Chapter 4
577 Words
Elliot
Elliot Blackwood dreamed in fragments.
Water.
Blue eyes beneath the surface.
A woman who did not sink.
In the dream, Celina stood barefoot at the edge of the pool, moonlight silvering her skin. She wasn’t defiant there. She wasn’t smiling. She looked at him like she knew him—like she saw every dark, broken thing he kept locked down.
“You don’t get to run,” she said.
He reached for her.
She stepped back.
The water swallowed him instead.
He woke with a sharp inhale, heart pounding, sheets twisted around his legs, the weight of desire heavy and unwelcome in his body.
It had been years since he’d woken like that.
Years since his dreams had included a woman who wasn’t a memory.
“f**k,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
The problem was simple.
And impossible.
Celina Sheppard was a complication he did not need—too young, too free, too unimpressed by him. She didn’t submit to presence. Didn’t soften. Didn’t look away.
She challenged.
And his instincts—long buried, tightly controlled—responded with something close to hunger.
He dressed for the gym with more aggression than necessary.
Iron. Sweat. Control.
That was the cure.
The gym was nearly empty, early morning light filtering through glass walls. Elliot headed straight for the weights—
—and stopped.
She was there.
Celina stood near the free weights, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, leggings clinging to a body that had no business being that distracting before eight a.m. Her tank top revealed smooth shoulders, a slim waist, curves that spoke of strength, not fragility.
She was focused.
Grounded.
Completely unaware of him.
His chest tightened.
She bent to lift, muscles engaging, breath controlled.
The image from his dream slammed into him with brutal clarity—her body wet with moonlight, her voice telling him he didn’t get to run.
His hands curled into fists.
Dominance stirred low and dangerous.
The need to step into her space. To tell her to slow down. To watch her obey—or refuse.
She caught him staring.
Her mouth curved instantly.
“Morning,” she said, voice bright, eyes sharp. “You always glare at women mid-workout, or am I special?”
Heat flashed through him.
“Focus on your form,” he said without thinking.
Her brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
He had overstepped.
Again.
She straightened, wiping her hands on a towel, gaze openly appraising him now.
“You give unsolicited advice often?”
Only when I want control. He said none of that.
Instead, he stepped back.
Too fast.
Too obvious.
“Do what you want,” he said flatly.
Her eyes narrowed.
He turned away before she could say more, before the pull between them tightened further, before he did something reckless.
He left the gym with his pulse roaring, her presence burned into his senses like a brand.
Behind him, Celina stood frozen, frustration flashing across her face.
She watched him go, jaw set, determination sharpening her features.
“Oh no,” she muttered under her breath. “You don’t get to keep doing that.”
She picked up her weights again, but her focus was gone.
Next time, she decided, she wouldn’t let him flee.
She would confront him.
And Elliot Blackwood, driving away with her scent still in his lungs, knew with terrifying certainty—
Next time, he might not run.
- Writer
