All That Isn’t mine.

Chapter 1

Elara

The way his throat bobbed under my grip…

it did something to me. It made me feel almost the same way I felt when his dick throbbed inside me—thick and pulsing, like it had a mind of its own.

I leaned in closer, my tits pressing against his chest as I rode him slow.

Deep. Deliberately taking my time. My hips moved in lazy circles, teasing both of us with every roll.

He squinted up at me, his dark hair a mess against the white pillow. He was young, seven years my junior, and handsome in a brutal way—all sharp angles and immediate emotion, intense to the point of obsession.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he whispered, his voice already hoarse, already close to unraveling.

I twisted his right nipple between my forefinger and thumb. He gasped. His pretty lips parted, and his big blue eyes locked on mine. He looked at me like he was drowning—and I was the only thing keeping him above water.

“Don’t stop now, Elara,” he whined.

I squeezed just a little tighter around his throat, just enough to make his breath hitch, to feel his pulse flutter beneath my palm. My other hand slid into his dark hair, fisting it at the root, yanking gently just to hear him moan again.

I was going to miss him. He was always so eager for me.

So fucking desperate. It turned me on more than I could say—the way he arched into every touch, the way his fingers dug into my thighs when I ground down just right.

The bed creaked beneath us, but it wasn’t as loud as the wet slap of skin and the slick drag of him inside me, filling me so perfectly it hurt.

I could feel everything. Every ridge. Every vein.

“You like this, don’t you?” I whispered, lips ghosting over his. “You like when I fuck you for me.”

He couldn’t speak. Just looked at me with glassy eyes and that swollen, open mouth in that needy way that made my pussy clench around him.

“Shit,” I breathed. I was close. I could feel it humming in my spine.

I sped up, just enough to make his legs shake. My ass slapped against his thighs, and I felt him tense—his dick swelling and twitching inside me.

“Not yet.”

I let go of his throat just long enough to shove him back against the pillows, pinning his wrists above his head.

“Not yet, baby,” I purred, grinding down slow and cruel, making sure he felt everything. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

He whimpered and bucked his hips, but I trapped him. Using my weight to hold him down, his need poured out of him in breathy, broken gasps. He looked so good on the verge of begging.

I leaned down, my mouth brushing his ear. “Hold it. You’re mine right now. Do as I say, and only as I say,” I whispered, because I knew he liked it. He liked being owned by me.

His dick twitched. I felt the mess we were making between us; his pre-cum leaked out of me, smearing slick and hot against my thighs. I slid my hand over my ass and reached down between us. My fingers curled around his balls; I rolled them gently before giving them a sharp little tug.

He cried out—his back arched, his body trembling.

“Please,” he rasped. “Fuck—Elara—please… let me cum in you.”

I smiled. Cruel. Sweet. My nails scraped down his chest, leaving faint red lines on his flushed skin. Goosebumps followed in their wake. His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

I sat up, planted my hands on his thighs, and started riding him like I meant it.

No more teasing. Just raw, reckless fucking.

My tits bounced with every thrust. My sweat dripped onto his stomach.

My hair stuck to my face, and still, I kept going.

He was moaning now—high, needy sounds that broke apart in the air between us. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.

“That’s it,” I panted. “Right there. This good dick is gonna make me cum so fucking hard.”

He started to thrust up, helping us both. His dick started hitting that perfect spot inside of me again and again. I felt heat coil inside me—tight, hot, and nearly unbearable. My pussy clenched. My thighs trembled.

And then it happened.

My orgasm crashed through me like a wave. It bowed my back, and I screamed his name as my pussy milked every drop from him, his dick jerking, filling me up with hot, messy spurts that made my legs shake.

“Fuck—Elara—” he gasped, his voice wrecked, his body shuddering beneath me.

I collapsed against him, my forehead resting against his. For a moment, this space and time were everything—our breaths tangled, his arms around me, his dick still twitching inside me like it didn’t want to leave. And I didn’t want to move.

But I did.

Eventually, I pulled back just enough to look at him—his face flushed and soft, his eyes hazy and full of everything I had told him to keep to himself.

I knew this was the last time. He didn’t.

A part of me felt sad about it, but this was never meant to last. I moved, extracting myself from the heat of his arms.

He stirred, his hand reaching for me. His eyes opened.

“Elara. Come back.”

I sat up, drawing the sheet with me. I reached for my clothes on the floor.

“It’s over. My husband’s flight lands at four P.M.” It was three in the morning, which meant I had thirteen hours to get myself together—to bury this version of me before the other one was required.

The silence in response to what I’d said was so complete I heard the shift of linen as he pushed himself up. When I glanced back, he was staring at me. Every muscle in his face tightened, pulling his expression into a look the devil would envy.

“Over?” he echoed flatly.

I rose, the sheet falling away. The air was cool on my skin. I dressed with methodical precision. I pulled on my tailored trousers and my silk blouse, stuffing my bra and panties into my purse before I spoke.

“The arrangement has run its course. You knew this was temporary.” I told him that very first day I had a nominal husband.

He gave a short, hollow laugh. “Temporary.”

He swung his legs out of bed. He didn’t pace this time. He moved toward me, his naked body a looming shadow in the dim light. He looked unraveled.

“You don’t love him.”

“That is irrelevant,” I rebutted.

“It’s the only fucking thing that’s relevant.” His face was hard in the gray light, a beautiful anguish had etched itself into the set of his jaw and the darkness of his gaze.

“Why go back if you don’t love him?”

“This isn’t about him.” I found my heels and slid them on.

“Then stay with me.”

A different woman might’ve said yes. But I outgrew “different” a long time ago. I couldn’t look at him as I took out a large envelope.

“Don’t be sentimental. It doesn’t suit you, Julian.”

I placed it on the glass coffee table. He didn’t even look at it.

His hand shot out, slamming down on the table beside it.

The impact made the crystal ashtray jump, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

I didn't flinch, even as he stepped into my personal space, his chest heaving. I didn’t believe he’d hurt me; he had rough edges, but he was soft when it came to me.

“You don’t love him,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a grate. “You make it seem like you live in a mausoleum, but you’re going back to the marble slab. For what? A brand name? A board seat?”

“For loyalty. I owe his parents. I’m surviving.”

I kept my tone cool—a placid lake over a deep, cold trench—because there was no need to feel emotional about it. It was an undeniable truth.

I continued. “It really doesn’t matter why. What was between me and you was never about building something. It was an interlude. Fun. An outlet. You made me feel good. I made you feel good.”

It was all bullshit. I wanted to stay… but—

My husband's family saved me. They took me in after my parents died. They raised me. Molded me. And when they asked me to marry their son, I couldn’t say no.

When he ran off to “find himself” and they asked me to run the business, I couldn’t say no to that either.

Obligation had become a cage I was trapped in before I even noticed the lock.

Bitterness was the air I was breathing now.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make what we have trivial.

It was real,” he shouted. He was in front of me then, vibrating with a frantic energy I’d never seen.

He grabbed my upper arms, his grip tight, pinning me to the spot.

His fingers dug into the silk of my blouse, anchoring me to him as if he could physically stop the clock.

“Tell me it wasn’t real. Look at me and tell me that.”

I met his gaze. Held it. I hated seeing him like this. It made me want to scream at him to stop—that I wasn’t worth it.

“It was a distraction. A very pleasant one. But it’s done.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes were too bright. He looked from my face to the envelope. “Is that money?” he asked, in a tone that dared me to say yes.

I never backed down from a challenge. “Yes.”

He scoffed. “So that’s it. You give me some money. A transaction completed.”

“Think of it as a severance package. A generous one.” I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve, my hands trembling slightly where he couldn’t see. “Use it. Start something. Forget this.”

“Forget this?” He took a step back like I’d hit him, his breath leaving him in a slow, controlled exhale.

I sidestepped him and walked toward the door. My hand was on the cold black knob when he called my name.

“Elara.”

I paused but didn’t turn. His voice was barely a whisper, all its earlier force spent, leaving only a bleak honesty.

“You don’t love him. And you won’t let yourself love me. Earlier you said you’re surviving. What are you surviving for?”

The question hung in the air, mixing with the smell of sex, my perfume, and his cologne.

“I survive for myself,” I said, without looking back. “Goodbye, Julian.”

I turned the knob, but before I could step out, the door slammed shut.

Julian had moved with a terrifying, liquid speed, his palm flat against the wood above my head.

He spun me around, his body crashing into mine, pinning me against the wall.

He was losing it, his control slipping through his fingers like sand.

He didn’t squeeze my throat; he simply pressed the back of his hand against it, holding me there. He was naked, our fluids drying on his skin, his body caging mine. The anger was gone, replaced by something darker. Tears welled in his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“He’ll never love you like I do,” he whispered, the words hot and ragged against my lips.

He was shaking, a fine tremor running through his muscles.

“He’ll never know how to touch you. I see how cold and detached you are, and I worship you for it, because I’ll take everything that comes with you.

He’ll just resent you. He’ll put you on a shelf, Elara.

And you’ll let him. You’ll freeze, perfectly, forever.

Why be that pathetic when you don’t have to? ”

I wanted to explain that the way Alastair felt about me meant nothing, but I tucked my lips, making my face a mask of stone even as my heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to reach up, to smooth the hair from his forehead, to tell him I didn't want to go.

Instead, I just stared through him. His thumb stroked the frantic pulse under my jaw. A tear finally escaped, tracing a path through the stubble on his cheek.

“This isn’t over. It’s not over until I say it’s over. You don’t get to write the ending by yourself.”

The intensity in his eyes should have chilled me. Instead, it ignited a perverse spark. I leaned in, closing the minuscule distance, and kissed him, sliding my tongue into his mouth. I felt him shudder, his hand faltering on my throat.

I pushed him away, hard. “Goodbye, Julian.”

I turned and walked out. My steps were even, my spine straight. His voice followed me.

“ELARA!”

I didn’t look back. I got on the elevator, closed my eyes, and forced myself to get lost in the hum of steel. The lobby was empty. As I stepped out into the damp morning, a flutter caught the edge of my vision. I looked up.

From his window, high above, a storm of paper was falling. The envelope, torn to pieces, was visible first. Then came the hundred-dollar bills—ten thousand dollars' worth, swirling down onto the gray street, catching on wet lampposts and the hoods of parked cars.

Julian’s voice carried crystal clear. “THIS ISN’T FUCKING OVER!”