Chapter 14
1149 Words
Her breath came in short, uneven gasps.
Nicholas’s fingers curled around her wrist—strong, possessive, unyielding.
"I don’t share. I don’t negotiate. And I sure as hell don’t let go of what’s mine."
Every part of her screamed to fight back. To push him away. To not let him win.
But another part of her—the part that craved his touch, his dominance, his impossible control—
That part wanted to test him.
To see just how far he would go.
Her pulse pounded as she slowly lifted her gaze, meeting his.
Nicholas’s expression was unreadable—a storm brewing beneath the surface.
The tension between them was suffocating, a push and pull of power and submission.
A battle neither of them wanted to lose.
Elara’s lips parted.
"Let go."
Nicholas’s grip tightened.
"No."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
She should have expected that.
Nicholas Wolfe didn’t do obedience.
He didn’t do letting go.
Her nails dug into her palm as she forced herself to speak.
"You can’t just decide I belong to you."
Nicholas’s gaze darkened, his thumb slowly stroking the inside of her wrist. Dangerous. Lethal.
"I don’t decide, Elara." His voice was low, a deadly whisper. "It’s already done."
Damn him.
Her stomach twisted, a mixture of anger, frustration, and something deeper.
Something more dangerous.
Because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run… or surrender.
So she did the only thing she could.
She pushed him.
Literally.
With her free hand, she shoved against his chest, using all her strength to break his grip.
Nicholas barely moved.
But his grip?
It tightened.
And then—his patience snapped.
In one swift motion, he spun her, pinning her back against the wall.
Her breath hitched.
His body caged her in, his hands bracing on either side of her head.
The air between them crackled.
Heat. Fury. Obsession.
Nicholas’s eyes were dangerous, locked onto hers with a hunger that sent a thrill down her spine.
"You think you can push me?" His voice was low, rough. "Test me?"
Elara swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists.
"Maybe."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Then—he moved.
His hand shot up, fingers curling around her throat.
Not tight. Not choking.
Just holding. Possessing. Claiming.
His breath brushed against her lips, their mouths a breath apart.
His voice was a whisper of control and destruction.
"Then test me, sweetheart."
And then—
He kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was fire. Fury. Ownership.
A claiming she should have resisted.
But she didn’t.
Because the moment Nicholas Wolfe kissed her…
She was lost.
His mouth crashed onto hers, and for a moment—**just a moment—**Elara forgot how to fight.
Heat flooded through her, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
She should have pushed him away.
Should have resisted.
But the way Nicholas **claimed her—**with rough, demanding hunger—sent her pulse into a wild, reckless rhythm.
Damn him.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Taking. Possessing. Controlling.
But if Nicholas Wolfe thought she would just surrender—
He was dead wrong.
Elara fought back.
Her fingers fisted into his shirt, yanking him closer.
If he wanted a war, she would give him one.
She kissed him back—fierce, demanding, biting.
Nicholas let out a low, dark growl, his grip on her tightening.
His hand slid into her hair, yanking her head back as he took control of the kiss once more.
Rougher. Deeper. Unforgiving.
Elara gasped, her nails digging into his arms.
She was losing.
She could feel it.
The way he moved—like a man who didn’t just want her submission. He expected it.
And worse?
A part of her wanted to give it.
Her body betrayed her, melting into his, heat pooling low in her stomach.
Nicholas tore his mouth from hers, his lips brushing against her jaw as he whispered—
"Mine."
Elara’s breath hitched.
No.
She couldn’t let him win.
Couldn’t let him have that power.
Her fingers curled into fists as she whispered back—
"Prove it."
Nicholas stilled.
His grip tightened.
His breath shook.
And then—
The fire exploded.
He spun them, pressing her flat against the wall, his mouth at her ear, his voice like pure, sinful danger.
"Careful what you ask for, sweetheart."
Elara’s pulse pounded.
Because she already knew—
Nicholas Wolfe didn’t play games.
And she had just challenged a monster.
His breath was hot against her ear, his voice dark with a warning she should have heeded.
"Careful what you ask for, sweetheart."
But Elara wasn’t the kind of woman who backed down.
If Nicholas Wolfe thought he could scare her into submission, he was dead wrong.
Her lips curled into a defiant smirk as she tilted her head, her voice a taunt, a dare.
"Make me."
A sharp breath.
A pause—so brief, so dangerous.
And then—she felt it.
Nicholas snapped.
His fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her head back just enough for their eyes to lock—his, stormy and burning. Hers, daring and unrelenting.
“Elara,” he growled, low and lethal.
She held his gaze, refusing to look away.
She could see the battle waging inside him—the ruthless businessman fighting against the possessive, obsessive man who wanted to consume her whole.
And she loved it.
She loved knowing she had this power over him.
Loved that she could push him to his limits, make him lose control.
Nicholas let out a sharp curse, his patience snapping like a frayed wire.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” His voice was rough, ragged.
Elara’s smirk deepened. "I don’t quit, Wolfe. I win."
A dark chuckle.
And then—he moved.
Fast. Brutal. Unstoppable.
One second, she was pinned against the wall—the next, she was lifted, spun, and slammed onto the massive oak desk behind them.
Papers scattered. Glass cracked.
But all Elara could focus on was him.
Nicholas hovered over her, his hands braced on either side of her hips, caging her in.
His control was gone.
And God help her—she wanted it this way.
His fingers brushed over her lips, his touch deceptively soft, like he was trying to decide whether to punish her… or worship her.
"You think you can fight me, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper.
Elara’s breath was ragged, but she still managed to smirk. "I think I'm winning."
Nicholas's eyes darkened.
And then—he kissed her.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
There was no more room for teasing, no more room for hesitation.
This was raw, consuming, devastating.
A battle of power and surrender.
And this time?
Neither of them wanted to win.
Because in this war between them—
Losing had never felt so good.
- Writer
