Chapter 31 Elara
Elara
Ishouldn’t have touched him.
The second my fingers grazed his jaw, every wall Hydra had drilled into me trembled. Beckett was all grit and shadow, blood on his skin and fire in his eyes—and instead of fear, I felt… safe.
His breath caught, like he hadn’t expected me to close the distance. But he didn’t pull back. He stayed there, close enough that the heat of him wrapped around me in the cool night air.
“This is a mistake,” I whispered.
“Yeah.” His voice was low, rough, threaded with something dangerous. His hand slid from my temple to the curve of my jaw, thumb resting at the corner of my mouth. “But I’ve never wanted a mistake more.”
The air between us shattered.
His mouth found mine, hard and unyielding, like he’d been holding back for far too long. Heat surged through me, burning away the desert chill, the gunfire, the ghosts Hydra had left in my blood. I grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric, dragging him closer because distance was unbearable.
He kissed like he fought—fierce, relentless, with every ounce of himself. But underneath the steel, there was something else. A promise. A plea.
When he pulled back, just enough for air, his forehead pressed to mine. His voice was ragged, almost broken.
“I shouldn’t touch you.”
“Then stop,” I breathed.
He didn’t. His mouth found mine again, slower this time, reverent where it had been raw. My chest ached with the force of it, with the way every kiss stripped away the armor I’d clung to.
Hydra had taught me to weaponize touch, to use it, to survive it. Beckett was teaching me something far more dangerous—how to want it.
When we finally broke apart, I was shaking. Not from fear. Not from exhaustion. From him.
“You’re breaking every rule,” I said softly.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me steady in the shadows. “Then let them break.”
And for the first time in years, I let myself believe in something Hydra could never touch—choice.