Untied: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  Once in the foyer, he shoved her back against the wall and delivered another mind scrambling kiss, which left her breathless. Melting under his attention, she sighed and eased her weight into the wall.

  “Eyes on me.”

  She sucked in a breath as he pinched her nipple through the cotton of her shirt, her gaze flashing to his face. Her body trembled with unrefined desire.

  His hand slid down her front, toyed with the elastic band of her pants. “I’m in charge?”

  She barely nodded, but it was enough. Permission granted, his fingers slipped into the front of her panties and she gasped at the first brush of his finger to her clit, her knees going weak. His finger teased her slit, sliding over her wet folds and delving inside of her sex with shallow dips. Her head rolled back as she drew in a deep breath.

  “I said look at me.”

  She flushed, his distracting touch making it hard to focus on any rules. “Sorry.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She gasped as his finger slipped fully inside of her.

  “Then keep looking at me.” He glided his finger in and out of her, and she was glad the wall supported her weight.

  “I want to see your body,” he commanded.

  Her heart raced as the intensity of his gaze drilled into her. She lifted her tank top to the top of her chest and a masculine grunt escaped his throat. Her sports bra left her covered and she wished she’d chosen a nicer one that morning.

  Elliot’s thumb grazed her clit. “More. Pull your bra down.”

  Yes. She loved this demanding side of him, loved his directness and loved giving in to him. She breathed fast, her hard nipples pressing against the constricting bra. With jagged motions, she shifted her arms through the straps and lowered it to her ribs.

  His head dropped and he licked over one turgid nipple as she gasped, her blood pumping like lava as her fingers combed through his hair.

  “Elliot…”

  His finger sank deeper, penetrating faster. His head jerked back, their breath mingling in the combined heat of their bodies. He yanked her leggings down, exposing her ass against the wall as his hands coasted over her hips and his mouth pleasured her breasts.

  He nudged her thighs apart, but her pants limited her. “Take them off.” His hot command sent his warm breath over her damp nipples.

  She shimmied out of the constricting pants, kicking her shoes and socks aside. Elliot took a step back. She leaned against the wall, only a sports bra twisted around her ribs.

  He eyed her from tits to toes then met her gaze. “Your nipples are wet.”

  She glanced at her chest noting the tightly ruched tips of her breasts, damp from his mouth. “Yes, they are.”

  “So are your thighs.”

  Arousal gathered with each word, her body begging for him to touch her again.

  He glanced at his fingers and her face heated. He crowded her against the wall, his fingers stroking her folds and her body melted into him. “Look at you. I come close and you whimper. I tease you and you moan. I touch you and you’re wet.”

  “Elliot please.” She’d never been so aroused. Her mind teetered on the precipice of something dark and carnal, one little push and she’d tip over the razor-sharp edge.

  “Please what, Nadia?” A damp trail teased up her stomach as he dragged his fingers toward her mouth.

  “I need you.”

  Holding her stare, he dragged his fingers up her throat, over the curve of her jaw, and to her lips. The scent of her arousal filled her lungs. “Taste.”

  Her lips parted and his finger slid over her tongue, rich with the tang of sex. Her mouth closed around his knuckle, sucking gently. He pushed a little deeper and she moaned. His nostrils flared and he growled, pulling his fingers in and out in clear simulation.

  When he withdrew his fingers their gazes held for a moment, implication dilating his eyes. She needed him and couldn’t wait another second. Licking her lips, she whispered, “Do you want me on my knees, Elliot?”

  He nodded and she slid down the wall, her lashes lifting to watch his expression as she unlatched his belt. Sliding his zipper apart, she leaned her head against the wall, letting him take the lead.

  “Show me what you want,” she rasped. “I’m yours.”

  His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his pants, his fingers curling around his thick length. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes as their gazes crossed, but it was quickly masked.

  “I… want you to open your mouth.”

  Her lips obediently parted, but he hesitated, something holding him back. Trying to coax him, she reminded, “You told me you’d prove how much you want me. Prove it, mister.”

  Angling his body closer to hers, he brushed her lips with the velvet smooth tip of his cock, arousal painting the soft skin. Her tongue snaked out and he hissed in a breath.

  “You’re teasing me again, Elliot. Show me. Hold nothing back.”

  His fingers caught her jaw and he wedged his cock to the back of her throat, surprising and pleasing her at the same time. She closed her lips over him, sucking deeply as he grunted and thrust hard.

  Showing him total trust, she folded her arms over her head and he grabbed her wrists, pinning them against the wall, his gliding hips pressing her head to the wall as he filled her mouth.

  Her need to please him doubled as he took total control. She widened her mouth to take more of him and he thrust deeper, his fingers curling tighter around her hands. Moans vibrated her throat as he moved faster and harder, her body fully pinned against the wall. She looked up at him, coiling her tongue around his length and his jaw locked, his grip on her unbreakable.

  He lunged into her mouth, penetrating the back of her throat. Her eyes reflexively watered as her lips worked over him, her shoulders tensing with each advance. This was the Elliot she suspected hid behind his polished exterior, the one she wanted to set free.

  He grunted, flexing his hips with repetitive snaps as he plunged and practically cursed out her name. It was intense, but the force drove her higher. She reveled in his total claim and luxuriated in the sense of his unyielding need. Her lips tingled, and suddenly his motions turned jagged. She leaned into him, her arms trapped in his restrictive hold as he shifted, but she refused to let him go.

  He released her hands and she grabbed his hips, holding him to her, but he was stronger. His cock ripped from her mouth and hot come splashed over her lips and cheek, mingling with the dampness from her eyes as he stumbled back.

  He’d lost control, the proof lingering on her swollen lips. It was sexier than she’d imagined and she could hardly believe he’d trusted her with such an uncensored view of the beast he kept tethered inside, the animal she desperately wanted to untie.

  Her fingers brushed along her cheek, catching traces of his desire and sliding into her mouth as she shut her eyes. Elliot.

  On shaky legs, she stood and stepped up to him. “Your turn to taste.”

  Her lips brushed his and she slid her tongue over his, the salty essence of arousal mingling in their kiss. He jerked back, his brow tense. Uncertainty chilled her like a bucket of ice as she glanced up at him and saw the flash of doubt and shame in his gray eyes.

  “Elliot?”

  “I…”

  His stark gaze showed fear and she sensed him emotionally retreating. “What’s wrong?”

  Without answering, he gathered her clothes and righted his pants. He glanced at her and quickly looked away, his face flushing behind his glasses. “I didn’t mean to be so rough. That was too much.”

  What was he talking about? “I loved seeing you like that.”

  He shoved her clothes into her arms and took a quick step back as if he was afraid to touch her. Her shoulders hunched, trepidation pressing into her with relentless force. “I don’t understand—”

  “You’re crying,” he snapped, his body turning so she could only see his back.

  Her fingers feathered under her eyes. H
er lashes were wet, but that was just a reflex, not an emotional reaction. She hadn’t shed emotional tears, though, now she felt like she could.

  “I’m fine, El—”

  “It’s not fine.” He paced, putting more distance between them.

  She flinched at the lash in his voice. “Why are you angry? I gave myself to you and you took—”

  “You should get cleaned up.” He continued to move about, righting his clothes and avoiding eye contact. Shrewd eyes glared over his shoulder and she shrunk a little more, wishing her clothes were back on her body.

  Her chin shook, not understanding any of this. “Elliot, there’s nothing wrong with what we just did—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it.” He closed his belt and turned to walk away.

  Her mouth snapped shut. He’d rather leave it looming, festering between them? “You won’t even look at me.” Her accusing words barreled out with a lash of pain and humiliation. Shame, or something extremely close to it, registered in her stomach. She didn’t know what to make of his behavior.

  “Nadia, please.”

  Please, what? What was this? Where was this anger coming from all of a sudden? What changed? She wanted him to hold her, not shun her. Unwinding like a fraying thread, she tried to pull him back. “Why don’t we take a shower together? Cool off?”

  He paused and she held her breath. Maybe he just had a small moment of freaking out, but now she might be getting through to him. “I’ll meet you up there. Start without me.”

  Thank goodness. Her body shook with relief, but at the same time every instinct told her leaving him was the absolute wrong thing to do. “Elliot?”

  “I said I’ll meet you up there.”

  Lowering her gaze, she nodded and walked up the stairs. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I may be on the side of angels, but don’t think for one second I’m one of them.”

  ~Sherlock Holmes

  Elliot twitched under his clothes, unsure of what just happened. She’d asked him to take the lead, which he had, but then things got out of hand, and he was suddenly pinning her to the wall and fucking her mouth without restraint. He needed a minute.

  He watched her take the stairs, noting the slight blotches on her backside from his grip. He waited until he heard her bedroom door close then marched up the steps, not thinking about where he was going.

  He’d acted like some sort of animal. She’d cried. Because of him. And he was too lost in his own pleasure to notice.

  And then she lied, as if tears were somehow acceptable in what should be a tender act. He should have never let Asher convince him sex should have a darker side. This was how people got hurt. If anything, his friend’s track record should have warned him away from any such advice.

  While such behavior might be acceptable for the majority of men, it was not okay with him. He needed the security of his control. The moment he let that slip, his perfectly orchestrated world would unravel. Everything would fall apart—he and Nadia would fall apart. He didn’t like leaving loose ends untied and he couldn’t bear this sense of mentally checking out to feed some greedy emotion. He was better than that.

  Or was he just the same as everyone else? Panic gripped him as he pin wheeled for balance. What was happening to him? He was meticulous, exacting, and never sloppy with his actions. The man he became when around Nadia was someone he didn’t recognize, someone he wasn’t sure he could tolerate.

  He passed his bedroom and several other doors until he barged into the room where he kept his collectibles, the room Nadia visited when he’d specifically told her it was private. This was what he did when he felt like he had no control. He hid.

  There seemed to be razor thin balance between his past and future, one safe and secure, the other dark and reckless. He didn’t want to be in either at the moment.

  He shut his eyes and the image of her looking up at him, lips swollen, face wet with tears and come painted on her skin. Jesus. What was wrong with him?

  Seething, he stared at all the neatly displayed items and cursed. “Fuck!”

  His hand flung out, clearing the closest shelf, as priceless items clattered to the floor. Not caring what they were, he kicked a box across the room, knocking several others off the shelf. He was supposed to be a fucking man yet had no fucking clue what was normal when it came to women. But it certainly wasn’t this.

  He’d promised himself he’d respect her. And yet he’d lost control. What good was he if he couldn’t even keep his word to himself?

  His hand flung out, tossing more objects across the room. Resentment boiled inside of him as every crutch he’d leaned on now seemed debilitating. Useless shit adding to his ignorance. Curtains to hide behind while the rest of his peers were miles ahead. He hated feeling uninformed, but he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing.

  “Stupid. Childish. Nonsense!”

  He grabbed hold of a box, clutching it in both hands and stared at the collector’s item. It was the 1978 special edition, Luke Skywalker figurine, one of only twenty in existence.

  He knew everything when it came to valuing action figures, child playthings, but he knew nothing about women. The filthy way he’d treated her tonight was wrong. Despite his lack of experience, he was certain any man that made a woman cry during intimacy was doing something evil.

  His thumbs pressed into the plastic, denting the protective packaging and his heart thundered. A woozy sensation washed over him, but he didn’t ease his grip.

  Knowing the consequences and not caring, he squeezed harder. Anxiety spiked as he imposed his own penance. Damaging something else he couldn’t replace seemed an irrational but fitting punishment.

  He gasped as the packaging buckled, the aged glue breaking its seal from the paper backing.

  “Shit,” he hissed, the haze of his rage dissipating fast enough to leave him disoriented and sick to his stomach.

  What was wrong with him? More careless damage done from reckless behavior. Was his brain on fucking vacation today? How was he going to fix this? How was he going to make things right with Nadia? What if she left? He couldn’t breathe.

  Glancing around, he looked for any sort of glue, but his eyes widened at the disaster he’d made. The second he registered the result of his destructive behavior his lungs went into an almost asthmatic spasm. Fuck. Everything was a disaster. Because of him.

  Panting, he placed the collectible on the shelf and quickly gathered the others, his hands trembling as he inspected each package and returned them to their rightful places. What was happening? This wasn’t him. He wasn’t reckless. He took care of the things he loved, cherished them, and never gave in to passing urges that came with high stakes.

  A cool sweat coated his skin. A few minutes of fervent anger and he’d cost himself twenty-five thousand dollars. Ten minutes of taking what he wanted from Nadia and he might have ruined the best thing to ever come into his life.

  How could he face her? He couldn’t bear the sight of himself and didn’t want her to see him so shaken and disturbed by the uncharacteristic urges inside of him. He couldn’t bare facing her only to see her walk away. Her rejection would destroy him and experience promised she’d eventually leave once she got back on her feet—yet he kept helping her get there financially and otherwise. Was that love or some sort of masochistic self-sabotage?

  There was no playbook, and the man he became around her was unrecognizable to him. Fist fights, spontaneity, sexual impulses… Life never used to be this complicated. Despite all his hard-earned patience and perfected reserve, he didn’t trust himself not to disrespect her again. And he couldn’t bear the thought of her tears. What if she was crying now?

  His head was a mess. What if he already ruined it? Oh God, what if she hated him? She’d said it was fine, but… It wasn’t fine.

  He went to his bedroom and locked the door. He couldn’t deal with this side of himself and she shouldn’t have to either. The feelings she
stirred were too intense. It was too much, too fast, too reckless, and he needed to find a sense of stability again.

  The memory of her looking up at him flashed in his mind again and his palm pressed into the door. He couldn’t stop picturing it. What kind of man slaked his own pleasure while holding a woman down?

  Shame choked him as the urge to turn back time and temper his desires twisted in his gut. Nothing would undo what he’d done. Nothing could unshed her tears. He wanted to throw up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Nerds get caught up in minutiae, because there is a tremendous and fulfilling sense of control in understanding every single detail of a thing more than any other living creature.”

  ~Chris Hardwick

  Nadia shut off the shower and frowned. She was turning into a prune waiting for Elliot to join her. Wringing out her hair with the towel, she slipped into a cotton T-shirt and went to see what was taking him so long. With every step her trepidation returned, tying her insides in knots and leaving her distrustful of his promise to find her.

  The foyer lights were still on, but the rest of the house was dark. “Elliot?”

  She mentally replayed his words, holding onto her relief that they were okay, but now she felt like a fool for trusting him. He said he’d meet her in the shower. He said he’d be right behind her, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Had he gone to bed? Seeing his bedroom door closed, she reached for the knob and frowned when it didn’t give. Jiggling it again, she scowled. Since living there, he’d never locked his door.

  “Elliot? Are you in there? The door’s locked.”

  He didn’t answer, but when she looked at the floor she saw the shadow of his feet under the crack.

  “Elliot, why is the door locked?” A whisper of movement from the other side caught her ear, but he didn’t answer.

  Her hand released the knob and she stepped back, a sinking sensation filling her stomach. During her long shower, she’d talked herself down from another self-deprecating ledge. She sensed him putting up walls downstairs but decided she was being over analytical. She promised to be patient and let him move at his own pace with these things.