Chapter 6
BETH HAD BEEN TO SOME of the world’s most exclusive parties; she’d dined at Michelin-starred restaurants beside people whose names carried empires before she was out of school.
Her last name had opened every door, taught her how to glide through conversations that meant nothing, laugh at jokes that weren’t funny, and flattered the egos of powerful men who wanted to own her like a rare wine.
She’d hated it even before realizing she hated it. None of it had ever been real; it was performance—sometimes for her father, who wanted her to reflect his legacy, and sometimes for potential suitors, selected for their ability to elevate the family name and fortune.
Leaving it all hadn’t been easy, but every tear she’d cried afterward, every stumbling step she’d taken toward a life of her own making, had been worth it. Especially at the end of a day like this, spent at a lake laughing about ridiculous things with people who saw her.
And one elf who made her feel something new and gloriously terrifying.
Now, standing outside her home, her keys jangling in one hand, she glanced at Gael as he stepped out of Elara’s Jeep behind her.
“Today was good,” she said, sudden nerves fluttering under her skin as she turned to face him.
“Exceptionally good,” he agreed. The violet in his eyes had almost swallowed the blue. “Will I see you soon?”
She chuckled, softer than before. “You’ll see me tomorrow at breakfast if you stop by the pub.”
He tilted his head, that intense focus of his squarely on her. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know.” The keys rotated through her fingers as she looked at him, really looked at him—divinely carved lips, wind-mussed hair, the way his stillness always felt like coiled motion. “You could stay for dinner. If you want. If you don’t have plans.”
His smile softened something in her stomach. “I’d love to, but I didn’t mean to push. You don’t have to invite me in just because I asked when I’d see you.”
“Oh, I know.” And man, the way he said that, like her comfort mattered more than what he wanted, only made the pull stronger. “I just... I want to. If you’re okay with something simple. I haven’t exactly grocery-shopped lately.”
“I can spend days without eating. I’m not here for the food,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to heat her skin. “Whatever dinner you pick sounds perfect.”
And from across the street, Elara’s voice rang out like a bell, “I’ll see you children in the morning. Have fun!”
Beth winced. “She heard everything, didn’t she?”
“She did.”
“Noisy elves,” she muttered, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Gael followed, quiet and watchful.
It wasn’t even dark yet, but she flipped the light switch anyway, illuminating the living room. She set her bag and phone down on the little table near the entry and turned back toward him.
“Have a seat,” she offered. “Want a drink? I’ve got orange juice, hard cider, and... that’s about it.”
“Cider’s perfect, thank you.”
It was strange how something so simple as him sitting in her kitchen felt both foreign and intimate.
She wasn’t used to men being in her home.
Especially not someone like him, who moved with regal ease even when relaxed.
Who wielded that kind of strength and power without making her feel smaller.
There was vulnerability in it, but not the kind that made her want to retreat.
It was the kind that made her want him. Desperately.
Not just because of the way he looked, though that alone was enough to make her pulse skip. It was the way he listened. How he considered every word before speaking. How he asked for nothing, making her want to give him everything.
Her fingers lingered on the chilled can of cider longer than necessary.
She found a glass, poured the drink, and crossed the room to him.
She should have handed it and stepped back to regroup, because heaven help her, she couldn’t do anything sensible with him sitting there, watchful, looking at her like she would be his, if she only said the word.
She should have been sensible, leave the glass on the freaking table, and sit. She had been sensible all day after all, she could push it a little longer.
Screw sensible.
She did leave the glass on the table, but then stepped between his legs, close enough for his heat to roll over her like a secret, seeping through her clothes and settling low.
Her breath hitched.
Want. Need. The painful ache of restraint.
His gaze lifted, slow, dragging up her body like a touch.
His expression gave nothing away, but the heat in his eyes?
That said everything she needed to know right now.
Then his hand slid up her thigh, a single, searing path along the outside.
“I wasn’t implying this, either,” he said, voice a promise whispered in the dark.
She wanted his hands on her. She wanted his mouth. She wanted sweaty and dirty. Her hands settled on his shoulders, grounding herself. “What if I am?”
“If that’s the case...”
He held her hips in both hands and guided her into his lap, so she was straddling him. She settled, breath shallow, feeling the tension thrumming under his skin like. She leaned in, pulses racing. “What if I want you?”
His hands tightened. “Then you have all of me.”
Her hips responded before thought could catch up, grinding into the solid length of him beneath her. His inhale was a shuddering sound between them, hot and helpless.
She kissed him.
Not softly, even less cautiously, but fierce and hungry as every silenced want clawed its way to the surface and finally broke free.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, desperate to take all she could.
His mouth crashed into hers with the heat of every moment they’d denied, like he knew this would destroy them and still wanted more, wanted everything.
He slipped his hands under her sweater, found skin. “You keep grinding on me like that,” he whispered, teeth grazing her jaw, “and I’ll bend you over the nearest surface until you’re dripping and mine.”
Beth shuddered from the thrill that pulsed between her legs at the promise, at the threat in his voice.
Her hips rolled harder against his dick with a need that stole her breath and made him groan low, the sound vibrating through her chest as his hands gripped her waist, holding her still for one heart-stopping moment.
Then his mouth was on hers again. Hotter.
Messier. All heat and hunger. One hand fisted in her sweater, yanking it up, baring her to the cool air and the burn of his touch.
“You’re even softer than I imagined,” he murmured, lips grazing her collarbone, “Your heart’s racing.
You smell like rain and longing, and it’s tearing me apart. ”
He reached behind her, unclasped her bra, and let it fall away and his mouth, his glorious mouth, brushed her nipple.
Soft, almost taunting, before his teeth caught it in a light bite that made her jolt.
He soothed the sting with his tongue, unhurried, then closed his full mouth around her.
She arched into him shamelessly, chasing the flick of his tongue and the pull of his mouth like her sanity wasn’t a thing she needed anymore.
His grip on her back was firm while his other hand moved with calculated pressure, rolling her nipple between his fingers like he ruled the rhythm of her body.
Her nails clawed at his shoulders, begging without words.
And he answered without hesitation. He stood in one motion, lifting her, her legs wrapping tight around his waist as his mouth found hers again.
“Bedroom?” he asked, voice low and ragged against her jaw.
She nodded, breathless.
He took her there, laid her down gently, and such deliberate care screamed of how tight he was holding his control.
She could feel the tension coiled tight beneath his skin, barely restrained.
It was dangerous. And heaven, it made her ache for all of it.
But not on his terms. Not when she was half-naked, and he was still fully dressed like he had time to think.
She pulled at his shirt. “Off.”
He exhaled through his nose, like holding back was costing him air, but when he reached for the first button, she grabbed his hands and pushed them away, and flipped their position so she was straddling him again. “I will do the touching now.”
His fingers curled into fists, and his chest rose with one slow, ragged breath. “Cruel woman.”
She chuckled and sat up, took her sweet time with his buttons, and watched the strain pull tight across his body.
He was suffering, beautifully, for her. Not moving.
Not helping. Letting her drag it out like a game he couldn’t win and wouldn’t dare interrupt.
Underneath cotton, she found smooth golden skin, hard lines of muscle, and the flex of restraint under her fingertips.
Every inch she revealed made her want to taste it.
So she did.
A kiss at his sternum. Another, lower. Her mouth dragged over his pecs as her fingers worked the last buttons free. His abs tightened beneath her touch, his breath sharp and uneven.
When the shirt hit the floor, her hands were already at his jeans. “These too.”
He stood and shoved them down, underwear with them.
And holy hell.
He stood in front of her naked, hard, and hungry. There was nothing gentle in his eyes. His jaw was tight. His eyes dark with craving. “I wish you could feel what you’re doing to me,” he said, his voice rough enough to be menacing.
“Can you? Show me?”
He swallowed hard. His eyes didn’t waver, but something flickered. Possibly control frying at the edges. “I can’t share my emotions,” he murmured. “But I can manipulate yours. Shape them to mirror mine.”