Chapter 3 #2
He shifts closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. My eyes lock with his, and for a moment, neither of us moves. I see something flicker in his eyes—hesitation? uncertainty?—before he leans in.
His lips brush against mine, feather-light. My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into the touch. It's sweet, almost chaste, but even this careful press of his lips against mine makes me dizzy with want.
Elias pulls back a little, his hand still cradling my face. "Okay?"
This time, I lean in. My lips find his, and between the first kiss and this, something snaps between us.
Suddenly, it becomes hot and urgent and demanding, my free hand comes up to grip his shirt as I let out a low, long moan.
He responds immediately, the careful control from a moment ago shattered.
His hand slides into my hair, fisting gently, holding me where he wants me. I make a sound, and his deep groan vibrates through me. His mouth opens against mine, his tongue teases the seam of my lips until I part for him.
The first touch of his tongue against mine sends liquid heat flooding through my body. Ten years of wanting pour out of me as I press closer, desperate for more. All pretense of practice forgotten.
I've never been kissed like this, like he can't get enough. My hands clutch at his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I can reach, needing to feel more of him.
Without breaking the kiss, he tugs me closer until I'm climbing onto his lap, my thighs on either side of his. In this position, I can feel him hard beneath me, and the realization sends a shock of pure desire straight to my core. I rock against him instinctively, seeking friction.
He groans into my mouth, his hands grip my hips. "Elise."
Hearing my name in that wrecked voice short-circuits my brain. I rock against him again, more deliberately this time, and his fingers dig into my hips, guiding my movements. The pressure against my center is exquisite torture. Not enough, but so good it makes me gasp.
Elias's mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck.
The scrape of teeth against my sensitive skin has me arching into him, my head falls back to give him better access.
He takes full advantage, his tongue soothing the spots his teeth have marked, sucking gently at the junction where my neck meets my shoulder.
He runs his pointed tongue along that groove above my collarbone, then flicks it up my neck. .
I'm making sounds I don't recognize, little gasps and moans that would embarrass me if I could think clearly. But all I can focus on is the sensation of his mouth on my skin, his hands on my body, the hard length of him pressed against me.
My hands find his hair, gripping the soft strands, tugging slightly. He groans against my collarbone, apparently liking it, so I do it again, harder. His hips buck up against mine in response, and we both gasp at the friction.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him desperately. One of his hands slides under my shirt, spreading wide and warm against my lower back. My skin burns wherever he touches, and I want more.
I want his hands everywhere.
In a moment of boldness, I grab the hem of Elias's shirt and tug upward.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, and then I'm staring at his bare chest, all sculpted muscle and smooth skin.
I run my hands over him, exploring what I've only seen from a distance, tracing the definition of his abs, his pecs, his shoulders.
"You too," he says, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second. Not because I don't want to, but because I suddenly remember this is Elias asking to see me half-naked, before lifting my arms in silent permission.
He pulls my shirt off slowly, his eyes darkening as more skin is revealed. I'm wearing a simple beige bra, nothing fancy, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm in the most expensive lingerie.
"God, Elise." His hands come up to span my waist. "You're so beautiful."
He pulls me back to him, and the feeling of skin against skin is electric. I grind down against him with more purpose now, the ache between my legs demanding attention. His hands roam my back, my sides, skimming the outer curve of my breasts but not quite touching where I need him to.
I roll my hips in a circle, and his head falls back against the couch, eyes closing briefly. "Fuck," he hisses, hands gripping my hips tighter, controlling my movements now. He guides me into a rhythm that has both of us breathing hard.
All of a sudden, Elias's forehead drops to my shoulder, his breathing ragged.
I freeze, confusion cutting through the haze of my desire. His hands move from my waistband to rest more safely on my hips, and he pulls back to look at me, his eyes still dark with want but now showing something like restraint.
It's like a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.
"Elise…"
"That was practice, right?" I say, the word tasting false on my tongue.
"Yeah, okay. Just practice."
Awkwardly, I climb off his lap, immediately missing the contact and the warmth. I grab my shirt from the floor and pull it back on, using the moment to collect myself. My legs are shaky, my body still humming with unsatisfied need.
I sit beside him again, smoothing my hair, trying to slow my racing heart.
After what feels like an eternity, he clears his throat and nods toward the stack of papers on my desk.
"Is this novel finished?"
"Well, Y-yeah. My latest attempt. Probably not my final, final draft."
"Can I read some?"
"It's not ... Ummm, I mean, it's still rough, and—"
"Please? I'd really like to."
How can I say no when he's looking at me like that? I nod, and he stands, crossing to my desk. He picks up the manuscript with careful hands, like he's handling something from the 1400s. Almost expect to see him blow dust and cobwebs off it.
"Make yourself comfortable," I say, gesturing to the couch as if he has any other place to sit. "It's about 200 pages so far."
He settles back on the couch with the pages, and I busy myself in the kitchen area, making tea. When I return, he's already absorbed, turning pages with focused attention.
I sit on the other end of the couch, sipping my tea and trying not to stare at him as he reads. It's intimate in a different way, watching someone experience my words, my imagination. I see his reactions—the slight widening of his eyes, the way he leans forward, the small smile.
An hour passes, a comfortable silence broken only by the sound of turning pages. I grab a book to distract myself, but find I'm reading the same paragraph over and over, too aware of him beside me.
Finally, he looks up, setting the manuscript down carefully. "Elise, this is really good. Like, really good."
I wave a dismissive hand. "You don't have to—"
"I'm serious. This is publishable. Better than half the horror novels I've read."
I want to ignore it, but a warm glow spreads through my chest. "Thank you."
"Can I show this to someone I know? I have a contact who might be interested."
I blink in surprise. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to."
"Yeah. Sure. Okay."
Eventually, he glances at his watch. "I should probably head out. I have an early practice tomorrow."
I nod, ignoring the disappointment that settles in my stomach. We both stand, and I walk him to the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, turning to face me.
"No backing out now," he says, echoing his words from earlier, but his eyes say something else entirely.
I think about the kiss, about how far gone I already am, how dangerously close I am to forgetting this is all pretend. "Who says I'm going anywhere?"
For a moment, we just look at each other. I can see him debating whether to kiss me again, but he doesn't.
"See you soon, Elise."
And then he's gone, the door closes behind him.
I press my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. My body aches with unfulfilled desire, my heart racing with something that feels dangerously like hope.
I'm in so much trouble.
Because after that kiss, I know the truth.
This isn't fake for me.
Maybe it never was.
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