My thumb presses harder under his jaw, tilting his head back until his head brushes the wall. My eyes bore down into his, steady, unblinking.
“No,” I growl. “Theobedientone.”
His breath shatters against my palm, chest jerking, towel barely clinging now. His grin splits again—feral, reckless, helpless.
“Yes, sir.”
My thumb stays pressed under his jaw, his throat hot and pulsing against my palm. His eyes are blown wide, green gone dark, towel one slip away from hitting the floor.
I smirk, slow and sharp.“You done with the panic?”
His breath stutters. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” My voice dips lower, heavier. “You gonna tell me what that was about today, or tomorrow, Elias?”
His back thumps into the wall, shoulders squaring, but his eyes never leave mine, “Tomorrow, sir.”
My jaw tightens. My chest burns. And then I give him what he’s been begging for since the second he opened his reckless mouth.
“That’s right.”
I close the last inch between us and finally kiss him.
Hemelts.
Every muscle in his body goes loose at once, towel slipping even lower, his hands flying up at last—grabbing at me, clutching my shoulders, my chest, anywhere he can anchor himself. His mouth parts under mine instantly, desperate, ruined, like he’s been starving for this since the first time he looked at me across the ice.
The storm rattles the windows, the old inn creaks around us, but all I feel is him. His curls brush my face, his breath is hot against my mouth, his ribs press into me when he leans up like he’d climb me if I let him.
And I might.
Because Elias Mercer tastes like panic turned devotion, like chaos broken into obedience, like every filthy word I’ve dragged out of him lit a fire straight through his chest.
When I break the kiss, he’s panting, lips swollen, eyes glazed. He looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
I don’t let him catch his breath.
I crush my mouth back against his, harder this time, swallowing that sharp little gasp like I own it. My hand on his throat tilts his head up, my other palm braced against the wall by his ribs, caging him in. He moans into my mouth—high, wrecked, helpless—and it shoots straight through me.
He kisses like he plays: reckless, buzzing, no hesitation. His mouth crashes against mine, messy and hungry, tongue sliding desperate when I part his lips. He’s clawing at me now, fingers digging into my shoulders, trying to climb me, trying to take more.
And I give it to him. For a minute.
I let him burn. Let him melt against me, whimpering when I bite his bottom lip, gasping when I drag my thumb along his throat. I press him so tight to the wall the old plaster groans. His towel gives up entirely, pooling at his feet. He doesn’t notice—too gone, too lost, too needy.
When I rip my mouth from his, he’s panting, glassy-eyed, wrecked.
“Cap—”
“Get dressed,” I cut in.
His jaw drops. “What? Now?”
“Dinner.” My smirk widens at the outrage on his face. “Move, pup.”
He groans, full-body, throwing his head back against the wall. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—”
“Elias.” My tone snaps like a whip.
