Chapter 15
1135 Words
The kiss was wild. Dangerous. Addictive.
Nicholas wasn’t just kissing her—he was consuming her.
Claiming her like he had every right to.
And worse?
She was letting him.
Elara should have pushed him away. Should have fought harder.
But her body betrayed her.
She gasped against his mouth, and that was all it took—Nicholas seized control.
His hands slid down to her hips, gripping her hard, pulling her against him.
She could feel the tension radiating from his body, the way he was holding himself back.
And she hated it.
Because she didn’t want restraint.
Not from him.
Elara grabbed his shirt, fisting it tightly. "If you’re going to act like you own me, Wolfe," she breathed, daring him, taunting him, "then stop holding back."
Nicholas’s eyes darkened.
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
For a moment, she thought she had won—that she had pushed him past his control.
But then—
He did something she didn’t expect.
He let go.
Pulled back.
Leaving her breathless, frustrated, burning.
Elara blinked, stunned. "What the hell—"
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair, his breathing ragged, his entire body tense.
His eyes met hers—stormy, conflicted, something deeper lurking beneath the surface.
"I told you," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
"Told me what?" she demanded, still dazed from the heat of his mouth, from the way her body still ached for more.
He exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"I don’t just let go of what’s mine, Elara." His voice dropped to something almost dangerous.
"But this? You and me?" His jaw clenched. "It’s more than just possession."
Her breath hitched.
She stared at him, heart hammering. More?
What was he saying?
He stepped closer, his fingers skimming her cheek, a touch so gentle it shattered her.
"You don’t want to hear it, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips curling into something almost bitter.
"But you already know it."
Her chest tightened.
No.
No, he couldn’t—
He wouldn’t—
Nicholas’s eyes locked onto hers, raw and exposed.
"You belong to me, Elara. But worse? I belong to you."
Her heart stopped.
For a second, the room fell away—the shattered papers, the tension crackling between them, the heat still burning on her lips from his kiss.
It was just him.
Nicholas Wolfe.
The man who had pushed into her life, taken control, refused to let go.
And now?
Now, he was telling her he belonged to her.
A billionaire who could have anything. Anyone.
And he was standing here, telling her this.
Elara’s fingers curled into fists.
No.
No, this was a game. A trick.
Nicholas Wolfe didn’t belong to anyone.
He conquered. He possessed. He destroyed.
And she wasn’t about to let herself fall for it.
So she did what she did best.
She fought.
A slow smirk curled on her lips as she tilted her head, voice dripping with mockery.
“Belong to me?” she echoed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that what you’re telling yourself now, Wolfe? That I’m the one in control?”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened.
His expression didn’t change.
But something in his eyes—**something dark and sharp—**flashed with a warning.
“Elara,” he said, his voice low. Dangerous.
She took a slow step forward, eyes locked onto his, taunting, daring.
“If you think saying something like that will make me fall at your feet,” she whispered, “then you really don’t know me at all.”
His breath came in ragged. Controlled.
But she could see it. Feel it.
She was pushing him.
And Nicholas Wolfe didn’t like being pushed.
Good.
Because neither did she.
Nicholas let out a dark chuckle, his tongue running over his bottom lip.
“You want to fight me on this?” he murmured.
She didn’t flinch. “I fight you on everything.”
A pause.
A slow, wicked grin stretched across his lips.
“That’s why I’m so f*****g obsessed with you.”
Elara’s stomach flipped.
No.
No, no, no.
This was not happening.
She refused to let this happen.
So she took a sharp breath, lifted her chin, and delivered the final blow.
“Well, that sounds like a personal problem, Wolfe.”
Then—she turned.
And walked away.
"That sounds like a personal problem, Wolfe."
Then—she walked away.
Nicholas stilled.
Every muscle in his body went rigid. Tense. Dangerous.
He should let her go.
Let her believe she had won.
That she could just walk away from him.
But she couldn’t.
Not when she had just challenged him.
Not when she had just lit a fire in his veins that no other woman ever could.
His fingers twitched.
His pulse hammered.
And then—he moved.
Fast. Predatory. Unstoppable.
Elara had barely taken five steps when he caught her.
One firm hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her back—spinning her, trapping her, forcing her to face him.
Her breath hitched.
Her pulse skipped.
And Nicholas saw it.
He felt the way her body reacted, the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted just slightly—as if she had been expecting this.
Wanting it.
He leaned in, just enough to make her breath falter.
"You really think you can just walk away from me, sweetheart?" His voice was low, rough, edged with dark amusement.
Elara’s chin lifted, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"I just did."
Nicholas let out a low, dangerous chuckle.
"Did you?" His grip on her wrist tightened—just enough to remind her who was in control.
Elara's lips curled into a smirk.
"I think you're confusing obsession with ownership, Wolfe," she murmured, her tone full of mockery.
Nicholas’s jaw ticked.
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
And then—he smiled.
A slow, wicked, dangerous smile.
"You think I'm obsessed with you?" His voice dropped, his hand releasing her wrist—only to slide up her arm, fingers grazing her bare skin, igniting a trail of fire in their wake.
Elara froze.
He could feel the way she shivered, the way her body betrayed her.
"You don't get it, do you?" His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to him, forcing her to see the truth in his eyes.
"This isn't obsession, Elara," he murmured, his voice dark, deadly serious.
"It's possession."
Her breath shook.
Her nails dug into his arms, as if she was fighting herself.
As if she knew she was losing this battle.
And Nicholas knew—he had her.
Because no matter how much she tried to fight him, no matter how much she tried to deny it…
She was his.
And she had been from the very beginning.
- Writer
