Chapter 8: Back Hallway Heat
726 Words
Elena fumbled with her apron in the back of the diner, heart still racing from the memory of his voice in her ear, his mouth on her skin.
She had no idea how she managed to walk this morning. Every step reminded her of the man who had claimed her body like it belonged to him.
And the worst part?
She liked it.
“Table four wants more coffee,” Janet called, snapping her out of the spiral. “You good, honey? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
Elena flushed. “I’m fine. Just… rough night.”
Janet raised a brow. “Rough, or fun rough?”
Before she could answer, the bell above the door chimed.
She grabbed the pot of coffee and turned toward table four.
Then froze.
He was here.
Dominic Moretti. Sitting in her section like he owned the place—legs wide, one arm draped over the back of the booth, wearing a dark button-down that still looked sinful in the harsh diner lights.
He didn’t smile.
Didn’t wave.
Just stared at her with eyes that said, You really thought you could walk away?
Her hands shook as she poured the coffee, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t trying to break out of her chest.
“You ran,” he said, voice low enough only she could hear.
“I went to work.”
His fingers brushed her wrist. “Without saying goodbye.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” she whispered.
He leaned closer. “You think I take what I took from you… and forget you?”
Elena rushed into the back hallway behind the kitchen, needing air, space—something to cool her down. The break room door shut behind her with a soft click, and she leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
She hadn’t expected to see him. Not here. Not in her world.
She hadn’t expected her thighs to ache just at the sight of him, either.
Then she heard it.
The quiet creak of the door.
She didn’t even have to turn. She felt him.
His heat. His presence. The slow, heavy steps of a man who always got what he wanted.
Her breath caught as Dominic’s arm slid beside her head, palm braced against the wall. His chest hovered just inches from hers.
“You really thought you could slip back into your little world and I’d let it slide?” he murmured.
“Dominic—”
His mouth crashed down on hers.
It wasn’t soft.
It was possession.
He grabbed her waist, lifting her slightly so her back hit the wall and her feet barely touched the floor. Her apron bunched between them, her name tag pressing into his chest like a challenge.
“God, you taste the same,” he growled, lips dragging down her neck. “Like sugar and sin.”
Her hands clawed at his shirt, needing something to hold onto as his fingers slid beneath her skirt like he had every right.
“You’re mine now, waitress or not,” he hissed into her ear. “Mine to kiss, to touch…”
His hand dipped lower.
“…to ruin.”
She gasped as his fingers found her—already wet, already begging.
“You missed me,” he whispered, nipping her throat. “Your body did, at least.”
She whimpered, trying to muffle it. But he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Let them hear, Elena.”
Her knees buckled.
He didn’t stop.
One hand held her steady while the other drove her insane, teasing and claiming in the dark.
No bed. No silk sheets. Just him and a wall, and the kind of need that didn't care where they were.
And when she broke—when she cried his name and melted in his hands—he kissed her like a man who never planned to let her go.
“Next time you run,” he said against her lips, “I won’t just chase you…”
“I’ll take you where you can’t hide.”
Her breath caught.
“I’m not finished with you, Elena,” he said. “Not even close.”
And for a moment, the quiet hum of the diner faded. It was just her and him again. And the heat was already rising.
- Writer
