Elijah pulls a gun from a harness built into his cargo pants, and I shiver as I realize he’d been armed the whole time we were on the beach. Without any fanfare or warning, he aims at a lemon high in a tree. Pop. I jump at the sound. Yellow rind and juice explode.
“We cleared out the orchard and the rental houses fifty yards out,” he explains, though I’m reading his lips more than hearing him because of the blast. “It’s safe.”
Safe feels like a relative term when he hands me the weapon. The gun feels larger than it looked in his hand and heavier than I expected. It’s a dark silvery color, warm from where he held it. “Shouldn’t there be a safety presentation first? Or a debriefing? Something before me actually shooting this?”
He points to a lemon hanging low. “Go for that one.”
“Is there something easier to start with?”
“I’ll help you.” He puts his arms around me, clasps his hand around my hand. We point at the lemon together. He shows me the sight, and where to aim, but I back away from him.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not ready.”
“Like I said, the mechanics are simple. Point and shoot. The hard part is the mindset.”
I’m holding the gun like it’s a snake coiled to bite me. “What’s the mindset?”
“That you need to be ready to kill. You pick up a gun because you can shoot a man.”
“Or what if my aim gets good enough where I can shoot a tree branch that falls on his head, and that way he doesn’t have to die, and I don’t have to kill him.”
In a smooth motion Elijah comes to stand in front of me. He holds the gun steady so that it’s pointing right at his chest. Even as I yank and pull, it stays right there. I’m afraid to pull any harder or the trigger might go off.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Prove that you can do it. Pull the trigger.”
“Are you insane? Stop it.”
His green eyes glitter in the sunlight. “You can do it, Holly.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t want to.” My voice is going supersonic. “You’re scaring me.”
“Now I bet you wished you’d gone for that lemon.”
“How can you laugh at a time like this?”
He grins. “The safety’s on.”
I’m shaking so hard even when I drop the gun and step back. I could throw up. All over this beautiful green grass. I could throw up all over this orchard. “I hate you.”
“You failed the test, by the way. Never pick up a gun unless you’re ready to kill.”
“I’m not going to kill just anybody. I’d kill someone attacking us.”
“Would you?”
I pause, because I’m not sure. Maybe I would freeze, the same way I did with Elijah. Maybe I would go supersonic instead of saving us. Then I remember those cold nights in the French prison. I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I’m a survivor. “Yes. I can.”
Green eyes study me. Elijah gives a nod that feels like a benediction. “Good.”
“I still hate you for that.”
A slight curve to his lips. He glances down my body in a way that feels overtly sexual. “We’re alone out here. Probably the last time we will be before tonight.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting we do…” My cheeks heat. “That. I’m furious at you.”
“I’m not suggesting, sweetheart. I’m telling you to get on your knees.”
My body reacts to his command with embarrassing swiftness, becoming wet and warm, readying itself for him. I have to forcibly lock my knees to make sure I don’t obey him. “No.”
He glances toward the trees. “I’ll give you a head start.”
“A what? We’re not racing.”
“Of course we’re not.” That slow grin makes my heartbeat pound. “I’m chasing you. In about five seconds, that is. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not doing this.”
“Three Mississippi.” He draws out the words, making them slower than they should be.
In that moment I know he’s serious.
He’s going to make me get on my knees, and the worst part is, the truly humiliating part, is that I would love to serve him that way. The thought terrifies me. I’m supposed to be a strong and powerful woman. At the very least, not on my knees.
I bolt through the trees, heading vaguely in the direction of the house. All the lemon trees look the same, so I don’t know if I’m getting closer. I give it every ounce of strength, bounding over uneven ground and stray roots.
“Four mississippi,” comes the call from behind me, and I speed up.
I’m going fast enough to hear the wind whistle past me, fast enough that I can’t hear when he finally says, “Five mississippi.” It’s not a sound, it’s a feeling. A certainty that my time is up. I dart to the left through the trees, an instinct telling me he’s close—and slam right into a hard chest.
The impact sends me flying, and he turns us mid-air, making it so we land with him on the bottom. I collide with his hard abs with an oomph, and then tumble across the soft grass.
“On your knees, sweetheart.”
It’s like I’m in a trance, some ancient obedient that knows I lost the chase, that I’ve been caught, that I deserve whatever forfeit he demands. I pull up to my knees and wait for him to approach me. He walks over like some conquering Visigoth, and me a conquered village woman. His hand curves against my cheek in a mimicry of tenderness. The cruel set of his mouth proves otherwise. His thumb taps my lips.
“You’re going to open and take me all the way down, aren’t you? Going to suck my cock like a champ, work my cock until you get your reward. Is that right?”
The crude words make me shiver, and I shake my head. No.
“We could do this the hard way, if you want. I might enjoy that. You think I need your permission to fuck your mouth? I don’t. I could lay you flat on the ground, kneel on top of you and fuck these pretty lips like they’re a pussy.”
A fork in the road. One way is the safe direction, the path where I tell him he’s disgusting, where I tell him to go fuck himself. The other way is more hazy, more dangerous. It’s where I admit the truth, both to him and to myself, the way his words make me wet.
“You can’t make me.” It’s a challenge.
A slow smile spreads across his handsome face. “You think I can’t? I’d hold your nose until you had to open your mouth.” He puts his thumb at the junction of my lips. “I’d hold your mouth open so you couldn’t bite me. And the worst part is… well, you already know the worst part.”
Some impulse has me asking, “What?”
“You’d be humping my boot by the end of it, wouldn’t you? Desperate to come?”
“Yes,” I whisper like it’s a confession. Like we’re in the dark instead of the sunshine.
“Thank fuck,” he whispers back, and it’s a break from the part he’s playing, a fervent prayer that makes me feel strong. He’s the one dominating me, but I’m the one with the power.
He pushes me back until I’m lying on the grass. I know the grass is soft from when I just took a tumble, but the perverse part of me wants it rocky like the beach. I want to feel the sting of his lust, and he obliges by kneeling with his legs on either side of my shoulders. It immobilizes me fully. I can only wriggle my legs, but I can’t even lift my arms. I won’t be able to control the depth of him in my mouth, the speed. I’m completely at his mercy, and my body responds by turning hot and liquid between his knees.