Chapter 21 Forbidden Desires
FORBIDDEN DESIRES
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The café noise seemed to dim around us, like someone had lowered the volume on the world. I was still half-caught in his grip, his hands firm around my arms, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of my dress.
Close.
Too close.
Close enough that I could see the faint shadow along his jaw, the slight darkening of his lashes where they framed those pale blue eyes.
And I was staring. Not in fear and not in defiance.
Just… staring.
Because there was something in his expression that stole thought from me entirely.
A quiet intensity, like a claim he hadn’t yet voiced.
My pulse thudded against my ribs as I realized I wasn’t trying to step away.
I wasn’t trying to break his hold. I was simply looking up at him like some foolish girl who had never seen a man before.
But what unsettled me most was that, for one fleeting and reckless second, I wanted him to kiss me.
The thought struck like lightning, sudden and impossible to ignore.
Yet I didn’t even question it like I should have done.
Didn’t question why the crowded café had faded to nothing.
Didn’t question why my body leaned into him instead of away.
I did, however, question why his gaze suddenly darkened.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Eliza.
” The words came low, almost rough, threaded with warning.
That was when I felt it. The tension in his hands.
Not possessive, not cruel, but deliberately controlled.
As if he were holding something back with visible effort and my breath hitched as instinct finally returned.
However, the second I tried to step back, his eyes glowed enough to have me tensing in his hold as he created resistance.
It wasn’t forceful but, instead, just a subtle tightening of his fingers around my arms. As though his body had reacted before his mind allowed his hands to release me and, for a fraction of a second, we both felt it. This undeniable pull between us, one, it seemed, we both questioned.
Then, he let go.
Although, he didn’t do so abruptly or carelessly, but instead with intention. As though he were peeling his hands away from something far more dangerous than a mortal woman in a coffee shop.
I swallowed and took a half-step back, heat still prickling across my skin.
He shifted first, guiding me with a light pressure at my elbow, back toward the queue as if this were the most natural continuation in the world.
The line had moved but people had barely glanced at us.
Life had just carried on, unaware of the fracture that had just opened and closed between us.
He then stepped in behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him along my spine. Close enough that retreat was no longer an option without making a scene.
“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.
“We can’t have you fainting from hunger before I’ve decided what to do with you now, can we?” he replied smoothly, and in a playful way that made me shiver against him.
The casual, teasing tone unsettled me more than dominance would have. But then he leaned down slightly, just enough that his voice brushed against my ear instead of carrying across the room.
“What do you drink?”
My traitorous brain scrambled to function.
“Vanilla latte,” I murmured like I was on autopilot.
He stepped forward with me as the line shifted again, his knuckles rapping lightly against the glass display case as he examined the rows of pastries inside. Cinnamon rolls glazed thick with icing. Croissants dusted in sugar. Chocolate muffins bursting at the top.
“And for food?” he prompted, glancing down at me, and the nearness of him made coherent thoughts nearly impossible.
“Cinnamon roll, please,” I replied, managing some semblance of politeness this time. He nodded once, then looked to the barista with composed authority.
“One vanilla latte, one cinnamon roll, and a black coffee, please,” he ordered, and I couldn’t help my comment from slipping from under my breath before I could stop it,
“Of course he takes it black.”
His mouth curved at that, and something warm brushed the back of my neck as he leaned slightly closer again.
“Is that surprising?”
“No, just predictable,” I answered honestly, and a quiet chuckle that vibrated behind me was my only reply. One that sounded far too pleased by my comment, making me question why?
And that was the most unsettling part about all this. It wasn’t that he had followed me in here or the way he stood too close. No, it was that he behaved as though this had always been the plan and the only reason he let me out of his car in the first place.
He paid without looking at the total, telling her to keep the change that ended up being double the price of our order.
I wanted to scoff when the girl looked up at him like he was some handsome superhero that had exchanged a cape for a business suit.
Although, he paid her little attention, instead picking up our tray and walking away from the counter, leaving me to follow.
The café was even busier now, every table occupied with voices overlapping in comfortable chaos.
I instinctively searched for seating and found none, but Oblivion didn’t appear concerned.
He simply paused just inside the seating area, scanning the room with quiet precision, and not in the least bit hurried.
I found myself watching him instead of the tables.
“What are you doing?” I asked softly.
His gaze shifted toward the far corner where a small two-seat table sat tucked against the window, half-shadowed from the main traffic of the café.
Most likely the most intimate and secluded table in the place.
One currently occupied by a man hunched over a laptop, an empty cup abandoned beside him.
Oblivion’s expression didn’t change as he made the smallest motion with his hand, barely more than a subtle flex of his fingers.
And across the room, the man froze. Then, without hesitation, he closed his laptop, slid it into his bag, and gathered his things like some mindless drone.
Just like the way he rose from the table as though he was sleepwalking, going through the motions of simply existing.
He even dropped his empty cup at the counter on his way past and exited without once glancing back.
I stared, my mouth dropping open as I realized what just happened. As for Oblivion, he began walking toward the now vacant table and, once more, I was left to follow, now asking,
“Did you just make him move?”
He glanced down at me and gave me the faintest wink. And damn him for making it look too fucking sexy that my ovaries started to practically sing like some Disney princess that just found her prince.
“That is so unethical,” I muttered, though I followed him anyway.
He set the tray down and, with infuriating composure, pulled the chair out for me.
I hesitated only a second before sitting, wondering now when I would become just another mindless drone.
When he would tire of me and simply force his will upon me.
But more than anything else, I asked myself… why hadn’t he done it already?
I then remembered what my coffee was missing, so before he could take his seat, I was up and out of mine.
I felt him pause, at the ready to react as he watched me walk toward the condiment station nearby.
No doubt only relaxing when he saw his prisoner only wanted some sugar.
I quickly grabbed a small handful before sitting back down.
I then caught the corner of his mouth twitching as he eyed the unhealthy amount of packets now piled up next to my cup.
Not that I was surprised, as he seemed to notice everything when it came to me.
The only thing I didn’t yet know was why?
I peeled open the first packet and poured it in, trying to ignore his gaze. Especially when I added the second and then the third before, yes, the fourth one went in. All the while he reclined in his chair, observing me with a quiet, unsettling fascination.
“A little coffee with your sugar this morning?” he remarked lightly before adding,
“No wonder you were desperate.”
I paused mid-pour and looked up.
“Desperate?” I repeated with a wry look.
“I believe I understand now,” he continued.
“Understand what exactly?” I asked, my curiosity outweighing any sense of what was good for me.
“You weren’t defiant, you were merely under-caffeinated and an addict in need of her sugar fix,” he said with a grin, and despite how sexy it made him look, I managed to suppress my usual staring like some sex starved manic and scoffed instead.
I then argued,
“I am not a sugar addict.”
His gaze dropped pointedly to the small mountain of empty packets accumulating beside my cup. I hesitated, one final unopened packet between my fingers.
He raised a brow in silent challenge when I slowly set it down instead.
That did it, as the next thing I knew, he was laughing.
And not the restrained, knowing exhale I’d heard before.
Nor the cool amusement he wielded like a weapon.
No, this was different. It was warmer and unguarded.
A sound that caught me completely off balance.
But it was more than that, of course. It was the fact that his entire face transformed when he laughed.
That overlord essence of his now softening around the edges into something almost boyish.
And fuck me, if I thought he had been handsome before, dangerously so, well now this… this was unfair.
Which was why I naturally found myself staring again.
“What?” he asked, his gaze catching the lustful expression I hadn’t managed to hide.
So, I shook my head faintly and muttered,
“It’s not fair.” My gaze purposely remained on my coffee that I was still stirring. Because, admittedly, there was still enough sugar at the bottom that refused to dissolve.
His brows drew together as he pushed for more.
“What’s not fair?”
I released a sigh and blurted out before I could stop myself,
“That someone as dangerous as you gets to look like that.”
Silence.
Then came the faintest flush that crept along his high cheekbones, dusting his porcelain skin with the palest of pinks.
He looked almost… uncertain.
“I assure you, it has caused me no particular advantage,” he replied carefully, and I stared at him in obvious disbelief.
“You cannot be serious,” I stated, and his mouth curved slightly because if it.
“I know I am not an ogre, if that’s what you mean,” he teased, and I rolled my eyes, muttering,
“So, this is the part where you downplay it.”
He inclined his head with careless ease, as though being that dangerously beautiful required no effort at all.
“Well, I assume there’s a harem of gorgeous witches somewhere on standby just in case you require admiration,” I muttered under my breath as I reached for my cup.
His eyes flashed with genuine amusement before he replied smoothly,
“Far from it, I assure you.”
I glanced at him over the rim of my cup.
“Once again, that sounds suspiciously modest.”
“It is factual,” he replied, before adding over the rim of his own cup,
“Besides, witches are rarely so compliant.”
That earned another startled laugh from me before I could stop it.
A sound that consisted of my usual comical laugh that started with a serious of teehee sounds before finishing with a heehoo.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, then promptly froze in place, heat flooding my cheeks.
But instead of mocking me, he tilted his head, studying me with a faint curve to his mouth, as though my ridiculous laugh had just become his new favorite sound.
“Is that what you sound like when you’re trying to behave?” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on mine.
“Because that was entirely endearing.”
If I had thought a single look from him could make me blush, then the smoldering one he was giving me now could have set my cheeks ablaze.
“A sound you will never hear again if I can help it,” I countered, trying to salvage what little dignity I had left, but it was what he said next that truly sent my pulse spiking.
“That sounds like a challenge, and one I readily accept, which brings me to my next question…” He paused long enough for me to take the bait.
“Which is?”
“Are you ticklish?” I laughed and only just managed to end it before it turned into another symphony of teehees and heehoos.
But my laughter lingered longer than I expected, bright and unguarded in a way that felt almost reckless considering who was sitting across from me.
For a second, I stopped trying so hard to stay composed and just reacted.
When I looked at him again, he had gone still, studying me like my laughter had given him something else to think about.
“You should be careful,” he said at last, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful rather than admonishing.
“Of witches?” I teased lightly, leaning back in my chair and trying to pretend he didn’t affect me the way he did.
“No,” he replied, and this time his gaze did not waver from mine.
“Of assuming you are the only one who finds the other… desirable.”
The words were delivered with such measured smoothness that it took my brain a second to process them. When it did, heat climbed steadily up my neck, blooming beneath my skin. But I was left asking myself what now felt like the most important question of all.
Did he desire me despite it being forbidden?
Or did he…
Desire me because it was?