Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isla
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say, watching Eli move through his kitchen with surprising confidence. He’s pulling ingredients from a sleek stainless steel fridge, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Carrington.” He glances over his shoulder, a hint of challenge in his smile. “Five years is a long time.”
I lean against the counter, wine glass cradled between my palms.
“Fair enough. So what’s on the menu?”
“Pasta al limone. Simple, but...” He pauses, grabbing fresh thyme from a small herb garden by the window. “Sometimes simple is better.”
“Like tonight?” The words come out softer than I intend.
His hands still for a moment. “Yeah. Like tonight.”
I push off from the counter, drawn into his orbit like always. “Need help?”
“You can start on the garlic.” He slides a cutting board toward me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. “Unless you’ve forgotten how to use a knife?”
“Funny.” But I’m smiling as I grab a clove, the familiar motion of chopping settling my nerves. “I remember someone who could barely boil water in college.”
“I took classes.” He’s beside me now, close enough that our elbows touch as he works. “Needed something to fill the time.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I focus on the sharp scent of garlic, the steady rhythm of my knife against the board.
“Pass the salt?” Eli asks, and when I reach for it, his hand covers mine for a moment longer than necessary.
We fall into an easy rhythm, moving around each other in the kitchen like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The pasta water boils, steam fogging the windows. Eli’s hand finds my waist as he reaches past me for the pepper grinder, and I have to suppress a shiver.
“Try this,” he says, holding out a spoon. His other hand cups beneath it, catching any drops.
I lean in, letting him feed me the sauce. It’s perfect – bright with lemon, rich with butter and cheese. “Damn.”
“Good?”
“You know it’s good.” But I can’t help smiling at the pride in his expression.
The domesticity of it all hits me suddenly – standing in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, tasting his cooking. It’s everything I’ve spent years convincing myself I didn’t want.
“Hey.” Eli’s voice is soft. “Where’d you go?”
I blink, realizing I’ve stopped chopping.
“Nowhere. Just... this is nice.”
“It could be like this, you know.” He turns down the heat under the pasta, turning to face me fully. “It doesn’t always have to be complicated.”
“Doesn’t it?” But there’s no bite to my words, just a quiet wondering.
His hand finds my hip, thumb brushing the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Not unless we make it that way.”
The pasta timer chimes, breaking the moment. We both jump slightly, then laugh, the tension dissolving into something warmer.
“Better plate this before it gets cold,” Eli says, but his touch lingers for a moment longer.
I nod, already missing his warmth when he steps away.
“Can’t let your culinary masterpiece go to waste.”
The city sprawls beneath us, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows. I curl into the corner of Eli’s ridiculously comfortable couch, wine glass balanced on my knee. The pasta plates are empty on the coffee table, evidence of a meal shared without agenda or argument.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Eli’s voice is low, matching the intimate darkness of the room.
I take another sip of wine, buying time. “Just thinking about how different everything is now.”
“Different good or different bad?”
“Different...” I search for the right word. “Unexpected.”
He shifts closer, and I can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of lemon and garlic from cooking.
“You always did hate surprises.”
“I hate not being in control,” I correct him, then wince at my own honesty.
“I know.” His fingers brush my ankle where it’s tucked under me. “So what do you want, Isla? After all this is over?”
The question catches me off guard. We’ve spent so much time talking about the past, about what went wrong, about Wolfe and threats and projects. But the future?
“I...” My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” His touch is gentle but insistent. “You’ve always known what you wanted. You just wouldn’t let yourself have it.”
“That’s not—“ I start to protest, but the words die in my throat. Because he’s right, damn him. “I want something that’s mine,” I finally whisper.
“Something? Or someone?”
I meet his gaze in the darkness. “Both. Neither. I don’t know anymore.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing circles on my skin.
“You already have it, you know. You just have to stop pushing it away.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” He sets his wine glass down, turning to face me fully. “We’re not kids anymore, Isla. We’re not bound by my father’s games or your mother’s fears. We can choose.”
“Choice implies control,” I say softly. “And when have we ever had that?”
“We have it now.” His hand slides up to my knee, warm through the soft cotton of his shirt. “Right here, right now. No crisis, no threats, no expectations. Just us deciding what we want.”
I stare down at his hand on my knee, at the way my skin seems to burn beneath his touch. “And what do you want, Eli?”
“You know what I want.” His voice is rough. “I’ve never hidden that.”
The honesty in his words makes my chest ache. Because he’s right – he’s always been clear about what he wants. It’s me who’s been running, hiding, protecting myself from the possibility of having everything I’ve ever wanted.
I set my wine glass down with trembling fingers.
I open my mouth—to deflect, to retreat—but the words won’t come. Because he’s right. He’s always been right.
I swallow hard. “I want you, Eli.” My voice shakes. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”
His breath catches at my words. In the dim light, I watch his expression shift from surprise to something darker, more intense. He moves slowly, deliberately, closing the space between us on the couch until I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Say that again,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from my knee to my thigh.
He leans closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”
Instead of answering, I close the final inches between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, almost hesitant, but quickly deepens as years of denied wanting crashes over us. His hands tangle in my hair as I shift closer, climbing into his lap.
“Christ, Isla,” he breathes against my mouth, his fingers digging into my hips through the thin cotton of his borrowed shirt.
I rock against him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His hands slide under the shirt, finding bare skin, and I shiver at the contact.
“Bedroom,” he manages between kisses. “Now.”
“Too far,” I protest, my fingers working his shirt buttons open. The sight of his bare chest makes my mouth go dry, and I can’t resist running my hands over his skin.
Eli’s breath catches at my touch.
“Isla...” He kisses me again, deeper this time, as his hands slide higher under my borrowed shirt.
“Take it off,” he says roughly, tugging at the cotton. I lift my arms, letting him pull the shirt over my head. His eyes darken as he looks at me, hands warm on my waist.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he murmurs, leaning down to press kisses along my neck. I arch into him, fumbling with his belt buckle until it finally gives way. Together, we push his slacks and boxers down his hips.
He hooks his fingers in my panties, pausing to meet my eyes.
“These need to go.”
“Then do something about it,” I challenge, and his answering smile makes heat pool in my stomach.
The lace tears under his hands.
“I’ll replace them,” he says against my skin, laying me back on the couch.
I arch beneath him, his body hot and heavy against mine. His mouth trails from my neck to my throat, each kiss making me gasp. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips find my breast.
“Eli,” I moan, arching up toward him, my back bowing as his lips close around my nipple.
“Eli,” I moan, arching up toward him, my back bowing as his lips close around my nipple.
My head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks gently, his tongue swirling over the tight bud. The sensation shoots straight to my core, and I’m suddenly wet, needy, every nerve ending on fire.
He lifts his head, eyes dark with desire.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
I reach up, pulling his face to mine, claiming his mouth, and in that moment, there’s nothing else—only heat, only us. I can feel it in the way his body moves against mine, the hard length of him pressing between my legs.
He pulls back slightly, meeting my gaze, and for a moment, all I see is the raw, naked need in his eyes. Then his mouth is on mine again, his lips slanting across mine, and I can’t think. His kisses are hungry, insistent, his tongue delving between my lips.
We roll across the couch, a tangle of arms and legs and mouths, and I’m suddenly on top, straddling his hard thighs, my hair curtaining our faces.
“Christ,” he groans as I settle against him, his thick cock pressing against my core. His palms slide up my thighs, and I feel the dampness between my legs, the slickness of wanting.
“I’ve dreamt of having you like this.” He grips my hips, guiding me as I position myself above him. I cry out as I take him in, my inner walls stretching to accommodate his thickness. His hands are gentle but insistent, easing me down, and I clench around him, needing to adjust to his size.
“So fucking tight,” he grits out, his head falling back, his throat working as he swallows a groan. “Isla, move.”
I rise up on my knees, then sink back down, and we both moan at the sensation. This angle is deeper, fuller, and I rock my hips slowly, savoring the way he stretches and fills me. His thumbs press into the soft skin of my inner thighs as I set a steady pace, losing myself in the slide of his cock.
His hands slide up to my breasts, thumbs brushing my already peaked nipples. I lean forward, bracing my palms on his chest as I thrust down, and he swears, his hands moving down my torso to grip my hips again, his touch demanding.
“Harder,” he commands, and I obey, snapping my hips down with a sharp cry as he slams up into me.
The angle is perfect, his cock hitting every inch of me, and I can feel the pleasure coiling tight and hot in my belly. My inner walls flutter around him, and I quicken my pace, chasing the orgasm that teeters just out of reach.
Eli’s hands move to my waist, and he flips us with surprising strength, pinning me to the couch. I cry out at the sudden loss of control, and he takes advantage, thrusting deep into me, grunting as he drives forward.
He’s watching me, eyes dark and hungry, and I meet his gaze, reveling in the raw hunger there.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips snapping forward, his cock burying inside me over and over. “You’re so—“ thrust “—fucking—” thrust “—beautiful—” thrust “—like this,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So wet—” thrust “—so tight—” thrust.
His words trigger a coil of sensation between my legs, and my inner walls clench around him as the pleasure crests. “Eli, oh God, Eli.”
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” His words are ragged, his hips slapping against mine, and I shatter, crying out as my orgasm rips through me. My inner walls clench around his cock, milking him as my body pulses with pleasure.
I feel him swell inside me, and he thrusts deep, his cock jerking as he fills me with his release. I hold him close, burying my face in his neck as he muffles his groans against my skin. Our ragged breaths mix as we come down from our high, my inner walls rippling softly around him.
“Fuck,” he manages finally, his arms tightening around me. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Yeah?” I murmur, tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I thought you were in control of your urges.”
“Not when it comes to you, apparently.” He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him so I’m draped across his chest, and I laugh, still feeling boneless and sated.
“This couch is exceptionally comfortable,” I comment, nuzzling into his neck, already half-asleep.
“Mmm.” I feel his chest rumble with amusement. “I’m pleased you appreciate my interior decorating skills.”
I laugh softly, curling closer. But even as I breathe him in, something tugs at the edges of my mind. What happens when the world comes back?
“Your skills are exceptional.” I kiss his throat, already wanting another taste of him. “Exceptional in all areas.”
“Oh, we’re not nearly done yet, Isla.” His voice drops an octave, and something in his tone makes my pulse kick up. “There’s plenty more for me to show you.”
His words thrill me, and I want to ask for more, but he’s already moving, shifting himself back between my thighs. I sigh at the fullness as he enters me again, already eager for another round.