Chapter 23 - Eve
The car glides through the city streets, carrying us back to the penthouse in silence. I stare out the window at the blur of lights, my mind still spinning from our evening together.
Nathan's hand finds mine on the seat between us, his fingers threading through mine with surprising gentleness. I don't pull away. I'm too tired to fight anymore.
When we arrive at the penthouse, the silence follows us inside. Nathan loosens his tie as we enter, the gesture drawing my eyes to the strong column of his throat.
"I have some financial reports to review," he says, moving toward his study. But as he passes me, he stops.
For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us crackling with tension. Then his hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"Eve," he says, my name a rough whisper.
Then he kisses me.
It's not gentle. Not asking permission. His mouth claims mine with a fierce hunger that steals my breath, one hand fisting in my hair to tilt my head back, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
My hands find his shirt, gripping the expensive fabric, and I don't know if I'm trying to push him away or pull him closer. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding, possessive, and a sound escapes me that's half protest, half surrender.
He makes a low growl in response, backing me against the wall, his body flush against mine. I can feel every hard plane of him, feel the evidence of how much he wants me pressing against my hip, and heat pools low in my stomach despite everything.
His hand slides from my hip to my thigh, hitching my leg up slightly, and the new angle makes me gasp against his mouth. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, consuming me with an intensity that feels like drowning and flying all at once.
I bite his lower lip—whether in retaliation or invitation, I'm not sure—and he groans, his grip on my hair tightening just enough to send sparks down my spine. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, and I'm lost in it, in him, in this terrible, intoxicating thing between us.
His lips leave mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, finding the sensitive spot below my ear that makes me arch against him.
"God, Eve," he breathes against my skin, his voice rough with desire. "You're killing me."
His hands are everywhere—sliding down my back, gripping my waist, one hand cupping my breast through the fabric of my dress. Every touch sets me on fire, awakens something primal and desperate inside me.
I pull him back to my mouth, kissing him with a hunger I didn't know I possessed. My fingers find his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. The sound goes straight through me, pooling heat low in my belly.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are nearly black with desire, his lips swollen from our kisses. He looks wild. Undone.
I probably look the same.
"Eve—" He stops, closing his eyes briefly. "Enough."
He releases me abruptly and steps back, and the sudden absence of his body is almost painful. Cold air rushes in where his warmth had been, and I feel the loss of it like a physical ache.
Without another word, he turns and walks toward his study, his movements rigid with barely contained desire.
I'm left standing against the wall, my body aching, my lips swollen, my skin flushed with unfulfilled desire. The kiss awakened something in me—something that refuses to be ignored.
My body is screaming for more. For completion. For him.
I watch his study door close behind him, and the ache between my thighs intensifies. My skin feels too sensitive, every nerve ending alive and demanding. I can still taste him on my lips, still feel the phantom touch of his hands on my body.
I move to the living room on unsteady legs, trying to read, trying to distract myself. But every word on the page blurs together. All I can think about is his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the way he looked at me like I was everything.
An hour passes. Then another. I hear the rustle of papers from his study, the clink of ice in a glass. But the sound of his presence only makes the ache worse.
My entire body is humming with need. Want. The kind of desperate desire I've never felt before, that makes rational thought impossible.
I don't want to think anymore. Don't want to analyze or weigh my options. I just want to feel. Want him. Want the oblivion his touch promises.
I set down my book and stand, my decision made before I'm fully conscious of making it.
I walk through the penthouse, past the office where Nathan sits reading business reports, past the guest rooms and the library, and all the beautiful, empty spaces.
I walk to his bedroom.
Our bedroom, I suppose.
I push open the door and step inside. The lights are off, but the city provides illumination through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I can see the bed, massive and perfectly made. The chair where he drapes his suits. The nightstand with a single book—a biography of some long-dead emperor.
I close the door behind me and start to undress.
The zipper of my dress sounds loud in the quiet. I let the fabric pool at my feet and step out of it, leaving me in just my bra and panties.
Then I remove those too.
I stand naked in Nathan's bedroom, and I wait.
I don't have to wait long.
I hear his footsteps in the hall. A pause outside the door. Then it opens, and he's there, silhouetted against the hallway light.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.
Then Nathan steps inside and closes the door behind him.
"Eve," he says quietly. "What are you doing?"
"Making a choice," I whisper. "The only real choice I have left."
He crosses the room slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. When he reaches me, his hands settle on my waist, warm and possessive.
"And what choice is that?"
"You," I say simply. "I choose you. All of you. Even the parts that terrify me."
His hands tighten on my waist. "You don't have to—"
"I know," I interrupt. "That's what makes it a choice."
He searches my face in the dim light, looking for doubt, for fear, for any sign that I don't mean this.
But I do. God help me, I do.
"I love you," he says, his voice raw. "I know I've never said it properly, but Eve, I love you. More than I've ever loved anything."
Tears prick my eyes. "I know. And that's what makes this so terrible. Because I—"
I can't finish. Can't say the words aloud.
But he knows. I see it in his eyes.
"I love you too," I whisper, and it feels like a confession and a condemnation all at once.
He kisses me then, deep and consuming, and I kiss him back with everything I have. All my fear. All my longing. All my terrible, complicated love for this beautiful monster.
He lays me down on the bed with a reverence that makes my chest ache. His hands shake slightly as he undresses, and I realize he's nervous. Nathan Hale, who controls everything and everyone, is nervous.
It makes him human. Vulnerable.
It makes me love him more.
He settles beside me, propped on one elbow, and just looks at me. His hand traces the line of my collarbone, down between my breasts, across the soft curve of my stomach.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Every inch of you."
I blush, and he smiles.
"I love when you blush. Love knowing I can still affect you like this."
His hand moves lower, and I gasp when his fingers find the heat between my legs. But he doesn't rush. Doesn't take. Just explores with infinite patience, watching my face as I respond to his touch.
"Tonight isn't about control," he says softly. "Tonight is about worship. I'm going to worship every inch of you, Eve. Make you understand exactly how precious you are to me."
He kisses down my body, his lips and tongue mapping every curve. He spends long minutes at my breasts, sucking and teasing until I'm writhing beneath him. Then he moves lower, kissing the soft flesh of my stomach, the curve of my hip.
"Nathan," I breathe, my hands tangling in his hair.
"Let me," he murmurs against my skin. "Let me show you."
When his mouth finds my center, I arch off the bed with a cry. He holds me steady, his hands gripping my thighs, and devours me like I'm something sacred.
His tongue works me with devastating precision, knowing exactly where to lick, where to suck, where to tease. He builds me up slowly, relentlessly, until I'm sobbing with need.
"Please," I gasp. "Nathan, please—"
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, and he doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm trembling and boneless.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are wet with me, and his eyes are dark with desire.
"That's one," he says. "We're just getting started."
He moves up my body and kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His hardness presses against my thigh, but he makes no move to take his own pleasure.
Instead, he continues his worship. Kissing. Touching. Whispering praise against my skin.
"Perfect," he murmurs. "So fucking perfect. Made for me. Only for me."
His hands map my body like he's memorizing it. Every curve. Every soft place. Every sensitive spot that makes me gasp.
When he finally settles between my legs, I'm already trembling with anticipation.
He enters me slowly, inch by exquisite inch, his eyes locked on mine. The stretch is perfect, the fullness overwhelming.
"Eve," he breathes, and my name has never sounded like such a prayer.
He starts to move, long, slow strokes that make me feel every ridge, every vein. It's not fucking. It's not even sex.
It's worship. Pure and simple.
He makes love to me like I'm something holy. Something precious. Something worth destroying the world for.
And maybe I am. To him, at least.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans. His control is slipping, I can feel it in the way his rhythm stutters, the way his muscles tense.
"Come for me," I whisper. "Nathan, please. I want to feel you."
He buries his face in my neck and drives into me harder, faster. His hand finds my clit, circling with perfect pressure, and I climb again.
We come together, his name on my lips and mine on his, our bodies locked in perfect synchronicity.
Afterward, he holds me against his chest, our breathing slowly returning to normal. His hand strokes my hair with infinite gentleness.
"I love you," he whispers into the darkness. "God, Eve, I love you so much it terrifies me."
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I love you too. Even though I shouldn't. Even though it's probably going to destroy me."
"I won't let anything destroy you," he says fiercely. "Not even me."
I want to believe him. Want to believe in this beautiful lie we're living.
So I close my eyes and let myself drift, safe in the arms of my beautiful monster, and pray that this happiness can last.
Even though I know, deep down, that all happiness built on lies eventually crumbles.
But tonight, I don't care.
Tonight, I choose the lie.
Tonight, I choose him.