Her breath caught, shallow and tight, as his hand shifted.
It left her waist with quiet certainty, trailing upward—skimming along her side, across the slope of her ribs—until his fingers brushed the curve of her jaw.
He didn't rush. Didn't speak.
Just tilted her chin with a soft, confident pressure, guiding her to turn her head toward him.
Her lips parted on instinct, a quiet exhale slipping out as his thumb grazed the grazed the corner of her mouth—just once.
Not testing or asking. Knowing.
She blinked, slow and heavy, eyes struggling to focus on anything but the feel of him.
His thumb lingered against her bottom lip. Soft. Intentional.
Her skin burned in the quiet.
Then, finally, he spoke—low, the sound sliding along the edge of her nerves like a fuse lit slow.
"You feel it too."
The words weren't cocky.
They were calm. Measured. Certain.
And she did.
God she did.
His hand drifted back down, tracing the line of her arm again before returning to her waist. Not to hold her there—this time, to guide.
He turned her gently, and she moved with him—drawn by something unspoken, something that had already been circling them for days.
When she faced him, everything else fell quiet.
He didn't move. He stood there, close but not touching, his eyes locked to hers. Steady. Focused. Like he was already inside the part of her she didn't let anyone touch.
She waited for him to close the distance.
He didn't.
And somehow, that made it worse.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over her face, reading her like he'd already memorized every twitch of her jaw, every flicker in her eyes.
Then, softly—too calmly—
"You think you're ready for this."
The air around them tightened, her heart thudding once, hard, behind her ribs.
His eyes held hers.
"But you still want control."
The words hit something raw.
Something she didn't want to admit was true.
She stepped closer, heartbeat in her throat, the air between them pulled tight like a wire about to break.
He didn't move. Didn't reach for her. Didn't even blink.
That stillness—his stillness—it did more to her than any heat could've. It dared her.
So she rose up on her toes, barely, just enough to tilt her mouth closer to his.
Just enough to reach.
Her fingers brushed against his chest, caught the fabric of his shirt, and held—like she needed the contact to stay steady.
He didn't lean in.
Didn't give her anything.
The space between them thinned to a breath.
Her lips hovered hear his—so close they could've touched if either of them exhaled too hard.
And then—
His hand found her hip.
Slow. Firm. Deliberate.
The pressure wasn't rough, but it was final. A silent command hat said:
Not yet.
Her stomach twisted.
She froze—halfway in, heart straining in her chest, not sure if she'd made a mistake or just stepped into something she didn't understand.
But before she could pull back—
He took her.
His hand shifted—gripped.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Hard.
Unapologetic.
Like restraint was a thread he'd finally decided to cut clean through.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
It was a crash—his mouth claiming hers like he'd been holding back every second since the first time they locked eyes. His other hand slipped up her spine, fingers threading into her hair and tilting her head to where he needed her.
She gasped into him, lips parting, body arching instinctively as the heat swallowed her. Her hands fisted tighter in his shirt, grounding herself in the one thing that felt real in that moment—him.
Every inch of her lit up under the weight of him—his hands, his mouth, his control—and the way it crashed into everything she'd been trying so damn hard to hold together.
He kissed her like he was done waiting.
And she kissed him back like she finally understood why.
Her breath caught again as he moved forward—slow, controlled, never breaking the rhythm of their kiss.
Each step guided her backward until the back of her thighs pressed against the firm edge of the workbench, grounding her with something solid amid the heat swirling through her head.
His mouth left hers just long enough to let her breathe—just long enough to let her feel the way her pulse was crashing through her chest. Then he caught her again, lips deep and relentless, drinker her in like he'd waited days—weeks—for this moment.
His hands tightened, guiding her gently, smoothly upward.
She didn't resist.
Couldn't.
Before she even realized what was happening, her feet left the ground, and in one, effortless, fluid movement, he tilted her onto the workbench.
Her hips landed softly against the smooth wood, palms pressing back against the surface for balance. She gasped at the sudden change in position—the vulnerability of it—but his mouth didn't leave hers long enough for her mind to panic.
He stepped forward again, easing himself deliberately into the space he'd just created between her thighs.
Not rushed. Not forceful.
But deliberate.
Her knees parted instinctively to accommodate him, and he filled the space without hesitation. The warmth of his body radiated against her inner thighs, igniting a slow, consuming heat low in her stomach.
He didn't press any further.
Didn't rush the moment.
Instead, he kissed her deeper, shifting his angle just slightly, anchoring her there. His other hand braced against the bench beside her hip, holding himself steady, trapping her gently but completely in his hold.
She felt every inch of him—the press of his chest, the confident steadiness of his breathing, the firm heat of him between her thighs, still controlled yet dangerously close to tipping into something she wasn't ready to admit she wanted.
And still, he didn't speak.
He didn't need words.
Because in that moment, held exactly where he wanted her. Elena realized that all the way the resistance she'd carried—all the pretending, the push-and-pull—had been stripped away.
She wasn't in control anymore.
And part of her—the part that had been fighting so hard—finally felt relief.
Because he hadn't just taken control.
He'd placed her exactly where she'd wanted to be all along.
He didn't break the contact—didn't pull back, didn't give her room to think clearly. He simply eased the kiss slower, softer, until it hovered just at the edge of her lips, their breaths tangling in the tight space between them.
She opened her eyes slowly, heart beating against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
He was already watching her, his gaze dark and intense, his breathing steady despite the heat radiating between them. His eyes searched hers carefully, reading every flicker, every unspoken surrender she didn't dare say aloud.
His voice came quietly, steady, controlled, the depth of it vibrating in the thin space left between them.
"You keep waiting for the catch."
His thumb brushed softly along her jaw, tilting her chin up just enough for her to meet him fully, directly.
"But this isn't a game."
His eyes darkened just a little more, holding her gaze like he could see straight into the deepest parts of her—the parts she'd been fighting so desperately to keep hidden.
"I'm not going anywhere, Elena."
His mouth brushed hers again—softer this time, barely there, leaving the words burning quietly against her skin.
"Neither are you."