Page 52 of Fractured Loyalties
His mouth returns to mine, firmer now, claiming without conquering. My fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a growl in his throat. He presses me back against the desk. The edge digs into my hips, and I don’t care.
“You sure?” he asks again, voice nearly gone.
“Still yes.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. Sets me on the desk. His hands don’t shake, but they tremble with restraint. His eyes never leave mine as he touches the hem of my shirt.
I pull it off myself.
His gaze drops. Reverent. But not worshipful. Something darker. Like he’s finally allowing himself to be starving.
“You are not what I expected,” he murmurs.
“You either,” I whisper back.
He moves in again. His hands on my waist, then my back, then up—tracing skin like he’s mapping territory he already claimed in his mind.
I lean in until there’s no space between us.
When he kisses me again, it’s not about permission anymore. It’s about surrender.
His hands slide up my ribs, fingers splayed like he’s holding fragile glass. My breath hitches. My body answers his without question, heat blooming in places I’d forgotten could feel anything like this. The edge of the desk is a bruise I welcome.
His mouth skims down to the curve of my throat, teeth grazing, not biting. A sound escapes me. I grip the back of his neck. I could ask for more. He’d give it. I know that.
But instead, I whisper, “Elias, wait.”
He stills. Immediately.
The silence between us is thick, but not angry. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. His chest rises, slow and steady, though I can feel his pulse in the way his hands stay planted against my sides.
“Okay,” he says.
I breathe. “Not yet.”
His nod is measured. Not disappointment, not frustration. Just reverence, like I’ve given him something better than he asked for.
“I’m not leaving this room,” he says. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I don’t.”
He exhales, forehead resting gently against mine.
We stay like that for a long time. Breathing. Letting the heat between us settle, not vanish.
Eventually, he helps me down from the desk. His hands slide over my hips, then release.
I reach for the shirt. He watches as I pull it back over my head, eyes darker but soft.
“We stop here,” I say.
“For now,” he agrees.
He walks with me back toward the hall, but this time we don’t separate. At the threshold to the guest room, we pause. He doesn’t ask. He just waits, gaze steady, like he won’t step past unless I do first.
I cross the doorway. He follows.
The room is dim, quiet. Familiar. I pull back the covers, and he waits until I slide in before taking the other side. There’s a carefulness to him now, like he’s afraid the bed might vanish if he moves too fast.
