Willfully In My Sheriff’s Custody : She makes him beg for her crumbs

The Canopy Breakfast

Rosalie’s face turned a violent, beautiful shade of crimson, her fingers still entirely frozen inside the deep pocket of Eli's lounge pants. Her sharp tongue, which usually excelled at doing her dirty work, failed to find a single witty comeback. Caught completely off-guard by his heavy morning baritone and the dangerous heat in his gaze, her fierce armor briefly cracked.

Trapped in a corner, she resorted to immediate, friendly assault. She balled her free hand into a fist and threw a sharp, defensive punch straight into his bicep.

"Ow!" Eli barked, a genuine laugh cutting through his mock reaction of pain as he pulled his arm back, though he didn't loosen his hold on the leather tether. "For a barefoot thief, you pack a hell of a wallop. Is that how you treat a man who just saved you from a city of wolves?"

"Unfasten me, Cade," Rosalie snapped, her spiky defense mechanisms slamming instantly back into place as she rattled the leather restraint against his wrist. "I am not your pet, I am not your prisoner, and I am certainly not staying in this ridiculous, oversized black-and-white cage a second longer."

"You'll stay exactly where you're safe," Eli countered, his dark eyes anchoring her to the mattress.

He looked down at her defiant face, his professional restraint melting into an intense, playful dominance that felt entirely intoxicating in the quiet room. Before she could scramble away or launch another punch, Eli lunged forward, his massive arms wrapping around her slender waist as he effortlessly pulled her completely under the heavy white blankets.

"Let go of me!" she gasped, though her body betrayed her, melting into his solid frame and finding a terrifying comfort against his chest.

"Not until you lighten up, Rosie Trouble," Eli chuckled.

Using his large fingers, he began ruthlessly tickling her sides, targeted precisely at her most vulnerable, sensitive spots. Rosalie erupted into a chaotic mixture of breathless laughter and fierce, breathless protests, her wild, rebellious nature writhing against his overwhelming, playful strength. They tumbled across the mattress, a flurry of tangled sheets and flushed skin, until they were both panting, her blue eyes wide as she lay pinned beneath his heavy frame.

...Finally, Eli relented, his heavy chest pressing against hers as the laughter died away, leaving a thick, suffocating cloud of flirty tension hovering between their lips. He stared down at her, his expression turning serious, radiating a heavy, protective command. He reached down and unfastened the leather band from her right wrist, setting her free.

Recognizing that she was still wrapped in nothing but the thick white towel from their steamy shower last night, Eli smoothly slid off the mattress. He didn't hover or crowd her space. Instead, moving with that calm, entirely hung-back composure, he bent down and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, carefully carrying her across the sleek black-and-white bedroom toward a heavy, hidden mahogany door.

He pushed it open to reveal his private, massive walk-in closet, a minimalist haven filled with rows of sharply tailored dark suits, crisp linens, and the rich masculine scent of cedar wood and clean tobacco. Eli gently lowered her onto a plush leather bench in the center of the room.

"I'll give you your privacy, rebel," Eli murmured, his deep morning baritone laced with a lazy, protective amusement as he gestured to the racks. "I don't keep much of a wardrobe up here since I rarely have a reason to visit, but you're welcome to whatever you find. Try to find something that doesn't drag on your injured foot."With a slow, confident nod, he sauntered out of the closet and closed the heavy door, giving her absolute privacy.

Left entirely alone, Rosalie’s wild curiosity instantly flared. She stood up carefully, her stunning blue eyes widening as she ran her fast fingers over the incredibly expensive, sharp fabrics of his suits. Searching through the racks, she bypassed the heavy trousers and instead pulled down one of his finest, crisp white suit shirts. She slid her arms into the sleeves, the oversized premium cotton draping loosely over her curvy frame, the hem falling halfway down her thighs like a makeshift dress. It was entirely too large, completely swallowing her, but as she buttoned the collar, the intoxicating scent of him completely surrounded her senses, making her heart hammer against her ribs.

She reached into a lower cedar drawer and pulled out a pair of his heavy, long wool socks, pulling them gently over her bandaged left foot and her bare right leg until they reached just past her knees. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, dressed entirely in the Sheriff's clothes, she tilted her chin like Eli. She looked like a wild animal wearing a king's armor, and the sudden, foreign feeling of belonging in his space was the absolute last thing she expected to feel.

She hobbled out of the closet just as Eli finished changing into his sharp, tailored dark suit...

"I need to head down to the lower district to secure a fresh vial of lavender oil for those lacerated feet of yours, and grab us something to eat," Eli said, his voice dropping into a dark, authoritative lower register that made her heart skip a beat.

He stood up, shedding his casual lounge clothes to change into a sharp, tailored dark suit. It was a more dressy, commanding look, yet still semi-casual enough for him to move effortlessly through the slums, a wardrobe choice that screamed absolute authority without needing a badge to enforce it. Settling his black hat low over his eyes, he looked down at her, his eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, deep weight of emotion. "I'm leaving the glass doors unlocked, Rosalie. I'm trusting you to stay put and not make me chase you through those slums again. Do you understand me? Stay here."

Rosalie crossed her arms, tilting her chin pompously as she nestled deeper into the luxury of the pillows. "I make no promises to the law, Sheriff."

Eli let out a soft chuckle, shook his head, and smoothly stepped into the private glass elevator, descending down toward the main floor of the territory.

The second the elevator doors slid shut, Rosalie’s wild rebel mind began to plot. She knew he had everything she needed, food, safety, and an intoxicating warmth she couldn't stop thinking about. But she didn't take orders from a man in a sharp suit. Defying his explicit command was practically her civic duty, and staying still was entirely against her nature.

Limping heavily on her wrapped, injured feet, she hobbled into the elevator structure and rode it down to the main floor. The glass doors slid open, revealing Eli's ultimate secret luxury: a massive, enclosed private sanctuary garden thriving right in the dead center of the criminal slums. Lush green ferns, wild roses, and thick fruit trees grew in abundance under a soaring, reinforced glass ceiling. It was a stunning oasis hidden away from the grime outside.

Rosalie’s stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl. Forgetting all about her raw, stinging injuries, she did what was entirely natural for a wild, self-reliant orphan looking for a meal. She didn't know the rules of a luxury estate or proper society, but she knew how to forage. Hobbling over to a low-hanging branch of a thick oak tree, she reached her fast fingers into a hidden nest and carefully extracted three beautiful, speckled bird eggs. Then, casting her gaze over the vibrant greenery, she plucked a handful of ripe, wild fruits from the surrounding branches, cradling the fresh harvest against her shirt to bring back up for their breakfast.

A soft, mechanical chime echoed through the greenery. The glass elevator doors opened, and Eli stepped back onto the main floor, a fresh vial of lavender oil and a wrapped bundle of market food held in his large hands.

Eli froze. He closed his eyes for a long, heavy second, taking a deep, slow breath as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. A mixture of absolute exasperation and quiet, profound fondness settled into his jaw. He rummaged through his own thoughts, asking himself silently why he had ever entertained the ridiculous illusion that he could actually let her in and expect Rosalie to follow a single direction.

Hearing the heavy thud of his boots hit the slate path, Rosalie hobbled out from behind the thick foliage. She stopped a few feet away, her injured feet carefully balancing her weight as she saw him standing there beside the medicine.

For the first time in her life, a genuinely shy, soft smile tugged at the corner of her red lips, a rare, fleeting glimpse of the innocent girl hidden beneath her fierce, lawless armor. She held out her small hands, carefully balancing the fresh fruits while cradling the delicate eggshells with perfect care.

"I caught breakfast," Rosalie murmured softly, her blue eyes flashing with a playful, defiant spark that told him she wasn't sorry at all.