~ đź–¤
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The air was thick.
Not with words.
With need.
Maya stood at the edge of her bed, heart hammering so loud she thought it might echo through the walls. Elias stood in the doorway like he belonged there. Like he owned the room. Like he owned her.
His eyes didn't waver as they swept over her—
Her parted lips.
Her flushed cheeks.
Her trembling fingers.
She hated how much she wanted him.
She hated that she didn't really hate it.
> "Say it," he rasped, voice low and unsteady. "Say you're mine."
She didn't speak.
So he moved.
One hand caught her wrist, the other sliding around her waist. She gasped as he pushed her backward — her spine hit the wall, and Elias pressed into her like a storm breaking its dam.
> "You've been running from this," he said, mouth grazing her ear. "From me."
> "I wasn't ready," she breathed.
> "You are now."
His grip tightened. Not painfully. Just… possessively. Claiming her with pressure, not words.
> "I told myself I wouldn't touch you like this," he growled. "Not until you asked for it. Not until you begged."
Her breath hitched.
> "But you look at me like you want to be ruined."
His fingers slid beneath the hem of her shirt, dragging slowly across her skin — and she shuddered.
> "Tell me no," he whispered. "Say it, and I'll stop."
She didn't.
> "Say you don't want me to break you," he hissed against her neck.
Still, she said nothing.
He leaned in, biting her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.
> "Say it."
Her voice came out in a breathless whisper.
> "I want you to break me."
That was it.
His mouth crashed into hers, hard and unrelenting. No softness. Just heat, hunger, need. He kissed like he was punishing her for waiting this long. For making him wait.
He tore her shirt over her head, not caring if it ripped. She moaned against him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if that could stop her from unraveling.
He lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carried her to the bed. He didn't toss her down. He laid her there — like something precious. Then climbed over her like something possessive.
> "You're mine," he growled.
> "Yes."
> "Say it again."
> "I'm yours."
> "Say it like you mean it."
> "I'm yours, Elias," she gasped. "All of me."
His mouth moved down her throat, over her collarbone, biting, sucking, marking her like she was property. Every inch of her felt like fire and ache. And when he finally undressed her, she didn't flinch.
She spread her legs for him like she belonged to him.
Because she did.
And he didn't make love to her.
He claimed her.
Every thrust, every gasp, every bruised kiss was another way he said:
You are not Mira.
You are mine.
You will never leave me.
She felt it — in the way he gripped her hips, in the way he kissed her wrists like chains, in the way he whispered her name like a curse.
He didn't just want her body.
He wanted her soul.
And she gave it to him. Willingly.
Because surrendering to Elias didn't feel like losing.
It felt like finally belonging somewhere.
When it was over, he stayed inside her, breathing hard, his mouth on her shoulder, his hands still gripping her like he was afraid she'd vanish.
> "Say it again," he whispered, voice raw.
She turned to him, her eyes wide, vulnerable, honest.
> "I'm yours, Elias."
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time…
He didn't feel empty.
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