His unclaimed mate

Chapter 5

The seatbelt sign had barely chimed off before I felt the shift in the air around me. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones the way you feel a storm coming before the first drop of rain hits the window.

I turned my head, just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the aisle behind me. And there they were.

Nicolas and Bella.

Coming out of the bathroom together.

Her lipstick was smudged. His hair was disheveled in that way I knew intimately—the way it looked after someone had run their fingers through it. Her skirt was hiked up just a little too high on her thigh, and she kept tugging at it, pulling it down, as if that would erase what had just happened.

My heart didn't break all at once. It cracked slowly, like ice giving way beneath your feet, that terrible moment of suspension before you fall into the freezing water below.

I turned back to the window. The clouds outside were endless and white, and I focused on them with everything I had. I would not cry. I would not give them that satisfaction. I would not let them see.

But God, it hurt.

The drive to the hotel was suffocating. Bella sat in the front passenger seat, and I could feel her energy radiating toward me—guilt, maybe, or pity. I couldn't tell anymore. Every few minutes, she would reach over and touch Nicolas's lap, her fingers trailing along his thigh in a gesture that was meant to be subtle but felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

He didn't stop her.

His expression in the rearview mirror was cold, distant. Terrifying, almost. Like he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere none of us could reach. He didn't look at me. Not once.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the city lights blur past. Each one was a tiny star, a tiny wish, and I made myself a promise with every single one: I would survive this. I had survived worse.

But had I?

The truth was, I didn't know anymore.

---

Jacob found me in the hotel hallway.

I didn't even hear him approach. I was too lost in my own head, too busy replaying every moment of that flight, every glance, every touch, every whispered word I hadn't been meant to hear. My key card was shaking in my hand, and I couldn't seem to make it work, couldn't seem to make anything work.

"Elena."

His voice was soft. Careful. Like he was approaching a wounded animal.

I turned to look at him, and something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or understanding—made the tears I had been holding back finally spill over. I hated myself for it. I hated that he saw me like this, broken and small and pathetic.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and the question was so simple, so genuine, that it made everything worse.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Instead, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward my door, fumbling with the key card until the light finally turned green. I pushed him inside and closed the door behind us, and for a moment, we just stood there in the dark, breathing.

"Elena—"

I kissed him.

I didn't plan it. I didn't think about it. I just needed to feel something other than this hollow ache in my chest, this emptiness that had been growing since the moment I saw them together.

And he kissed me back.

His lips were warm and soft, and he tasted like coffee and mint, and for one brief, beautiful moment, I forgot about Nicolas. I forgot about Bella. I forgot about everything except the feeling of being wanted, even if it was just for a little while.

But then his hands found my waist, and I remembered.

I remembered the way Nicolas used to hold me, the way his fingers would dig into my hips like he was afraid I might disappear. I remembered the way he would kiss my neck, my collarbone, the space just behind my ear. I remembered the way he would whisper my name like it was something sacred.

I pulled back, my hands trembling as I reached for the buttons of Jacob's shirt. I undid them slowly, one by one, my fingers brushing against his chest. His skin was warm, and his heartbeat was steady beneath my palm.

"Elena," he said again, and this time there was a question in his voice. "Is this... is this what you want?"

I looked up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the room, and there was something vulnerable in his expression, something that made me want to protect him even as I was falling apart.

"Yes," I whispered. "It's amazing."

He lifted me in his arms, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me toward the bed. His hands were gentle, so different from Nicolas's demanding grip, and when he laid me down on the mattress, I felt something loosen in my chest.

He wasn't aggressive the way Nicolas was. He was soft. Tender.

His lips found mine again, slower this time, more deliberate. He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the hollow of my throat where my pulse was racing. I let my head fall back against the pillow, my fingers threading through his hair as he worked his way down.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "You know that?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because in that moment, all I could think about was whether Nicolas had ever said those words to Bella. Whether he had touched her the way Jacob was touching me now.

I pushed the thought away. I didn't want to think about him. Not now. Not here.

Jacob's hands slid down my sides, over my hips, hooking into the waistband of my underwear. He paused, looking up at me with those dark, questioning eyes.

I nodded.

He pulled them down slowly, and I felt the cool air of the room against my skin. Then his fingers found me, gentle and exploring, and I gasped, my hips jerking upward involuntarily.

"Shh," he whispered. "I've got you."

He touched me like he had all the time in the world. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, and I felt the tension building in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, and I grabbed fistfuls of the sheets beneath me.

"Jacob," I breathed. "Please..."

He understood.

He positioned himself between my legs, and I felt the heat of him against my thigh, hard and ready. He looked at me one more time, asking permission without words.

I reached up and pulled him down to me.

And then he entered me.

I felt him slide inside, slow and careful, stretching me in a way that was both familiar and foreign. He wasn't as rough as Nicolas, wasn't as demanding, but there was something about the way he filled me that made me feel complete in a way I hadn't felt in weeks.

"God," he groaned, his forehead pressed against mine. "You feel incredible."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he let out a shaky breath. Then he began to move.

His rhythm was steady, unhurried. He moved in and out with a tenderness that made my heart ache, and I felt every part of him against my walls. It was intimate in a way I hadn't expected, his eyes never leaving mine, his breath warm against my lips.

"You're so perfect," he whispered.

I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace. He was still gentle, still careful, but there was a desperation building in his movements, a hunger that matched my own.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine as his body rocked against me. I could feel the sweat building on his skin, the muscles in his back tensing beneath my hands.

"I'm close," I gasped.

"Me too," he breathed. "Come with me. Please."

And I did.

The release washed over me like a wave, crashing through my body and pulling me under. I cried out, my body arching off the bed, my walls tightening around him. He groaned, his movements stuttering, and then I felt him release inside me, warm and intimate, his body shuddering against mine.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then he rolled off me and onto his back, and we lay there side by side, staring at the ceiling, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

"That was..." he started, but he didn't finish.

"Yeah," I said. "It was."

But even as the words left my mouth, I felt the guilt creeping in.

Because it should have been Nicolas.

It should have been his hands on my body, his lips on my skin, his name on my tongue. It should have been him holding me, him making me feel the way Jacob just had.

But it wasn't.

And I didn't know if it ever would be again.

We didn't talk after that. There was nothing to say. We just lay there in the darkness, two broken people trying to find comfort in each other's arms, knowing that in the morning, everything would be different.

In the morning, I would have to face Nicolas. I would have to face Bella. I would have to face the reality of what had happened and what it meant.

But for now, I closed my eyes and let myself drift, and I tried not to think about the fact that even in this moment, even with Jacob's warmth beside me, all I could think about was him.

Nicolas.

Always Nicolas.

---

I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing.

The screen was too bright in the darkness of the room, and I squinted at it, trying to make out the name on the screen. It was a message from Nicolas

"Where are you? We need to talk."

I stared at the words for a long time, my heart pounding in my chest. Jacob was still asleep beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his breathing slow and even.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do.

So I just lay there, in the dark, and I waited for the sun to rise.