~đź–¤
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The silence that followed Jax's exit was suffocating.
Maya stood in the hallway, the weight of Mira's diary pressed to her chest like a coffin lid, her eyes fixed on the door Jax had slammed just seconds ago. Shame warred with heat inside her, the ghost of Elias's touch still pulsing between her thighs.
> He saw us.
The bruises. The way her lips were still red, swollen. The way she didn't deny any of it.
> I broke him.
But another voice whispered beneath the guilt — low, wicked, dark.
> You don't belong to Jax. You never did.
A slow exhale warmed the back of her neck, followed by the low sound of Elias's voice.
> "Do you regret it?"
His fingers ghosted her arms, trailing goosebumps in their wake.
> "Do you regret me?"
Maya turned around slowly.
He looked wrecked — shirtless, his hoodie forgotten on the floor, hair wild from her fingers, lips parted like he couldn't breathe without her.
> "I should," she whispered. "But I don't."
His jaw clenched.
> "Say it again."
She stepped closer.
> "I don't regret you."
In one breathless motion, he pulled her to him, his hand fisting in her hair, the other gripping her waist like she'd vanish if he let go. He kissed her—raw, searing, hungry. No hesitation. No apology.
Just want.
> "You drive me insane," he rasped against her lips.
"You ruin me."
> "Then ruin me too," she whispered.
He didn't hesitate.
He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist with instinctive desperation, and slammed her against the wall. His mouth moved to her throat, biting, sucking, tasting her like he hadn't just had her last night.
> "This doesn't end with one night," he growled. "You're mine. From now on."
She gasped as his hands slipped beneath the oversized shirt she wore — his shirt. His fingers danced over her bare skin, and he cursed under his breath when he found she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
> "You knew I'd come back," he whispered.
"You wore this for me."
> "I didn't even change," she admitted.
> "Good. Don't."
He tore the shirt open, buttons flying, exposing her like a secret finally told. She moaned as his mouth covered her chest, his tongue teasing her nipples until she was panting, her back arching off the wall.
Then he carried her again — this time to the bed.
He didn't take his time. He didn't ask. He took.
His fingers moved between her thighs, spreading her open, teasing her entrance as her body writhed beneath him. She was already soaked. Already aching.
> "You're addicted to this," he muttered, voice shaking with restraint. "You want me to use you."
She nodded.
> "You want me to own you."
> "Yes."
> "Then say it."
Her fingers curled in the sheets.
> "I'm yours, Elias."
His name sounded like a plea on her lips.
He slid inside her in one deep, unforgiving thrust, and she cried out, hands flying to his shoulders as he filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her all over again.
> "You feel like sin," he groaned.
He moved — slow at first, then faster, harder. He didn't hold back. Every thrust drove into her like punishment, like prayer, like vengeance. The sound of skin slapping skin, her moans, his growls — it was chaos.
Delicious, wicked chaos.
She clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world, and maybe he was. Because everything else — Jax, Mira, the guilt — it disappeared under Elias's hands.
Under his mouth.
Under his weight.
He flipped her onto her stomach, dragged her hips back, and took her again from behind, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her throat gently but firmly.
> "You like it when I break you," he hissed.
"Say it."
> "I love it."
> "Say who you belong to."
> "You. Only you."
She shattered again.
He followed right after her, groaning her name like it was a curse and a prayer, collapsing beside her, both of them shaking, drenched in sweat, breathless and wild.
They lay tangled in the sheets for a long time.
Elias's hand traced idle circles along her thigh, grounding himself in the reality of her — soft, warm, his.
> "Do you know what you are?" he murmured, lips brushing her temple.
> "What?"
> "A girl who burns."
She turned her face toward him.
> "Burns what?"
> "Everything. Me. This school. Your past. Your guilt. All of it."
> "And what's left?"
> "Ashes."
His voice was soft now. Almost broken.
> "You're the ruin I chose," he said.
She curled into him, letting the confession sink into her bones.
She was no longer the sweet, quiet girl who flinched at his glares.
She was the girl who screamed his name into the dark.
The girl who burned.
And there was no turning back.
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