22. Keaton
Chapter 22
Keaton
I couldn't help myself. Her lips were like a lifeline, pulling me from the abyss of my own darkness. I pulled her into another hungry kiss, feeling her warmth and the softness of her mouth against mine. The car's cramped space made our positions awkward; the gear shift dug into my side, but I didn't care. The moment was too intense to break.
Elodie’s hands tangled in my hair, and a low growl rumbled from my chest. No one had ever stood up for me before, not like she had. Her defiance against her stepmother, her willingness to challenge everything I thought I knew—it made me want to protect her, possess her.
My fingers traced the line of her jaw, moving down to rest on her neck. Her pulse hammered under my touch, matching the frantic beat of my own heart. I leaned back slightly, our breaths mingling in the confined space.
"Keaton," she whispered, her voice a mix of confusion and desire.
I couldn’t find words to respond. Instead, I kissed her again, deeper this time. Every barrier I had built crumbled under the force of this moment. For once in my life, I felt free—not from my father’s grip or societal expectations—but free to feel something real.
The windows fogged up as our bodies pressed closer. My hand slid down to her waist, pulling her onto my lap despite the awkward angle. She let out a small gasp but didn’t resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back with equal hunger.
I broke away briefly, resting my forehead against hers. "No one's ever stood up for me before," I admitted, my voice rough with emotion I usually kept buried deep.
Her eyes searched mine, understanding reflecting back at me. "You deserve more than this," she said.
Her words sliced through me like a blade and mended something inside simultaneously. Deserve more?
Elodie's lips brushed the side of my neck, hesitant yet yearning. Her innocence, the tender touch, sent a surge through me, and I grew hard beneath her. She must've felt it because she pulled back slightly, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"Come on," I urged softly. "Let's move to the back."
We scrambled out of the car, the warm night air hitting us briefly before we slid into the back seat of my Maserati. The interior was sleek, black leather with custom stitching that gleamed under the soft lighting. It was a confined space, luxurious but intimate, designed more for speed than comfort.
I turned to her, noticing the nervousness in her eyes. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and I could see her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. Without thinking, I reached out and pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her trembling form.
"Hey," I murmured against her hair. "I've got you."
She relaxed a bit at my words, melting into my embrace. I could feel the tension leaving her body as she nestled closer, seeking comfort in my arms. The warmth of her body against mine was intoxicating.
I tilted her chin up gently so our eyes met again. Her gaze was still uncertain but filled with something deeper—trust. It was something I wasn’t used to seeing directed at me, and it made my heart race even more.
"You're safe with me," I whispered.
Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Instead, she leaned in and kissed me again, this time with more confidence. Her hands roamed over my shoulders, exploring cautiously but eagerly.
The back seat offered little room for maneuvering, but we made do. I guided her gently onto my lap again, feeling the soft curves of her body press against mine. My hands traced patterns along her back, eliciting soft sighs from her that drove me wild.
She pulled back slightly to catch her breath, resting her forehead against mine once more. We stayed like that for a moment, savoring the closeness before diving back into each other’s embrace.
For once in my life, I felt like I had found something worth fighting for—someone who saw past the walls I had built around myself. And I wasn’t about to let go of that feeling anytime soon.
The heat between us intensified, making it hard to think, to breathe. My fingers found the hem of her shirt, and I hesitated for just a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. She bit her lip, giving a slight nod. Slowly, I lifted her shirt over her head, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin.
Her breath hitched as I unclasped her bra, sliding it off and exposing her breasts. The sight of her bare before me sent a surge of desire through my veins. I leaned in, capturing one of her nipples in my mouth, teasing it with my tongue. She arched against me, a soft moan escaping her lips as her fingers tangled in my hair.
I moved to the other breast, savoring the feel of her skin against my lips. Her reactions were exhilarating—the way she responded to every touch, every kiss. The sounds she made drove me wild; each gasp and moan felt like a reward, urging me to explore more.
She pressed closer, seeking more contact, more connection. Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me even closer. The urgency between us grew with every passing second.
I couldn't get enough of her. The taste of her skin, the way she moved against me—it was addictive. I wanted to memorize every curve, every reaction. And the sounds—God, the sounds she made were like music to my ears.
We were lost in each other, forgetting everything else. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection we shared and the intense desire that burned between us.
Every touch was electric, every kiss igniting a fire that neither of us wanted to extinguish. We moved together in perfect sync, our bodies speaking a language only we could understand.
The intensity built with each passing second until it felt like we might both combust from the sheer passion between us. But I wouldn't have stopped even if I could; being with Elodie was everything I never knew I needed.
Elodie's fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt, and I instinctively lifted my arms. She pulled it off, her touch lingering on my skin as she explored the planes of my chest. Her hands were soft but deliberate, tracing patterns that made my heart race. It was as if she was mapping me out.
No one had ever touched me like this before. Her touch wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, tender. It felt like she saw me—really saw me—and still wanted to be close. It was a feeling I wasn’t used to, and it made me ache in a way I couldn’t quite describe.
Her fingers brushed over a scar on my side from a particularly brutal game last season. Instead of recoiling, she paused, her thumb tracing the line with something like reverence. It felt intimate, almost sacred.
"How did you get this?" she whispered, her breath warm against my skin.
"Just a game," I managed to say, my voice rough. "Nothing serious."
Her eyes met mine, filled with concern and something deeper—empathy, maybe. It caught me off guard. She didn’t see the scar as just another battle wound; she saw it as part of who I was.
Elodie’s touch moved upward, gliding over my ribs and across my chest. She paused over my heart, feeling its rapid beat under her palm. The sensation was overwhelming. No one had ever made me feel this exposed yet cherished at the same time.
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss where her hand had just been, right over my heart. The tenderness of the gesture almost undid me. My defenses were crumbling, and for once, I didn’t want to stop them from falling.
Her lips moved to my neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. My hands found her waist again, pulling her closer as if anchoring myself to this moment. Her breath hitched when our bodies pressed together again.
"You’re worth so much more than you think," she murmured against my skin.
Her words hit me harder than any punch or board ever could. They echoed in the quiet of the car, settling deep within me where doubt and insecurity usually resided.
For once in my life, I felt fragile—not in a weak way but in a way that made me realize how much I’d been missing out on genuine connection and care.
Elodie’s hands continued their exploration with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She didn’t rush; she took her time as if savoring each moment just as much as I was.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself be vulnerable without fear or hesitation because with her… it felt right.
I pushed her back gently, my hands moving to the waistband of her skirt. With a swift motion, I tugged it down along with her underwear, revealing the soft, pale skin of her thighs. Desire flared through me, an uncontrollable wildfire.
My fingers trailed up her legs, feeling the smoothness of her skin under my touch. When I reached the heat between her thighs, I couldn't suppress a groan. "Fuck, you're already wet," I murmured, my voice rough with need. "This for me?"
She nodded, her cheeks flushed. My girl was still shy. Her vulnerability only heightened my desire.
I slid a finger inside her, feeling her tight warmth envelop me. She moaned softly, her body arching into my touch. The sound sent a jolt of pleasure through me.
I pulled my finger out and brought it to my lips, tasting her. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever fucking tasted," I murmured against her skin.
With trembling hands, I unbuttoned my pants and freed my cock, pumping it once, twice, to ready myself. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched me position myself over her.
I slid inside of her, and it felt like coming home. The heat, the tightness—it was overwhelming. My breath hitched, and I had to remind myself to slow down. I didn't want to hurt her, not right now. The back seat of the car was cramped, but the discomfort only made everything more intense.
"God, you're so tight," I whispered, my voice raw with desire. "So fucking perfect."
She gasped, her hands clutching at my shoulders. The sound drove me wild. I moved slowly, savoring every inch of her as I buried myself deeper. The sensation was almost too much to bear, but I forced myself to keep a steady pace.
"You're mine," I murmured against her ear, my lips brushing her skin. "All mine."
Her eyes met mine, filled with pleasure and something deeper—trust. It made my heart race even more. I leaned in and kissed her fiercely, pouring all my pent-up emotions into the kiss. Her body responded to every movement, arching into me with a desperate need that matched my own.
"Fuck, you feel so damn good," I groaned, thrusting deeper. The car's confined space made our movements slightly awkward, but neither of us cared. The connection between us was electric.
I tightened my grip on her hips, pulling her closer as I continued to move inside her. "You like this?" I asked, my voice rough with intensity. "You like how I make you feel?"
"Yes," she breathed out, her nails digging into my skin. "Keaton..."
Hearing my name on her lips in that breathless tone sent a shiver down my spine. It was like she had some kind of power over me—a power no one else had ever wielded.
"Say it again," I demanded softly, my thrusts becoming more deliberate.
"Keaton," she repeated, her voice trembling with pleasure.
I captured her mouth in another searing kiss as our bodies moved together in perfect rhythm. The car rocked slightly with our movements, but it only added to the urgency of the moment.
Being inside her felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. The tight heat enveloped me, driving me wild with every thrust. Her body molded to mine, taking me deeper with each movement. It was as if we were made to fit together, every sensation magnified by the intimacy of our connection.
Her nails sank into my back, and I reveled in the pain, the pleasure, the sheer reality of it all. For once, someone wanted me—not for my status or what I could offer, but for who I was in that moment. It was intoxicating.
I could tell she was close. Her breaths came faster, her body tightening around me. I decided to push her further, to see just how much she could take.
“Who knew innocent little Elodie was such a goddamn whore?” I growled into her ear, my voice low and wicked. “You like this, don't you? You like it when your husband fucks you in the backseat of his car. You'd let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn't you?”
Her eyes widened slightly at my words, a mixture of shock and arousal flashing in them. But she didn’t pull away; instead, she clung to me tighter, her body responding eagerly.
“Say it,” I demanded, thrusting harder. “Tell me how much you love it.”
“I love it,” she gasped out, her voice trembling with pleasure. "I…I want it."
"Tell me you'd let me fuck you anywhere," I demanded. "Tell me you're my whore."
She opened her mouth, and for a second, I thought she would argue. I thought she would push back.
"I—I'm yours," she whispered.
"My what?"
"Your… I'm your whore."
"Fuck, yeah, you are. Mine, and no one else's."
The sight of her submitting to me like that pushed me to the edge. I lost myself in the rhythm of our bodies moving together, each thrust bringing us closer to the brink.
“You’re mine,” I whispered harshly against her lips. “All fucking mine.”
She cried out as she reached her climax, her body convulsing around me. The sensation was overwhelming, pulling me over the edge with her. My release hit hard and fast, a wave of intense pleasure that left me breathless.
We stayed locked together for a moment, riding out the aftershocks of our shared orgasm. Her nails were still embedded in my back, and I welcomed the lingering sting—it grounded me in reality.
Finally, we collapsed against each other, spent but content. For once in my life, I felt something real—something that made all the bullshit worth enduring.
I kissed her face, then her neck, feeling the shiver that ran through her body. The reaction was intoxicating.
"Why… why did you call me that?" she asked shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I looked at her, taking in the uncertainty in her eyes. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," I told her, my voice firm. "You should be my whore. I'm your husband."
She looked at me with wide eyes. "But… doesn't it mean?—"
I cut her off with another kiss, this one deeper and more demanding. "It means you belong to me," I told her when I pulled back. "It means you want to please me."
She pursed her lips and nodded slowly. "You won't call me that?—"
"Anywhere but when my dick's inside of you," I replied, a smirk playing on my lips. "I like to talk during sex."
Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she looked away for a moment before meeting my gaze again.
"And I know you like it when I do," I whispered, my breath warm against her skin. "You like when I call you names. You like when I tell you you're mine."
She looked at me, speechless but not needing to say anything. Her eyes told me everything.
Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to kiss her washed over me again. I leaned in and captured her lips with mine, feeling the connection between us intensify.
I didn't know how I'd wound up with Elodie as my wife, but in that moment, I was grateful. She was mine, and I would never let her go.
The kiss deepened, our bodies pressed together as if trying to merge into one. Her hands roamed over my back, pulling me closer still. The intensity of our connection was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
I pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes once more. "You're mine," I murmured softly against her lips. "Always."