Page 14

13

Gillian

H e watches me over the rim of his glass, unreadable. But I know that look. Amusement. Possession. Anticipation.

Ellis likes to savor things.

His power. My silence. The slow unraveling of my resistance.

The wine is warm on my tongue, but the heat between us is warmer.

It’s in the way he leans back, the way he watches me like he’s already won.

Like this was always the inevitable conclusion.

And maybe it is.

“Come here.”

I don’t hesitate.

Because that’s what he wants.

Because I know better.

I set my glass down and cross the space between us. My movements are smooth, rehearsed, muscle memory dictating what my mind can’t fully grasp.

I kneel at his feet.

This is familiar. The curve of his leg under my palm. The slight flex of his thighs as he shifts beneath my touch. The way my body knows exactly how to move, exactly what to do.

Because we’ve done this before.

Even if I don’t remember it.

Ellis’s fingers thread into my hair, tilting my face up to his.

The moment stretches—the hesitation before a storm, the tension before a wire snaps.

His thumb grazes my lower lip.

“I should make you beg.”

A sharp pulse of heat runs through me. My breath catches—just once—and that’s all he needs.

His smirk deepens.

“I should make you earn it,” he muses, fingers drifting lower, tracing the line of my throat, the hollow between my collarbones. “But you already have, haven’t you?”

I don’t know what he means. I don’t know what I’ve done.

I only know that I don’t stop him.

His fingers trail lower, slipping inside the collar of my dress.

“You know why I don’t reset this, don’t you?”

I swallow, shaking my head.

“Because you belong to me,” he says, his words lingering against my skin. “And I don’t like losing what’s mine.”

Heat explodes through me, raw and uncontrolled, spreading like wildfire.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His hand tightens in my hair, tipping my head back.

“Say it.”

I close my eyes, but there’s no escape. His presence is everywhere, wrapping around me like silk and steel.

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

His fingers dig into my scalp, pulling me closer, forcing the words from my throat before I can stop them. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl.”

Then he kisses me.

It’s not sweet. Not hesitant.

It’s a claiming. A slow, decadent destruction.

His mouth moves against mine with absolute certainty, like he’s rewriting the story of us with every stroke of his tongue, every bite, every deliberate press of his lips.

I whimper against him, my fingers digging into his thighs.

He’s still fully dressed, still seated, still in control.

And me?

I’m already melting for him.

His hands slide down, over my shoulders, over the silk of my dress, until his fingers hook under the fabric and pull.

The straps slip from my shoulders. The dress pools at my waist.

His breath is steady, measured, while mine is already coming too fast.

His hands trace the bare skin he’s uncovered. “Look at you.”

He is looking at me, and I’m not sure whether I love it or I hate it.

“So eager. You don’t even remember how many times you’ve done this, do you?”

A sharp knot tightens in my gut. I shake my head.

His smile is razor-sharp.

“That’s why I won’t let you forget this time, darling.”

His hands trail lower.

A slow descent.

Deliberate.

Cruel in its patience.

“Because it would be a shame if you didn’t remember how good I can make you feel.”

And then?—

He does.