Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “Take me home,” she said. Before my soul drops onto the deck next. He unhooked the jacket arms and slipped it around her back. She sunk her arms into the sleeves, grateful for the extra coverage. He lifted her chin back up with both palms.

  “No.”

  “You’ve heard my pathetic secret; now take me home. I don’t want your handouts or your pity. I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “We’ve just begun, Christiana.”

  “You’ve done enough.”

  “I’ve not done nearly enough.”

  “I am not your charity case of the week!” She wasn’t sure where she got the energy to scream. Jonathan’s green eyes darkened so quickly Christiana sucked in her breath. She would’ve jumped backward, but Jonathan moved too fast. He growled like a wild animal and pulled her toward the edge of what?

  “We . . . are not . . . done. I won’t let you wallow in self-pity.” Jonathan jumped down to the lower walkway and yanked her down, so she fell into his arms. “You will not accept you’re worthless.”

  “Stop it! No!” Christiana pushed his shoulders and kicked her legs.

  Christiana cried out as her leg scratched the narrow passageway walls leading to the cabin below. Jonathan pinned her to a thin mattress in the back of the hull.

  “Don’t move.” Feral and predatory, Jonathan’s eyes restrained her against the small bed.

  Christiana lay back on her elbows and watched him undress slowly in the shadows of other boats’ lights and moonlight streaming through the small, open porthole. Her eyes darted around the small space. By the look in his eye, he’d tie her to the bed with his clothes to avoid her getting away. But where would she go anyway? Swim back to shore in the dark?

  He yanked the jacket down both her arms until they were held to her side. He kneed her legs open and slammed himself inside her. To her mortification, she was ready for him. Her treacherous body was yet another betrayal. It was always ready for him.

  Yet, her topside confession had left her feeling vulnerable, but, strangely, not weak. Jonathan had forced her to confront dangerous feelings. Now she only desired to escape him. She’d walk off this boat with her last scraps of dignity if it killed her. Christiana snarled, leaving what little poise or femininity she had behind. She sank her teeth into his shoulder.

  Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, instead opening her insides with his thick cock. Fluid ran down her ass as he hitched one of her legs over his shoulder and seated himself more deeply inside. Her fury did nothing to abate the arousal his possession raised.

  She wrenched her body back and forth underneath his hold. She dug nails into his hips, the only thing she could reach with her arms trapped to her sides. He sent a hand down to rub her clit while he continued to stretch her open too fast and too hard. Wet, sucking sounds filled the cabin as her heat rose under his claiming her body.

  Jonathan lifted her hips up. She freed her hands from their fabric prison and shoved against his belly. He grabbed both wrists in one of his larger hands and pushed them above her head. Her fingertips brushed the hull wall while he continued to lunge forward.

  “I can’t . . . can’t.” She had trouble catching her breath with Jonathan’s large body crushing her into the firm surface. Hysteria threatened to overcome her anger, but she refused to fall apart. She’d just needed to pull herself together and deal . . . like she always did.

  “Yes. You can. Give yourself to me.” He pitched forward into her and that familiar heated tornado began to lift off inside. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I won’t survive you,” she cried to the hull’s ceiling.

  “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Let go.”

  “Dammit, Jonathan. You want me to-to . . . service you!”

  He stilled his assault though his eyes held fire. He slapped her ass, hard. “You are everything. I would do anything for you.” He released her wrists.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, I will. Just tell me.” He cupped her face.

  Her pants filled the small cabin. “Anything.”

  “Yes.”

  He couldn’t mean such a thing. No one did anything, however small, without an agenda. I can’t trust him. He’ll abandon me. I’ll drown. Unfortunately, her heart never was very logical.

  “Then, please, don’t leave me alone. Don’t hide me.” Her face crumpled as she fought back the tears.

  “I won’t.” Understanding crossed his face. “You’re not alone. I see you. I’m with you.”

  Something inside broke free, completely and irrevocably. All her anger and frustration rushed out. She clutched his torso and pushed her face into his chest. Sobs racked her whole body, and Jonathan engulfed her with his arms, his cock still firmly seated inside her tender tissues.

  After she didn’t have another tear left, Jonathan released her body and leaned back, gripping her hips. He dragged in and out through her slippery heat. Christiana hitched her leg around his waist, digging her heel into the small of his back and held his gaze. She clenched her insides, urging him forward. He continued his slow rocking into her, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Mine,” he whispered.

  A warm sense of well-being for being cared for, overwhelmed her emotions by the simple word. Mine. Self-preservation told her to threaten to leave after being cracked open. But she wouldn’t deny the truth. He claimed her body weeks ago, her heart shortly after, and—if he wanted—her soul lay splayed open for his taking.

  All the things Jonathan had done to lure her into his world unfurled like banners in her mind. Jonathan holding her, whispering assurances and caressing her hair, her face and her body when she grew fearful. Opening the door, pressing his hand to the small of her back. Calling her at night to ask about her day. Programming her phone so that his number was the first on her speed-dial. Letting her know he should be the first person she should call, always.

  It was all there. He was there even when he wasn’t.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Jonathan drove in and out faster, the sweetness building. The need to have him spear her all the way to her heart made her hips twitch under his prodding.

  “Jonathan.” She clasped his hand resting on her butt cheek. “I want you.” She pushed his hand underneath her more.

  Jonathan’s eyes deepened. He slipped his finger between her cheeks to find her more intimate place.

  She nodded. “I want you everywhere. I’m begging you.”

  He grabbed her ankles and brought her legs down. She flipped to her belly and rose on her knees, sending her ass back toward Jonathan’s crotch. He laid one hand on her lower back and laid a kiss on her shoulder.

  The fireworks show had ended. The silence allowed the slapping sounds of waves against the boat to join them in the cabin. She heard the snick of a drawer opening and the scratch of items moving.

  Both of Jonathan’s hands rubbed up her back, his thumbs running alongside her spine. She moaned out tension as he kneaded her shoulders.

  His chest and mouth came down on her skin, and he ran his slick, hard erection back and forth between her labia folds.

  She laid her forehead on her hands, rocking herself to match his motions. She stood on a precipice, aching to tip over but wanting to balance on the edge longer, delay the spike she knew Jonathan could deliver.

  Jonathan oiled her ass, lightly kneading and massaging her cheeks. He slipped a finger up her crack and touched her back opening, massaging but not entering.

  She moaned.

  Hands spread her ass cheeks wide.

  She panted at the indescribable feeling of his tongue rimming her puckered hole, hot breath heating up the oil to tingle and taunt her awakened nerve center. She sucked on a knuckle to stall the cries from her throat. He inserted a thick finger and returned his other hand to her clit. He eased his finger deeper inside, and she swayed against the invasion.

  “That’s it, lovely.”

  A burni
ng pinch in her anal passage told her he inserted a second finger. A spear of pleasure-pain ran through her. She moaned loudly, unearthing a raw primal urge to have him take her there.

  The two fingers in her rear slipped out, and he released her pussy. Slick, wet sucking sounds behind her told her he was slicking himself with lube. She pushed her ass back toward him, wanting. Now.

  His cockhead found her opening. “Relax, lovely.” She cried out from the burn of his assault, but he held her around her waist with one arm, his other hand circling around to find her clit. He didn’t move in any further. Instead, he worked her cunt with his fingers until she drenched his hand with liquid need. He pushed forward another inch and dragged himself backward.

  “Oh, Christiana.” His voice, thick with emotion, cracked any remnants of fear inside. “I’ve wanted this . . . you . . . .”

  More oil drizzled down her ass and dropped to the sheets underneath. He thrust forward, and the soft hair encircling his root met her cheeks. Being filled with Jonathan pushed up the last bits of emotion to the surface. She didn’t try to stop the tears.

  “Oh, baby, am I hurting you?”

  “No, please. Please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.” She didn’t want a single part of her untouched by Jonathan. She needed him to go deeper, take over, even if it meant she didn’t survive.

  She rocked against his arrowing through her most private fire. “Harder.” She didn’t want careful. She wanted sore muscles and bruises in the morning from his lunges inside.

  His balls banged her butt. He tapped her clit with fingers as he pierced her. The build inched its way to a higher point than she’d felt before. Was it the raw, animalistic coupling or the fact she’d finally let go of . . . let go of what? Time. Time didn’t exist, just his cock buried deep, his muscles holding her in position.

  Jonathan’s mouth fell to her shoulder as he grunted. His thrusts became more determined, laid a stronger claim to whatever was inside he tried to reach.

  “Oh, Jesus, Christiana.”

  She turned her head to catch his face in her peripheral vision. Jonathan’s virility always stunned her, but the sight of the cording on his neck, the strain in his face, as he pushed into her, shot up her spine, small ripples running up her inner thighs.

  “Can I–I need to—” she began. His hand held the back of her neck, holding her down. His command of their coupling only sent more energy to her core. He slowed his pace. His fingers curled around her throat, and a long groan broke free from both of them. His silken strokes, in and out, back and forth, taunted her thwarted orgasm that lay under the surface.

  “Shall I let you come, Christiana?”

  She wanted to scream yes, please, please let me come. “If you wish, sir,” she said instead.

  “Then come for me.”

  She spiraled out of control from his first word. Spasms made her back arch and her legs give out. Jonathan worked his oiled fingers, rocketing her higher. Her shrieks bounced off the hull walls.

  Jonathan’s own spasms filled her back channel. Finally spent, Jonathan pulled out and released her neck, collapsing beside her quivering body. He pulled her closer and nuzzled her hair in the protective C-curve of his embrace. She inhaled his unique male scent and tuned into the gentle rocking of the boat until she caught its rhythm. Her heartbeat slowed, matched the movements of the water. Her breathing evened. Then the tight coil in her belly released. She hung suspended, like gravity had shifted.

  As if sensing she might float to the hull ceiling, Jonathan pulled her closer. An overwhelming sense of wholeness overcame her consciousness and sleep soon threatened. But before slipping into the familiar darkness, she tried to put words to the comfort bathing her. Only when one word surfaced did she finally let go. Unbroken.

  29

  Avery had to know Christiana wouldn’t answer her calls or texts. That was probably why she’d driven over to Christiana’s house and now stood on her front step. Hot summer air poured in from the open doorway.

  “Hey, I came over to apologize.” Avery hitched her Chanel handbag strap over her shoulder.

  Christiana didn’t have time for a scene. She had an hour to get to work for the late afternoon shift.

  Besides, Christiana knew Avery had only come over to find out where she’d gone with Jonathan. At least a hundred people saw her march through the lobby last night in Congressman Brond’s tuxedo jacket, barefoot, bare-legged—and thanks to Avery—practically bare-assed.

  “I didn’t think people would react to that outfit like they did,” Avery said.

  “Yes, you did.”

  Avery’s head snapped back, but she recovered almost instantly. “Well, I didn’t plan—”

  “I think it went exactly how you planned, except for one small detail.”

  “Oh, you mean that Congressman Brond took you home?”

  “He did more than take me home.” Jesus, she shouldn’t have said that. But then she smiled, remembering Jonathan’s long goodbye kiss this morning in his car. They both had work to handle before tomorrow’s jaunt back to Charlottesville—a place Avery Churchill would never see.

  Avery’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Brond’s a womanizer. He’d know an easy lay when he saw one.”

  Christiana tried to slam the door, but Avery caught it with her open palm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. Hey, are you going to let me in or what? I want to make it up to you.”

  “No.”

  “I have something you’re going to want to see. It’s about him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found something. Jesus, let me in.” Avery pushed her way past Christiana. Christiana closed the door and turned to face her. Avery looked tired, but hadn’t neglected her make-up and hair “Well, what?” Christiana asked.

  Avery sighed and headed to the living room. She set her bag down on the couch. “Come here. Sit with me. I’m worried about you.”

  “Why? I’m great.”

  “You alone? Where’s your dad.”

  “The road. He left this morning.” Before he’d left, he had asked if she had “fun at Avery’s slumber party”—obviously the story Mark had planted last night when she’d disappeared. It would stay a story because the devil himself couldn’t get Christiana to set foot into the Churchill mansion.

  Avery sat down and patted the seat next to her. “Believe me, you’ll want to be sitting for this.”

  Christiana wished she had sat when Avery held up her phone and showed her an image of Jonathan with Yvette DeCord.

  “They’re a little blurry ‘cause of the iPhone, but you can see enough,” Avery tapped her phone to show several more. Jonathan and Yvette at The Oak.

  Christiana couldn’t believe Avery would sink to spying. But why was she surprised? “So? They’re friends.”

  “Yeah, right. You work at The Oak. You know what goes on there.”

  Christiana certainly did. “How long have you had these?”

  “A few days. I go by The Oak every once in a while to see if you’re there. Are you with him? I never see you anymore.”

  Avery looked honestly sad. Christiana guessed even a vain bitch is human underneath.

  Christiana also knew the time for lying had passed. “Sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well, this one?” She flipped her finger across her screen and then held up a picture of Yvette inside Jonathan’s SUV, laughing. “It was taken about three hours ago.” Christiana’s heart dropped. “Listen, I know you went home with him last night and lots of other times. But he’s using you. I’m certain of it.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Chris. Listen to me. What kind of future does a thirty-year-old member of Congress—who people say is headed to the White House by the way—have with a college student?”

  Last night, Jonathan had irretrievably cracked the hold Avery had on Christiana’s self-confidence. Avery would do anything she could to secure the future she felt she deserved. Yet Christiana
knew the truth when it landed. Too bad Jonathan didn’t tell her how to handle the one detail she’d ignored. Jonathan’s prospects looked nothing like Christiana’s future of textbooks, internships and buying her first interview suit.

  Avery pulled several large photographs from her bag.

  “He’s also a pervert. I mean look at these.” A woman lay face down strapped onto a suspended bench over a bed. Dark blood-red suede peeked out from her legs being splayed open by black parachute fabric. The sex cradle.

  Christiana couldn’t deny it looked like Jonathan’s hand on the back of the dark-haired woman.

  “Where did you get those?” Christiana choked back the lump in her throat, which threatened to break free when Avery laid her hand on her shoulder as she sunk to the couch.

  “I have my ways. And, really, does it matter? Hey, you look pale. Haven’t you ever seen porn before?”

  Porn.

  Avery’s hand on her neck pushed her down to the couch and her face between her knees. “Just breathe.”

  Through flecks of light coloring her vision, Christiana stared at the picture of Jonathan’s strong, tanned hand. It held the woman down. She recognized the cuff of his charcoal gray suit that smelled like expensive linen and leather. He wore it the night he proposed their “exclusive” relationship at the Lodge, where he gave her champagne, held out her chair, and rubbed his thumb over her wrist, calming her, caressing her, letting her know she was in good hands.

  She was an idiot. Of course he’d had other women. But this summer? When he said “exclusive,” perhaps he meant exclusive to him. No, it’s another of Avery’s manipulations.

  Christiana shrugged Avery’s hand off.

  She looked stunned. “You’re not going to go mental on me, are you?”

  Christiana could feel Avery’s eyes on her back.