Hurt the One You Love

by Megan Hart

  Elliott knew his, too. He drained the glass and walked it to the sink, where he rinsed it and put it in the drainer on the counter. When he turned, she was still watching him.

  "I'm going to go," he said. "It's late."

  "Why'd you dance with me?"

  This stopped him.

  She put her cup down. Moved toward him on silent feet. She was so tiny he could almost span her waist with his hands. He could certainly circle her throat with one of them.

  Elliott backed up a step.

  Simone paused, pointing her toes like a ballet dancer. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

  "I took lessons when I was in college."

  "Did you dance competitively?"

  He thought of Molly, the hours they'd spent practicing. There'd been trophies, yes. Ribbons. Awards. But that had never been why Elliott did it. Nor, he thought, had it been Molly's reason. She'd loved to dance. That was all. And she'd wanted to do it for as long as she could.

  "You did, didn't you?" She nodded as though he'd answered her. "You don't do anything you can't win at, huh?"

  The whiskey had burned his throat on the way down, and the smoky taste of it lingered. Elliott swallowed hard. The only way to get rid of that taste was if he took her mouth, instead.

  "You act like you know a lot about me."

  "Maybe just men like you," Simone said quietly and moved a step closer. She put her cup on the counter. "Elliott. Why'd you come dance with me?"

  "Because I wanted to . . . because you were . . ." He stopped himself, unsure of what it was about her that loosened his tongue. "You were dancing with another man."

  "Ah." She tilted her head to study him.

  She was close enough now that he could reach out and grab her, if he wanted to. She'd put herself there on purpose. He saw it on her face. In her stance. Heard it in her voice. But Elliott didn't move.

  "You weren't jealous," Simone said carefully. "We're not in a relationship. Let's face it, you don't even like me that much. So . . . what was it, really?"

  "You were being rude," Elliott said suddenly, the truth surging out of him on the flavor of liquor and the remembered taste of her mouth. "You'd brought me to that place, and you left me there to dance with someone else."

  She laughed lightly, but had the grace to look embarrassed. Only a little, but it was enough. "You said you didn't want to dance."

  "It was rude," Elliott repeated, and then he took her by the wrist to pull her up against him. "And besides, I could do it better."

  Chapter 11

  This was where she'd wanted to be all night long. On the dance floor he'd pressed her against him, but that had been different. Here with no music, no crowd, nothing but the two of them, Simone felt every single inch of Elliott's body on hers, and she wanted more. Not more dancing, though that had been amazing. She wanted more of him. His hands. His mouth.

  "Any other man," she said, "would've kissed me by now."

  Elliott's grip tightened on her wrist. "What makes you think I want to kiss you?"

  It was possible she'd misjudged him. He was so damned hard to read, so hard to pin down. He was a fucking mess, Simone thought. She wasn't entirely immune to second-guessing herself, either. But confidence bred confidence, that's what her dad had always told her back in the days when she'd been a skinny, flat-chested nerd girl with a boy-intimidating vocabulary and no hope of being asked to the prom.

  Confidence.

  "You want to kiss me because you know it would be amazing," Simone said.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. Assessing her. He didn't pull away. Didn't let her go. If anything, his fingers gripped tighter, at last to the point of pain.

  When she winced, he let out a breath. Heat flickered in his gaze. But he didn't let her go.

  "You have no trouble asking for what you want, do you?" Elliott said.

  Simone blinked. Her nipples had gone tight from the look on his face. Heat ignited low in her belly. Between her legs, the slow and steady throb of arousal that had begun in the club was getting more intense.

  She focused on him. "Not usually. No."

  His grip twisted slightly as he studied her. "You . . . like this."

  Simone smiled at that and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. "Yes, Elliott. I like it."

  His thumb passed gently back and forth over her pulse beating in her wrist. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure through her. "Why?"

  "Why does anyone like what they like?"

  With a sharp jerk, he yanked her closer. Bent to her neck, running his mouth along it, then her jaw. Lower, where he pressed his teeth. When Simone let out a small, hitching gasp, he replaced the promise of a bite with one of a kiss. His other hand pressed the small of her back, keeping her close.

  They stayed that way for the span of several heartbeats. Simone closed her eyes. Waiting.

  "You smell so good," she said after she'd counted to five and he still said nothing.

  Elliott chuffed what sounded like laughter, but with her eyes closed she couldn't see if he were smiling. He loosened his grasp on her wrist, which ached. He put both hands on her ass, pushing her against his hard cock.

  "You are . . . I don't know what you are, Simone."

  She turned her head to whisper in his ear. The soft brush of his dark hair tickled her face. "Well, tonight, I'm yours. If you want me."

  She'd been with men who'd gasped or sighed or moaned. A few who'd muttered. One or two who'd shouted, and one memorable one who'd wept.

  She'd never been with a man who'd growled, but that was, very distinctly, the noise that came out of Elliott's throat. She'd been half doubtful before that, uncertain if he were going to stay or leave her there again the way he had the first night. At the sound of that noise, though, Simone had no more doubts.

  She put her hands on him.

  Then her mouth. Cupping his hard cock, stroking it through the fabric of his trousers, Simone put her other hand to the back of Elliott's neck and drew him closer to her. She opened her mouth, breathing an invitation.

  "Kiss me," she said when he didn't take it, and when he didn't move, she didn't wait.

  She kissed him. Long and hard and fierce, until both of them were gasping and she could feel the throb of his heart in every place she was touching. Her own, too.

  With another of those low, greedy growls, Elliott scooped her up. "Bedroom?"

  "End of the hall--" Her breath left her when he kissed her harder.

  He carried her without effort down the hall, past the guest room she used as an office and the bathroom and the small, odd-shaped room that would never be a bedroom, only a walk-in closet. Her bedroom door was half-closed because of the drafts, and he kicked it open.

  Kicked. It. Open.

  "Oh, fuck," Simone breathed, every nerve in her body humming with arousal.

  Elliott put her down next to the bed and kissed her again. His hands roamed, one between her legs. The other the back of her neck. He held her still with just that touch, though she wanted to writhe.

  His fingers hooked into the lacy waistband of her panties. With a short, sharp tug, Elliott tore them away from her. The motion jerked her forward, clashing their teeth together. His clipped her tongue.

  Instant, bright pain. Stars flashed in her vision. She cried out, then again when his hand moved between her legs again. A finger slid inside her. Then another. His thumb pressed her clit.

  Somehow they were on the bed, Elliott kneeling over her. Her skirt had hitched up to her waist. Her blouse buttons gaped. He undressed her swiftly and with a competence that shouldn't have surprised her but did. When she was naked, he pushed her back roughly against the pillows.

  "I want to see you, Simone. Open your legs."

  He'd done no more than loosen his tie. He'd made no move even to undo his belt. For a moment, she hesitated, but he hadn't demanded, he'd asked. There was a difference.

  Was there anything more vulnerable than being naked with someone who wasn't? It was a
different sort of pain, one Simone didn't generally crave. Still, she found herself letting her knees fall wide to tease him with the sight of her wetness.

  "Touch yourself for me."

  Her fingers slid between her legs. Circled her clit. She dipped inside, getting them wet and slick. She watched him watching her, and didn't feel vulnerable anymore. She felt powerful. Feminine.

  Desired.

  That feeling was a trigger for her, and she let out a soft moan as her moving hand extended the pleasure his had already begun. Simone arched, spreading herself to his gaze. She took her clit between her thumb and forefinger, jerking it gently.

  He moved closer to kneel between her legs. His hands slid up her thighs, nails lightly scratching. It didn't even come close to hurting, but her skin pebbled into gooseflesh with the anticipation.

  "Yes," she murmured when he touched her. "Yes, Elliott."

  His fingers slipped into her again, moving slowly. Simone rocked her hips at the feeling of him inside her, urging him deeper. She reached up to grab the spindles of her headboard, giving in to the sensation of his hands on her.

  He paused when she did that.

  "Don't stop," she said.

  Elliott fucked in and out of her again, still too maddeningly slow. Too gentle. Every so often he'd pull his fingers out to stroke her clit, but mostly he concentrated on curling them just right against that magic spot behind her pubic bone.

  How'd he know she could come that way? she wondered as the pleasure built, but that thought was fleeting. All of her thoughts were insubstantial, quickly lost. All she could concentrate on was the pleasure Elliott was creating in her pussy.

  He eased her to the edge, then slowed again. Once. Twice. Frustrated, Simone let out a spurt of breathless giggles.

  Incredibly, Elliott laughed, too. It transformed him, that low laughter. Sitting up, he moved away from her enough to shrug out of his shirt.

  At the sight of his bare chest, Simone made a small noise. He looked at her sideways. His hand went to his belt, teasing open the leather.

  For a hopeful moment she thought he meant to take it out. Maybe use it? They hadn't talked about anything like that, and right now she was so turned on she'd be almost stupid enough to forgo the usual "know your limits" talk--but only almost. Simone had learned her lesson the very, very hard way when she'd been young and inexperienced, knowing only that she liked it when her lovers pulled her hair and used their teeth, and not that some men didn't do this because of the pleasure it gave to anyone else, but only cared about their own. Only once had she been with a man who'd hurt her beyond what felt good, but Simone was smart enough not to make the same mistake again. If Elliott meant to use that belt on her, they'd need to talk about it first.

  Elliott didn't slide the leather free of the loops, but he did get himself out of his trousers and the boxer briefs beneath. Simone made another soft noise at the sight of his cock when he freed it. She'd seen him fuck a dozen or so women in his office, but she'd never actually seen his prick.

  All men are proud of their erections, and Elliott was no different. He gave it a few strokes, getting it even harder, until it tapped his belly. With his other hand, he slid his fingers up her inner thigh again.

  "I have condoms," Simone said, pointing toward the bedside table drawer.

  Elliott shook his head. "Not yet."

  She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. "Non-negotiable."

  "Understood," Elliott told her. "But we don't need one yet."

  Simone settled back onto the pillows. She let her toes drag up his thigh, the muscles bunched because he was kneeling. She put a foot flat on his belly. His fingers encircled her ankle, not completely around the way he could with her wrist, but tight enough.

  "Elliott . . . I want you to touch me."

  He leaned to press his fingertips to her clit. He tweaked it the way she had, and Simone shuddered. She reached for the headboard again, gripping the wood so tight it squeaked. She arched into his touch.

  Still fingering her, Elliott stroked his cock. He dipped his fingers inside her, wetting them with her arousal. Both of them sighed when he did that; their eyes locked.

  "I want you to fuck me," Simone said.

  "Not yet."

  She laughed, frustrated. He laughed, too. She rocked her hips into his slow touch.

  Elliott leaned over her to find her mouth. He kissed her slowly. Then faster. His tip of his cock rubbed her belly, but only lightly, because he kept himself propped up. The hand between her legs paused. Drifted upward. He found her nipples and tweaked them to tightness until she gasped and wriggled.

  When he pinched one, then the other, Simone cried out. Something breathy, wordless, full of need. He did it again. The man who'd growled and picked her up, the one who'd kicked in her door, was back.

  His mouth moved over her. Licking. Biting. Sucking. He pinched and rolled her nipples as his teeth caught the flesh of her throat. His cock rubbed her belly. Her hip. Her thigh.

  Simone tensed, but he didn't try to slide inside her bare. His kisses moved over her breasts. The ticklish spot of her ribs. At the curve of her hip, he bit down, and her entire body came alive. Electric.

  "Fuck," she muttered. "Yes, that. Oh, fuck, yes."

  His hand had never stopped moving on her cunt, and by this time he'd edged her so close that all it would take was another few strokes before she'd come. Simone let go of the headboard to find Elliott's head, the soft dark hair she threaded her fingers through. She didn't push him toward her pussy, but oh, that was certainly where she wanted his mouth to go.

  His breath gusted over her. Just a puff. His fingers slid deep inside her, three now. Stretching. He had his hand back on his cock, stroking in time to the thrusts he made inside her.

  "Fuck me," Simone said in a lust-broken voice. Not quite pleading, though she wasn't too proud for that. Not when every twist of his fingers inside her sent her spiraling toward orgasm.

  "Not yet," Elliott said.

  He pushed himself onto his knees again. Stroking his cock, faster now. He bit his lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration. The cords of his forearms stood out, another trigger for her. He fucked a little harder inside her with his fingers, then slid them out to tap her clit lightly.

  The sudden change startled her, and she cried out. Surged toward climax. She shook with it, letting out a low, hoarse gasp.

  "Fuck," Elliott said.

  His stroking quickened, and he fucked into his fist as much as he stroked. His gaze raked her, taking in everything, and Simone, too close to coming to form coherent words, reveled in Elliott's desire. She lifted herself a little, pressing against his hand.

  He slapped her clit. Hard. The pain, sharp and intense and furious, bit at her like the sting of angry wasps.

  And that, finally, was what sent her over the edge, as though he'd known it all along. Simone came so hard the world turned gray and red at the corners of her vision. The second slap hurt worse than the first on her love-swollen flesh, and it sent her tumbling into a second climax so hard on the heels of the first it was as though she didn't stop coming the entire time.

  "So fucking beautiful," Elliott said.

  The heat of him hit her belly and breasts as he came all over her. Simone's breath caught in her throat, watching his head fall back with pleasure, his hand still stroking the last bursts of his climax over his fist. It wasn't what she'd expected from him, not at all, but oh, God, it was so hot that her body tried and failed to send her over the edge into one more climax. Her cunt tightened, clit tingling, but she couldn't quite manage.

  Still, it had been close and she'd never come from just watching a man get off before. She sipped at the air, trying to find her voice, and could only manage to whisper his name. Elliott, blinking, focusing at last on her face, slowed to his final stroke.

  "Wow," she said. "That was . . . amazing."

  That's when he leaned to kiss her softly, the embrace as unexpected as his orgasm had been. Sh
e thought he might say something, but he only pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he kissed her again, once more, before he gathered up his clothes and took them with him as he left.

  Chapter 12

  She hadn't come out of the bedroom after him--that he had expected. She hadn't called him, either, and Elliott wasn't surprised by that any more than by her refusal to follow him. Simone had impressed him as a woman who knew what was what. What shocked him into a gape-mouthed silence, though, was the fact that she'd shown up at his office the next afternoon with a paper bag from a local bakery in one hand and a cardboard tray containing two large coffee cups in the other.

  "I take it you're not much one for cuddling," was her greeting. She didn't wait for him to invite her in, but set down the bag and the coffee in front of him. She shut his office door, then turned back to him.

  "Simone," he said, and that was all he managed to say.

  "Look. I'm sure that you're used to a certain . . . kind . . . of woman, let's say."

  "I am." He looked inside the paper bag. Lemon scones. His favorite. The coffee, sweet and creamy, also the way he liked it.

  "Dig in. I bet you're starving. There's some hummus and chips in the bottom of the bag, but you have to share. I'm starving, too."

  He was starving, as a matter of fact. He'd skipped lunch, intending to duck out early to have dinner with Molly, but the charge nurse had called him to say it was one of her bad days and he shouldn't bother.

  "I know it's a hike for you with traffic and all," the nurse had said. "And I'd hate for you to get all the way out here only to have her not even know you."

  What he hadn't been able to tell the woman, who'd worked there since before Molly'd become a resident, was that his visits had stopped being solely for Molly a long time ago. Even on the days when she didn't know him at all, or the worse ones, when she thought he was his father, when she wept and pleaded with him not to leave her, to never, ever leave her--even on those days, Elliott visited for himself. Because there were so few days left before she'd be gone for good.