The Fallout
739 Words
Avery didn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the city glittering below her, her breath fogging up the glass while Elias drove her into it like he was trying to shatter every wall between them. Her body still hummed from the memory, raw and aching, but the guilt sat heavier.
She’d sworn to herself it wouldn’t happen again. But she’d sworn that before.
By the time Sunday dinner rolled around, she painted herself in control—black dress, simple jewelry, face composed. But inside, she was trembling. Trembling because Elias would be there. Trembling because she didn’t trust herself not to come undone the moment his eyes met hers.
The dining room glowed with warm light, the long oak table set with fine china and crystal glasses. Her father sat at the head, commanding as always. Her stepmother floated beside him, pouring wine. And then there was Elias, already in his seat, calm and collected, like he hadn’t ruined her against a window forty-eight hours ago.
Their eyes collided across the table. His lips curved in the smallest, wickedest smirk. Avery’s stomach tightened. She dropped her gaze immediately, fingers curling around her napkin so tightly it nearly tore.
Dinner began. Conversation flowed—politics, business deals, the latest charity gala. Avery nodded, added a word here and there, but barely tasted the food. Every nerve in her body was tuned to him. Elias sat across from her, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, wristwatch gleaming in the candlelight. He cut his steak with unhurried precision, but his gaze never really left her.
And then it happened.
She felt it—his foot brushing her calf beneath the table. Light. Deliberate.
Her fork clattered against the plate. All heads turned toward her. “Sorry,” she muttered, flushing.
Elias’s voice slid across the table, smooth as sin. “Everything alright, Avery?”
She shot him a sharp look, but he only raised his brow, feigning innocence while his foot traveled higher, tracing the line of her leg beneath the silk of her dress. Her thighs clenched together involuntarily.
She tried to focus on her father, who was droning on about a new investment deal. She tried to sip her wine without shaking. But Elias didn’t let up. His foot pressed between her legs now, subtle, but enough to make her heart pound so loudly she swore someone would hear.
Avery forced her lips into a smile, even as her body betrayed her—heat pooling low, breath quickening. “Yes, Dad, that sounds…profitable,” she stammered, hardly aware of what she was agreeing to.
Elias’s eyes burned into her, dark with silent laughter. He was enjoying this. Torturing her.
She shifted in her chair, desperate to escape, but that only made it worse—his foot pushed higher, a slow, teasing rhythm that made her dig her nails into her palm to keep from gasping.
“Avery, you’re awfully quiet tonight.” Her stepmother’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine.” The words came out too quickly. Too sharp.
Elias’s lips twitched. He withdrew finally, leaving her trembling and furious.
The rest of the meal blurred by. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t think straight. When dessert was served, she excused herself, claiming a headache. She fled upstairs, heart racing, shame and fury swirling in equal measure.
She barely shut her bedroom door before it opened again. Elias slipped inside, silent as a shadow.
“What the hell was that?” she hissed, spinning on him.
He leaned against the door, unbothered, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. “That was me reminding you who you belong to.”
Her chest heaved. “You could’ve—someone could’ve—”
“They didn’t,” he cut in smoothly, pushing off the door, closing the distance between them. “Because you’re good at hiding it. That sweet little smile you plastered on while you were dripping for me under the table? Beautiful.”
She slapped his chest, weak, shaking. “You’re insane.”
He caught her wrist mid-swing, yanking her closer until her breath mingled with his. “Maybe. But you’re mine in your madness, Avery. And you know it.”
Her body betrayed her again—the way her pulse leapt, the way her lips parted, the way she leaned in despite herself.
God help her, she did know it.
- Writer
