Maëlys woke slowly, disoriented. The sunlight filtering through her curtains was muted, a soft grey. For a blissful second, she felt a comforting weight beside her, a steady warmth. Then, memory flooded back. Eliott. He was still there, his arm thrown loosely over her waist, his breathing deep and even. His tattooed hand, strong and masculine, lay splayed against her stomach. Her face was nestled against his shoulder, her nose brushing the faint stubble on his jaw.
A dangerous sense of peace settled over her. This was wrong. All of it. Her rules, her need for solitude, her entire fragile existence in this quiet town – everything screamed at her to push him away, to flee. But her body, still heavy with the lingering tendrils of the nightmare and the surprising solace he had provided, refused to obey. She felt a warmth spread through her veins, a tingling awareness of his hard body pressed against hers.
She carefully shifted, trying to disentangle herself, but his arm tightened imperceptibly. His eyes fluttered open, stormy grey meeting her dark ones. There was no surprise in his gaze, only a quiet intensity, a possessive glint that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Sleep well, little bird?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, a low rumble against her ear.
Maëlys felt a blush creep up her neck. "I... yes," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The intimacy of the moment was suffocating, yet thrilling.
He didn't move, just held her gaze, a silent question passing between them. The air in the room thickened, charged with unspoken desire. His thumb slowly stroked her hip, a feather-light touch that ignited a fire low in her belly.
"You smell like the ocean," he said, his voice husky, and he leaned in, inhaling deeply near her neck. His warm breath ghosted over her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms.
Her body betrayed her, arching instinctively closer to his. She could feel the hard planes of his chest against her, the rapid beat of his heart mirroring her own. The nightmare, the fear, all of it faded into the background, replaced by a raw, aching need she hadn't known she possessed.
Eliott's eyes darkened, blazing with an unholy hunger. He shifted, rolling slightly, so that he was half above her, propped on one elbow. His free hand reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, then her earlobe, sending delicious shivers through her.
"You're a storm, Maëlys," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "And I'm caught in your eye."
His gaze dropped to her lips, burning a path. Maëlys felt an undeniable pull, a desperate craving for his touch. Her own lips parted slightly in anticipation. He lowered his head, slowly, agonizingly, giving her every chance to pull away. But she couldn't. She was paralyzed by a dangerous curiosity, an urge to taste the forbidden.
His lips met hers. At first, it was soft, tentative, a mere brush. Then, with a low groan, he deepened the kiss. It was possessive, demanding, his mouth moving expertly over hers. Maëlys felt herself melt into him, her fingers tangling in his short, curly hair, pulling him closer. This wasn't gentle or comforting. This was pure, unadulterated desire, a dangerous dance of desperation and longing. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, asking for entry, and she granted it without hesitation.
The kiss deepened, becoming a fierce consumption. Eliott's hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear. His other hand, still resting on her hip, tightened its grip, pulling her lower body flush against his. Maëlys felt the undeniable proof of his arousal against her, a hot, hard pressure that sent a jolt of fire through her veins. A soft whimper escaped her, lost in the intensity of his kiss.
This was more than just physical attraction; it was a desperate plunge into the unknown, a taste of a danger she instinctively knew she shouldn't crave. He was fire, and she was willingly letting herself burn. Every touch, every kiss, was a brand, etching itself onto her skin, onto her very soul. And in that moment, lost in the inferno of their kiss, Maëlys knew that the person she was most drawn to was indeed the one she should have never met. But it was too late. The forbidden taste was already on her tongue, and she wanted more.