CHAPTER 0020- Still here

I didn’t come downstairs until almost noon.

Chloe was on the couch in oversized sweats, scrolling her phone, leftover takeout containers on the coffee table. She looked up when I walked in and raised an eyebrow.

“Damn. You look like shit.”

“Didn’t sleep.”

“Nate kept me up too,” she said, stretching. “He’s gone though. Had work.” She tilted her head. “You okay? You’ve been weird as hell the last couple days.”

I poured coffee just to have something to do with my hands. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop. That was the thing about Chloe — she pushed once, then gave you space. I almost wished she wouldn’t.

Elias’s car was in the driveway. I could feel him in the house the same way you feel a storm coming. Heavy. Quiet. Waiting.

I lasted twenty minutes before I went looking for him.

He was in his office with the door half open, sitting behind the desk like nothing had happened. Laptop open. Glasses on. The picture of a normal man in the middle of a normal day. When I stepped inside he looked up slowly, pulled the glasses off, and set them down.

“You ready to talk,” he said. Not a question.

I shut the door behind me. Didn’t lock it. Chloe was still in the living room, but the risk felt distant compared to the thing sitting between us.

“You fucked my mother.”

“I did.”

“On the same counter.”

“Yes.”

The calm in his voice made my hands curl into fists. “And you still think you get to touch me after that?”

He stood up. Came around the desk. Stopped a few feet away like he was giving me the choice to close the distance or not.

“I think you’re still here,” he said. “In this room. Looking at me like you want to hit me and fuck me at the same time.”

I hated that he was right.

I crossed the space and shoved him. Hard. He barely moved. Just caught my wrists when I tried again and held them against his chest.

“You’re allowed to be angry,” he said quietly. “You’re not allowed to pretend you don’t still want this.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea.”

He kissed me like he was done being careful. I bit his lip hard enough to taste blood and he groaned into it, backing me up against the desk. Papers slid. A pen hit the floor. His hands were rough when they shoved my shorts down, rougher when two fingers pushed inside me and found me already wet.

“Still soaked,” he muttered against my mouth. “Even after everything. Even after watching me with her.”

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what? Talk about it?” He curled his fingers and I gasped. “You stood in that hallway and watched me fuck your mother. And you’re still dripping for me. That says more than whatever speech you practiced upstairs.”

I hated him. I kissed him harder.

He spun me around and bent me over the desk. The wood was cool against my cheek. I heard his zipper, then the thick press of him against me. He didn’t push in right away. Just stayed there, teasing, letting me feel how hard he was.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I didn’t.

He sank into me in one slow, deep thrust that punched the air out of my lungs. No warm-up. No gentleness. Just the full stretch of him and the quiet, broken sound I made when he bottomed out. He stayed buried for a second, breathing hard against my back.

Then he started fucking me.

Hard. Steady. The kind of pace that made the desk creak and my fingers scrabble for something to hold onto. One hand gripped my hip. The other reached around and rubbed my clit in tight, mean circles. Every thrust dragged against the place inside me that made my knees weak.

“You can hate me,” he said, voice rough. “You can be disgusted. But this cunt still opens up for me like it was made for it.”

I came hard and fast, biting down on my own arm to stay quiet. He didn’t slow down. Just kept driving into me until I was shaking and oversensitive, then pulled out, flipped me onto my back on the desk, and shoved back in.

This angle was deeper. I wrapped my legs around him and took it, eyes burning, anger and pleasure all tangled up until I couldn’t tell which one was winning. He fucked me like he was trying to erase the night before. Or maybe like he was reminding me who I belonged to in spite of it.

When he came it was with a low, strained sound against my neck, buried as deep as he could go. I felt every pulse of it. Hot. Claiming. Final in a way that didn’t feel final at all.

We stayed like that for a minute, both breathing hard. His forehead against mine. My legs still locked around his waist.

Eventually he pulled out. I felt the slow leak of him immediately.

He looked down at the mess between my thighs, then at my face.

“Still angry?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He brushed a strand of hair off my cheek with surprising gentleness. “Stay angry. Just don’t go anywhere.”

I didn’t answer.

But when he stepped back and fixed his clothes, I didn’t leave either.

I just lay there on his desk with his cum dripping out of me, staring at the ceiling, already knowing I was going to let him do it again.