Chapter 19 - Elisse
The entire drive home, I could still feel his hand on my waist. Even though he wasn’t touching me.
Even though there were inches between us.
The silence in the car wasn’t awkward, but it was volatile instead.
Every glance felt like friction. Every shift of his thigh against mine sent heat spiraling up my spine.
The night air, the music, the champagne, the way he had looked at me on the dance floor kept coming back to me.
I had made a mistake because I had enjoyed every second of it. And now the air between us felt like it was seconds from catching fire.
When the car stopped outside the penthouse building, I didn’t wait for him to come around and open the door.
I pushed it open myself and stepped out, and I heard him exhale behind me.
The elevator doors slid shut, leaving just the two of us between mirrored walls and dim lighting.
His tuxedo was slightly rumpled from dancing, and my lipstick faintly smudged.
We stood on opposite sides of the elevator, clearly trying to be as far from each other as possible because both of us could feel it.
The ascent felt agonizingly slow. I turned to look at him and realized he was already staring at me.
“Fuck it,” he whispered, and within seconds, both of us moved towards one another, his lips crashing with mine.
The kiss that followed was neither patient nor romantic, but it was filled with desire.
He bit my lip until I opened my mouth and allowed his tongue to delve deeper inside, exploring my mouth while I did the same to him.
His hands were in my hair, holding and pulling while I held his neck as if it belonged to me.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, but he did not let me go.
We walked inside the penthouse, and the doors shut behind us with a soft, decisive click.
I pulled the mask off first, tossing it onto the console table, and he did the same, his handsome face before me.
We stood facing each other across the living room, and silence stretched between us.
“You don’t get to look at me like that,” I said again, softer this time.
“And how am I looking at you?”
“Like you won.” My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
His hand came up slowly, giving me time to step back, but I didn’t. His movements were slower now, a little less frantic as he brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. The touch was light. Too light that it burned.
“You can say no right now, and I will walk away.”
“I don’t want to,” I replied, much like the first night we had spent together in this penthouse. He had given me the choice to leave and step back again and again, but I had wanted him then. And I wanted him now. I wanted him so much it made me ache.
His eyes darkened at my reply, and that was all it took.
I don’t know who moved first. Maybe we both did.
But suddenly his mouth was on mine again, not gentle, not cautious, not restrained.
Hungry. My hands fisted into the lapels of his tuxedo, dragging him closer.
His fingers gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him.
The kiss wasn’t slow or exploratory, but it was months of tension snapping all at once.
Teeth. Breath. Heat.
I shoved at his jacket, and he shrugged it off without breaking the kiss. It fell somewhere behind him. His hands slid down my back, finding bare skin beneath the silk of the dress. I arched instinctively at the contact.
“Fyodor,” I gasped against his mouth, and he answered by lifting me.
I didn’t protest. My legs wrapped around his waist automatically, dress riding higher as he carried me toward the wall, and my back hit cool marble.
The contrast made me gasp, but I didn’t care.
I was burning up already. His mouth left my lips and began to trail down my jaw and my throat, making me feel everything all at once.
I was soaking wet for him, wanting nothing but his touch all over my body.
“Do you really believe this changes nothing?” he murmured against my skin.
“It doesn’t,” I managed.
“Say it again.”
“It changes nothing.”
But my hands were already tearing at his shirt. He laughed, low and rough, and captured my wrists in one hand, pinning them briefly above my head.
“You don’t get to command and contradict yourself,” he said.
I twisted, breaking free, shoving him back this time. He stumbled half a step, clearly surprised. I grabbed his tie and pulled him down to me.
“Don’t pretend you’re in control,” I breathed.
Something wild flickered in his eyes, and that did it.
He backed me toward the couch, kissing me hard enough to steal my breath.
My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles, and we collided with the edge of the sofa.
I pushed him down this time, and he didn’t resist. Not once.
For a second, I stood over him, breathing hard, dress slightly askew, hair falling loose, and he looked up at me like I was something sacred and sinful all at once. That look alone nearly undid me.
“You started this,” I said.
“You kissed me back just the same,” he countered while I climbed onto his lap.
“That’s not starting.” His hands slid up my thighs, his large palms running over the smooth, sensitive skin that ached for him.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “it was.”
My dress didn’t survive much longer, and neither did his shirt.
With one swift motion, I removed his shirt from his body, revealing his naked, muscular torso, which was dominated by hard lines and sheer power.
He almost tore the dress off me, as if it didn’t even matter that I was wearing couture.
Knowing him, it probably didn’t. We didn’t move toward the bedroom, and we definitely didn’t slow down.
He slid my panties to one side, his fingers finding my weeping cunt urgently and without a second’s delay, he was sliding them inside me while his thumb rubbed my clit with a precision only he had ever matched.
I arched my back, holding onto him with everything I had because nothing else made sense in the moment.
“Yes, yes, please, oh my god,” I shouted, not even caring if anyone heard me.
“Please what, Elisse?” he whispered, continuing with his administration.
“Please make me come like that,” I replied shamelessly, arching my back to feel him even deeper inside.
“Say my name while you beg,” he said, trailing kisses all over my exposed neck.
“Please fuck me, Fyodor, make me come again and again and shout your name as you do it,” I begged, propriety and shame flying out the window.
“Good girl,” he replied, his touch only growing more fervent.
Within seconds, I was arching my back and coming all over his hand while he did not slow down, only making me come a second time in the exact same way.
I did not know it was even possible for me to come this quickly twice within minutes, but Fyodor could make anything possible.
I slumped against him, already feeling spent, but the ache inside me persisted. I still wanted him.
“Look at me.”
I did. His forehead rested against mine.
“You are here because you want to be,” he said.
I could have denied it. Should have. Instead, I kissed him again. Harder. And that was my answer.
“Say it,” he said, his voice rough.
“I am here because I want to be,” I whispered, wanting to feel all of him. Every single inch.
“Good girl,” he said, kissing my eyes softly as I closed them against his lips.
Before I realized what was happening, he tore my panties in two, removing them from my body.
I gasped at the sudden motion, my gaze widening.
He took off his trousers as well, his hard cock springing before me.
Before he could do anything else, I quickly bent down, my mouth salivating at the very sight of him.
“Elisse,” he moaned my name the moment my mouth enclosed around his hardness, and I covered him entirely with my saliva, sucking him so hard that he forgot all else.
Within minutes, I could feel him hardening even further, but before I could make him come, he pulled me off him with a roughness I did not know he possessed and pushed me down on the couch.
“What are you doing?” I protested as he climbed on top of me.
“Shush,” he said, placing a finger on my lips.
I hardly had time to process anything else when he spread my legs unceremoniously and slammed his thick, hard, pulsating cock inside me, making me shout his name at the top of my voice.
Nothing about this was gentle or soft, but it was filled with a passion and desire neither of us knew the other one possessed.
I loved every second of it, my core tightening as he continued to fuck me.
“I am going to come,” I shouted, holding him closer.
“Come for me.”
His words felt like a command as everything around me tightened until I was exploding all over him, and he did just the same, filling me with his cum like nothing else mattered in the moment.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The penthouse was silent except for our breathing.
I could feel my pulse slowly settling as reality crept back in.
He brushed his knuckles lightly down my arm.
“Come here,” he murmured.
“I am here.”
“Not like this.”
Before I could argue, he lifted me effortlessly and carried me down the hallway.
This time towards the bedroom. The lights were low when he stepped inside, but he didn’t set me down immediately.
Just held me. Like I weighed nothing. Like I was something precious.
That should have unsettled me, but instead, it made my chest ache.
He lay me down on the bed gently, no urgency in his movements.
No sharp edges. Just warmth. He climbed in beside me, pulling the sheets over us, and for a second, I hesitated.
Then I moved closer, almost instinctively, my leg sliding between his.
My arm draping over his chest. His hand settled at my waist, and neither of us spoke.
The earlier fire had burned through us, leaving something quieter in its wake.
I rested my head against his shoulder, noticing how his heartbeat was steady beneath my ear.
“You’re not allowed to think this means I forgive you,” I murmured, already half asleep.
“I know.”
My fingers tightened slightly against his skin. “You’re infuriating.”
“I know.”
A faint, exhausted smile curved my mouth as his lips brushed my hair. Soft. Almost reverent. And before I could stop myself, before I could rebuild the walls I’d spent weeks reinforcing, sleep dragged me under, and I stayed there curled against him.
Naked. Breathing in sync. Clinging. As if the world outside that room didn’t exist at all.