Page 217 of Fractured Loyalties

He growls, a sound that vibrates through my ribs. His thigh pushes between mine, pressing up until friction sparks through my jeans, raw and unbearable.

My gasp turns into a moan I can’t swallow. His smile burns against my throat.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s the sound I want. Not fear. Not denial. Submission.”

My body jolts at the word. Submission. It tastes like shame, like every weakness I’ve fought to bury. But it also coils through me with heat so thick I can’t stand straight.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, even as my hips grind against the pressure of his leg.

His grip tightens, cutting off escape. “No. You’ll beg me to.”

His words strike something raw inside me.You’ll beg me to.

It’s not a threat. It’s a certainty.

Elias doesn’t release my wrists. My chest heaves with the effort to keep defiance in my face when the rest of me betrays exactly how badly I want him.

I twist, but he holds me tighter. His thumb presses into the pulse at my wrist, measuring every racing beat. “You fight with your mouth, but your body knows me,” he says. “It’s already giving in.”

My breath shudders out. “You don’t get to—”

“I do,” he cuts in, and the finality in his tone makes me ache. He drags my hands forward as he moves to release himself; his belt buckle scrapes against the back of my knuckles. He lets go only long enough to pull the leather from its loops in one swift motion. The sound slices through me, sharp, certain.

My stomach knots. My thighs tighten. I can’t look away as he loops the belt around my wrists and cinches it fast, binding me together. The leather bites just enough to remind me it isn’t for show.

I should pull away. I should scream. Instead, I test the hold and feel a rush of heat flood me when it doesn’t give.

Elias watches my face the whole time, his eyes steel-gray and merciless. “There’s the truth,” he murmurs. “You don’t want freedom. You want to be held so tight there’s no choice left to make.”

I shake my head, though the sound that slips from me ruins the denial. “You think this proves anything?”

He steps back half an inch, enough that I feel the loss of his body like a wound. Then he drags his gaze down me, slow, dissecting. “It proves everything.”

My arms are bound. My legs tremble. My chest rises too fast against my shirt. I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel exposed in a way I can’t name—like he’s stripped me bare without taking off a single piece of clothing.

He presses his thigh between mine again, harder this time, forcing me onto my toes. My bound wrists slam against his chestfor balance. “Rub yourself on me,” he says. “Show me how much you hate this.”

My heart lurches, but I can’t stop my body from obeying. The friction is brutal through denim, rough and merciless, and it drags a sound from me that doesn’t sound like me at all.

His hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back so he can watch every flicker of shame in my eyes. “That’s it. That’s the part of you I’ve been waiting for. The part that knows surrender isn’t weakness. It’s power.”

My throat burns. My skin feels too tight. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I’m not his, that I’ll never beg.

But I’m already moving against him, every roll of my hips giving him exactly what he wants.

Elias’s thigh grinds harder between mine, and my bound wrists strain against the belt pressing into his chest. He watches every flicker across my face, the way my mouth parts, the way my eyes blur with shame and hunger.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice rougher now, stripped of the polish he wears in daylight. “You’d burn me alive if you could. And yet….” His thigh pushes up again, grinding into me with ruthless precision. “You’re soaking through your jeans for me.”

Heat scorches my skin. I choke on a sound I can’t swallow back. “Fuck you.”

His hand knots tighter in my hair, jerking my head back until my spine curves. His mouth finds the corner of mine, not a kiss, but a claiming. “You already are.”

Before I can form another protest, his free hand yanks my hoodie up over my ribs. My shirt comes with it, dragged until both are bunched around my bound arms, trapping themawkwardly there. The fabric cinches tight at my elbows, holding me even tighter.

The shock of exposure makes me gasp. His eyes lock on the swell of my breasts, the black lace straining against them.

He doesn’t ask. He tears. The lace splits with a harsh rip, leaving me bare from the waist up while my wrists remain tangled in fabric, pinned and useless.