"Elias," I protested, more surprised than anything else, "You can't carry me upstairs. Your leg. Put me down."
But he carried me upstairs like it was nothing. "You don't know anything about what I can or can't do," he said, spinning around as he faced one of the rooms. "There are firefighters that carry people heavier than you with gimp legs like mine. Is this the room you're staying in?"
"Yes. Are you going to put me down?"
"I'm debating whether or not I want to," he said, caressing my ass with his hand. "I might just keep you here a little while longer."
"Put me down, asshole," I said, but my voice was less insistent the more he touched me. When he set me down, one hand around my waist and the other on my ass, he made sure I slid down his body on the way and that I stayed firmly pushed up against him when my feet touched the ground. I wasn't exactly about to protest, especially when I felt his hardness against me. "Carrying me upstairs got you all hot?"
"Fuck yeah it did," Elias whispered into my ear, his mouth close to me. "Can't think of much else that would get me more worked up than getting to go all caveman on a girl like you."
I didn't move, reveling in the feeling of him so close to me. "A girl like me?"
"Yeah," he said. "In case you weren't aware, you're hot shit."
I laughed. "You have a way with words."
He pulled away from me, just a bit, and smirked. "I'm better with my mouth," he said.
I felt a flush of arousal at his words. "God, you're filthy."
He winked. "You have no idea," he said.
I shook my head.
"What?" he asked, his hands on my arms.
"I don't know what to think about you," I said.
"I'm a fucking enigma."
I laughed. "That's a big word for a .... I don't even know what you do."
A dark look crossed his face briefly, quickly erased by his joking manner again. "Do you need to know?"
"It would be nice to know who I'm sleeping with," I admitted.
He had inched closer to me, or I'd moved closer to him, I'm not sure which. But I was so close that if I arched up on my tip-toes just a little bit more, I'd be able to reach his lips. I was watching them move as he talked, unable to think of much else other than that I wanted them on me.
"Sleeping isn't something I had in mind," Elias said.
"Oh?" I asked. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm going to ruin you for other men, River Andrews," he said. "That's a fucking promise."
I felt a thrill rush through me at his words, my face flushing warm under his gaze.
Elias lifted the edge of my t-shirt up, played with it for a moment, like he was trying to make a decision. Then he pulled the fabric up over my head, his gaze taking me in. He drew me against him, his fingers running lightly up the length of my back, and I felt him inhale deeply, his chest rising.
I didn't know what the hell to think about this guy. He was definitely not like the guys I was used to in Hollywood, with their hair products and eyeliner and bullshit sensitivity. Elias was bossy, mouthy, and just plain dirty.
But I felt myself relaxing into him as his arms enveloped me.
He was silent for a minute, before he slid his fingers under my chin and tilted my head up to meet him. He pressed his lips against mine, harder as I responded to his kiss. He probed my mouth with his tongue, practically fucking me, and desire rushed through my body as his tongue found mine, and I kissed him back, hungry for him, hungry for his touch. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him inside of me.
I reached under his t-shirt and he pushed my hands away. "What?" I asked.
"It's not-" he paused. "It's not...pretty. Just as a warning."
"What isn't?" I was confused for a minute, my head clouded with lust. I slid his t-shirt up farther, my hands running over the surface of his chest, and he shook his head as he pulled it the rest of the way off.
"I told you," he said, standing perfectly still, as if he were afraid I would run away, screaming in horror.
I traced my fingers over the maze of scars that crisscrossed his chest and shoulders, the skin rippled, his tattoos disjointed as if they were modern art paintings or something, not quite pieced together where the scars disrupted them. I looked up at him.
"Shrapnel," he said. "From the explosion. Skin grafts cause of the burns."
"That's how you lost your leg?"
Elias nodded, not speaking.
I kissed his chest where the scars were, ran my palms over the ridges on his skin. His eyes were on me, I could feel it, and when I looked up at him, he had a strange expression on his face, pleasure accompanied by pain, I thought. "I told you it wasn't pretty."
"You don't strike me as the kind of guy who tries to be pretty anyhow," I said.
A slow smile crept over Elias' face. "You're fucking all right, River Andrews," he said. "For an actress." He ran his finger down the side of my face, and I turned my face into the warmth of his palm.
"It's Gilstead." I blurted it out. Why did I just say that?
"What is?"