The air in Eliott's loft crackled with an almost painful tension, thick with Maëlys's demand for freedom and his stark refusal. His hands, still gripping her arms, weren't bruising, but their unyielding hold spoke volumes. His eyes, usually a storm of conflicting emotions, were now singularly focused, a dark, dangerous intensity that brooked no argument.
"You can't," Eliott repeated, his voice a low, guttural growl that vibrated through her. "You think you want to run, Maëlys? You think you can cut us loose? You're wrong. We're tethered. By blood, by secrets, by a past that runs deeper than any lie I ever told you." His thumbs moved, tracing patterns on her skin, an intimate gesture that warred with the severity of his words. "And by something else. Something you're only just beginning to remember."
He pulled her closer, the sudden proximity stealing her breath. His scent – a mix of ink, leather, and something uniquely masculine and untamed – filled her senses, a dangerous comfort. Maëlys struggled, her muscles tensing, but his hold was unwavering. This wasn't a lover's embrace; it was a possessive claim, a physical manifestation of the chains she now recognized binding them.
"This isn't freedom, Eliott!" she cried, her voice trembling, a desperate plea for air. "This is control! You want to keep me here, trapped in your version of our past, because you're afraid to face what we really were!"
His eyes darkened further, a flicker of pain crossing their depths before being replaced by an almost savage determination. "Afraid?" he scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "I've lived in this hell for two years, Maëlys. Every day, every damn night, haunted by Léonie, by Liam, by the ghost of you. While you lived in blissful ignorance! I dragged you from the wreckage, pulled you back from death, and watched you forget me. Forget us. You think I'm afraid of the truth? I've been living it, breathing it, drowning in it!"
He released one of her arms, only to thread his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. His gaze raked over her, possessive and hungry. "You talk about freedom. About choice. But tell me, Maëlys," his voice dropped to a seductive purr, sending shivers down her spine, "when my hands touch you, when my lips taste you, does your body scream for freedom? Or does it beg for more of the chains you claim to hate?"
His thumb grazed her lower lip, his eyes challenging her, daring her to deny the undeniable. Her breath hitched. The memory of their passion, of the way her body had so readily responded to his dominance, burned fiercely within her. He was right. Her body was a traitor, aching for the very man her mind raged against.
"That's just..." she began, trying to form a coherent protest, but her voice faltered.
"That's just the truth, little bird," he finished for her, his voice victorious, laced with a dark satisfaction. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, a feather-light touch that promised a storm. "The truth you can't run from. Because it's etched into your very being. Every tattoo, every scar, every breath you take is tied to me."
He pressed her back against the nearest wall, his body caging hers, the sheer force of his presence overwhelming. His hands moved, swift and decisive, pulling her closer until their hips aligned, and she could feel the undeniable, throbbing proof of his arousal against her. A soft gasp escaped her lips, lost as his mouth finally claimed hers, a kiss of complete possession. It was deep, bruising, demanding, leaving no room for protest, for thought, for anything but the raw, electric sensation that ignited between them.
Maëlys's mind screamed, but her body betrayed her, responding with a primal hunger that mirrored his own. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, even as tears streamed down her face. This wasn't love in the conventional sense; it was a force of nature, a destructive addiction, a beautiful, terrifying trap. She was his, and in this moment, she could not deny it. The invisible tether was indeed unbreakable, pulling her deeper into the storm she had fought so hard to escape. She was both his prisoner and his willing accomplice, bound by the chains of a desire that defied logic, fear, and even her own will.