Chapter 14
650 Words
Elliot
The jet touched down as the sun bled gold across the horizon.
Elliot barely registered the landing. His thoughts were already ahead of him—of her—of the mistake he’d made leaving, and the greater mistake of thinking distance would dull what had taken hold of him.
The town car waited. Frank stood beside it, posture alert, eyes sharp, already measuring his boss’s mood.
“You look like hell,” Frank said carefully as Elliot slid inside.
“Drive,” Elliot replied.
The house greeted him with silence—and then with her.
The scent hit him the moment he crossed the threshold. Soft. Feminine. Intimate. It wrapped around him like a memory he hadn’t earned and a promise he didn’t deserve. His body reacted instantly, brutally, forcing him to pause and breathe through clenched teeth until control reasserted itself.
Barely.
He didn’t need to ask where she was.
He followed the pull of her like a bloodhound, steps soundless as he moved through the penthouse and into his bedroom.
She lay sprawled in his bed, sheets tangled around long legs, hair fanned across the pillows like an offering. Her face was soft in sleep—unguarded, vulnerable in a way that struck him straight through the chest.
Instinct took over.
He retreated to the chair in the corner—the one positioned perfectly in shadow, with an unobstructed view. His throne. His penance.
He loosened his tie, fingers shaking, breath shallow.
She moved.
A quiet sound escaped her—soft, breathy, unaware. Her body shifted against the sheets, arching subtly, chasing something in her dreams. Watching her was torture. Watching her writhe with pleasure she didn’t know he was witnessing nearly broke him.
His jaw clenched as heat flooded him, his thoughts darkening, fracturing.
How does she do this to me?
He hated the loss of control. Hated the way she bypassed every wall he’d built with nothing but existence. The pull toward her was unnatural—consuming—like gravity had recalibrated itself around her presence.
He wanted to touch.
He didn’t.
She stirred again, lashes fluttering.
Then her eyes opened.
Their gazes locked—and something in him snapped.
He crossed the room in three strides, driven by a force that felt external, inevitable. His mouth found hers before thought could intervene—firm, demanding, a kiss born of restraint finally giving way.
He tasted sleep and heat and want.
For a split second, he felt like a bystander trapped inside his own body, watching himself lose the one thing he’d always mastered.
She stopped him.
Her hand pressed to his chest, halting him with surprising strength.
“No,” she said, voice steady but fierce. “Not another second without answers.”
The rejection hit—but it didn’t anger him.
It grounded him.
Elliot stepped back, ran a hand through his hair, then lowered himself into the chair again. The posture was deliberate. Controlled. An offering of his own kind.
“Three,” he said quietly. “You get three questions. I’ll answer them truthfully. Bluntly.”
She folded her arms, eyes blazing.
“There’s one condition,” he continued. “You vacate the poolhouse. Permanently.”
Her lips parted in shock. “You don’t get to—”
“I do,” he said evenly. “Because I won’t pretend I can protect you from what circles me if you stay there. And I won’t lie to you.”
Silence stretched, heavy and charged.
He leaned back, hands clasped, gaze never leaving hers.
“I’m not asking you to submit,” Elliot said. “I’m asking you to choose.”
He waited.
For her questions.
For her judgment.
For whatever punishment she decided he deserved.
And for the first time in a very long time, Elliot Blackwood was prepared to accept the consequences of wanting something—someone—this badly.
- Writer
