Chapter 34 Tipping Point
Tipping Point
Emily's Search History: Is it bad to want your stalker to take control?
Emily
The room smells like blood and sweat and fear, but all I can feel is him.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Eli murmurs.
I nod, but my legs shake as he leads me upstairs. The house feels too quiet, too normal, after what’s just happened.
In the kitchen, he pours me a glass of water, and I grip it with both hands to steady myself. Eli nudges me gently into a chair by the table. “I’m going to shower, then we’ll eat, okay?” His voice is low, soothing, with a hint of worry beneath it.
When he leaves, the silence feels unnatural.
Something has shifted in the way I see Eli over the past week. Ever since he gave me my freedom back—and since seeing how determined he is to keep me safe—I can’t help but see the good in him.
I think it’s his fear of losing me that draws me to him most. The pure need he has to stay close.
My heart rate finally slows as I sit with my thoughts.
Graham appears from nowhere and headbutts my leg. I scratch behind his ear before he meanders off again.
Footsteps sound on the stairs, and then Eli reappears.
My heart kicks back up at the sight of him—fresh from the shower, smelling faintly of his cinnamon bodywash, with damp hair sticking to his face and droplets of water beading along his skin.
God, he’s beautiful.
His face lights up the moment he sees me.
It feels like we’re at a tipping point. One where I have to decide which direction to fall. Do I step back? Escape? Or do I dive headfirst into a man who’s shown me, again and again, that he’d do anything for me—anything to keep me safe.
The threat of Liam has passed. And Gia? Well, she hasn’t made any moves. Maybe she won’t.
If I wanted to leave… now would be the time.
Eli grabs a pizza from the fridge and slides it into the oven. It’s late, so I can’t blame him for not wanting to cook.
Thirty minutes later, we’ve eaten and are helping each other with the few dishes that need cleaning—I’m washing, he’s drying.
I sneak a glance at him, and the plate in my hand slips. He’s instantly there, wrapping his hands around mine to keep it from falling.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice gravelly.
His fingers linger on my skin for a beat longer than necessary before he lets go.
I lick my lips.
His eyes track the movement, heat sparking to life.
I’ve made my decision.
Eli
Emily’s breath hitches as I reach over her head to place the plate in the cupboard. I should step back. I don’t.
Instead, I let the tension build. My cock is rock hard, and I can see the moment she feels it. Her pupils dilate, her lips parting just slightly.
I wait to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t move. Disappointment floods me.
I take a step back. But then her fingers grip the fabric of my t-shirt, halting me.
“What do you want, Angel?” I ask, desperately trying to maintain control. I want her to want me. To take what she wants.
Her fingers tighten on my top. Then she’s dragging me closer. My arms case either side of her, trapping her against the counter. But I don’t do anything else. Don’t dare break the moment.
Finally—finally—after what feels like a lifetime, she reaches up to cup the back of my neck, pulling my face down to hers. Our mouths are close enough that I can feel her breath against my lips.
I groan.
She presses her lips to mine.
It’s the sweetest reward in the world.
Yes, I’ve already made her come. Yes, I’ve already tasted her delicious pussy. But this time, she’s choosing it. She’s initiating it.
Her mouth parts on a sigh, and I eagerly swipe my tongue inside. Her hips rock against mine. My control snaps.
My palms come under her thighs, and then I’m lifting her into the air, walking us up the stairs.
I’m painfully aware of how fragile this moment is. How she could change her mind at any second.
Gently laying her on the bed, I chase her mouth with mine, rocking my hips against hers, letting her feel how much I need her.
I’m not a soft and gentle guy. But I know that this first time needs that. I can be patient.
Emily pushes at my top, trying to remove it. I grab the hem with one hand and pull it off, leaning back on my knees. She audibly gulps, tracing the patterns of my tattoos with her eyes.
“Eli,” she whispers, feathering her fingers down my chest, then my abs, resting them on the button of my jeans.
“I’m yours, Angel,” I confess, though I’m sure she already knows. “Do what you want with me.”
She pops the button. Then slides the zip down.
I stand from the bed, and push my jeans off my hips, letting them and my briefs hit the floor in a soft thud.
“I don’t like being the only one naked,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.
She bites her lips gently, a moment of hesitation passing before she reaches to pull her top over her head. God, she’s gorgeous. All that tanned, soft skin.
My patience fraying, I pull her body towards me, then grip the waistband of her joggers. I wait, needing her confirmation in this moment. Her chin dips.
Then she’s deliciously naked and spread out like a feast just for me. My eyes roam over her exposed flesh as I move to crawl over her.
She tries to push me away, covering her soft curves like she’s trying to hide from me. That pisses me off.
“Why are you trying to hide from me?” I growl, my voice rough with desire.
Her chest rises and falls in quick breaths, her amber eyes clouded with lust—but also something else. A flicker of embarrassment. It stops me in my tracks.
I pull back slightly, my gaze sweeping over her body, taking in every part of her. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Angel. Why would you ever think you need to hide yourself?”
She tries to pull me back down, her hands pressing against my chest, but I’m not ready to let this go. Not yet.
“You know how sexy I find you,” I murmur, my voice soft but firm. “So what is it?”
She groans in frustration and covers her face with her hands. The soft sound of her voice, muffled by her fingers, makes my chest tighten.
I take hold of her wrists, intertwining our fingers, forcing her to look at me. “Tell me,” I insist.
“It’s just my stomach…” she trails off, her voice small, like she’s unsure if it even matters.
“This stomach?” I ask, my fingers brushing over her skin, just above her stomach. “This one?” I punctuate my words by lowering my head to kiss the soft curve of her belly. My hands trail up her sides, sliding over her waist, grabbing handfuls of her.
Her giggle is soft, but it does something to me. It’s like a breath of fresh air.
I lift my head, staring into her eyes. “You’re perfect, Emily.” I kiss her again, gentle, almost reverent, before continuing. “There’s nothing about you that I want to hide, and I’m not going to let you feel like you need to.”
I feel her softening beneath me, her hands resting on my chest, but her gaze is still uncertain.
"Tell me it’s okay,” I murmur. “Tell me I can make you feel like you deserve.”
Her breath hitches, but she nods, just a small tilt of her head, like she’s giving me permission.
I lower my mouth to her breast, keeping my eyes locked on hers as I wrap my lips around the stiff peak of her dark nipple. She exhales shakily and moans as I swirl my tongue around the sensitive bud.
Her tits require worship in the highest form, and that’s what I do, biting and sucking as her hips jolt, desperate for friction.
Meanwhile, my hand trails down her stomach and between her thighs.
Before I touch her, something nags at me. I pause, stroking her inner thighs.
“Have you been with a man before?”
She pushes onto her forearms, spluttering. “Eli, please tell me you’re not the kind of man who expects virginity.”
Do I want to think of any man—or woman—touching her? No. I want them dead. All of them. I want to erase every hand but mine.
“No,” I say. “But your ex is a woman. So… have you been with men too?”
Her expression softens. “Yes, but not many.”
A flicker of disappointment flashes through me—stupid, primal—but I swallow it.
I kiss her, lowering her back into the pillow, her hair fanning out like a halo.
Then, I finally brush against her clit. God, it’s been too long since I touched her here. Sinking a finger into her, I almost groan at how her pussy sucks me in.
How the fuck will I cope when I’m actually inside her?
I might have to stitch us together so I never have to leave.
Food for fucking thought.
I scissor my fingers while my thumb circles her clit until she’s thrashing, crying out.
I can’t wait a second longer.
Gripping my insanely hard dick, I position myself on my knees, one hand on her hip.
Emily looks up at me with so much trust in her eyes my heart almost cracks open.
I love her.
I’ve known it since the moment I saw her. But now? It’s undeniable.
“I’m fucking you bare,” I tell her, daring her to protest.
She doesn’t. Instead, she grins, licking her lips.
I push inside slowly, inch by inch, savouring the drag of her body welcoming mine. The groan that tears out of me is inhuman.
She clenches around me and I swear we fuse. One body. One breath. One fucking eternity.
Her back arches, head tipping into the pillow.
I pull back, then push forward—not fucking, not rutting—something slower. Something deeper.
I think this is what they call making love.
My mouth finds hers, my arms holding my weight as I move with her, our breaths mingling, tongues tangling.
This is it.
Heaven.
Me and my angel.