t going to say a word.”
“Really?” I nudge him with my hip as we pass under the archway. “Because I used to really enjoy Uber.”
He throws his head back in laughter, and the sun catches his face. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners causes my chest to go a little tight. I’m in so much damn trouble.
The sun crept below the horizon long before we’d ridden and re-ridden every ride in Luna Park, and afterwards, Elijah insisted we grab food from Nathan’s hot dogs—which shocked me. I would think a man accustomed to five-star restaurants and fine wines would turn up his nose at greasy carnival food.
The colorful lights of the Wonder Wheel flash over the worn, wooden picnic table while we finish our meal.
“Those hot dogs are disgustingly delicious,” Elijah says, balling his napkin in his fist.
“Yep.” I slurp the last of my watered-down soda through my straw. “I assumed your refined pallet would revolt.”
His expression dulls. “Is that what you think? That I’m unable to enjoy life?”
A twinge of guilt tugs at my conscience. I didn’t intend for my comment to sound condescending. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”
“You think having money makes me unable to enjoy things like this?” He jerks his chin toward the hot dog stand behind us. He pushes to his feet and dumps our trash in the aluminum garbage can.
I struggle to find a nice way to explain what I meant.
He leads me down the crowded boardwalk. “What did you mean then?”
There’s no way to put it, because now that I’ve thought it over, I guess that is exactly what I meant. “Fine.” I drop his hand with a frustrated groan. “I meant that you were too rich to eat hot dogs.” And now I feel like a bitch.
“Exactly. I may have a nice apartment. A nice car—”
“Don’t forget a driver.” I add before ducking into one of the small boardwalk shops.
“That’s not what my life is all about though.” He steps inside, sweeping his fingers over the knick-knack mugs and beer koozies.
“I’m sorry.” I snag a mermaid trinket with the Coney Island logo stamped across the glitter-covered tail. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” He takes the figurine from me, placing it back on the shelf. “It’s most people’s perception.”
Elijah thumbs through a stack of postcards, and my attention goes to the carousel of souvenir hats behind him. I spin the rack, snagging the black cap with Coney Island written in a bikeresque font below a skull. It’s the most unrefined thing I can find, so I plop it on his head, tugging it down by the bill. The way Elijah’s dark hair sticks out from the side is annoyingly cute.
“That’s sexy,” I nod, fighting a laugh.
His lips tilt in an unamused smile that causes only one dimple to pop.
“You should get it.” I turn back to the shelf of trinkets, grabbing a snow globe and shaking it so hard the water bubbles.
“And…” Elijah chuckles just as something covers my head. He spins me around by the shoulders, his face beaming with amusement. “Just as I suspected. Adorable.”
“Ball caps look ridiculous on me.” I angle my head around his shoulder to glance at my reflection in one of the shop mirrors.
“Wait.” He turns the cap around so it’s backward. “That’s perfect!” Elijah pushes my ponytail over my shoulder and leans down beside me, his ridiculous novelty cap still in place.
“I like it,” he says, staring at our reflection, then he tears the tag off mine and walks to the register.
“I’m not wearing this,” I say.
“You are.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and hands his card to the young blond behind the counter. “Doesn’t she look adorable?” He thumbs back in my direction, and my cheeks sting with giddiness I only get from him.
The clerk swipes his card, then glances at me. “Sure.”
