Crossing the Line

The mansion was too quiet.

Elena had spent the day scrubbing counters, rearranging bookshelves, folding already-folded clothes—anything to keep herself busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the kiss. About his hands pinning her to the wall. About the way her body burned every time he came too close.

But it was useless.

No matter how hard she tried, Adrian lingered in her thoughts like a shadow she couldn’t escape. She hated herself for it. She hated the way her pulse spiked at the thought of him. She hated the way her thighs pressed together at night, seeking a relief she couldn’t admit to.

By evening, she was exhausted, drained from fighting a battle she was losing inside her own skin.

She decided to soak in the bathtub. Hot water. Lavender oil. Silence. Maybe that would help.

Steam curled around the marble bathroom, fogging the mirror. Elena slid into the water, letting it envelop her, her head tipping back against the edge. She closed her eyes, willing herself to forget, if only for a few precious minutes.

But then—

A knock at the door.

Her eyes flew open. Panic seized her chest.

“Elena,” Adrian’s voice came, low and unhurried.

Her heart nearly stopped. She gripped the edge of the tub, water lapping at her skin. “Go away!” she snapped, too quickly, too desperately.

Silence. Then the soft click of the door handle.

The lock she thought she’d turned wasn’t engaged.

The door swung open.

Adrian stepped inside, closing it behind him. He leaned casually against the door, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on her. His smirk was lazy, predatory.

Elena’s breath caught. She sank lower in the tub, arms crossing over her chest. “Adrian—get out.”

He didn’t move. His gaze was molten, lingering on the steam rising around her, the sheen of water clinging to her skin.

“You’re even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice husky. “Relaxed. Vulnerable.”

Her pulse thundered. “You have no respect,” she whispered furiously. “Do you enjoy tormenting me?”

His smirk deepened. “I enjoy watching you squirm when all you really want is me.”

Her breath stuttered. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

He pushed off the door and advanced slowly. Each step echoed in the tiled room. Elena’s chest heaved, her body betraying her as desire tangled with fear.

He crouched beside the tub, his arm braced against the rim, his face close enough that she could feel his breath. “Tell me to leave,” he said softly. “Say the words like you mean them, and I’ll walk out that door.”

Her lips parted. The words were right there. But they caught in her throat.

His gaze searched hers, triumphant.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

His fingers dipped into the water, tracing the surface, then brushing lightly against her knee. Elena jolted at the contact, her body on fire.

“Adrian,” she whispered, torn between pleading and warning.

His hand slid higher, water rippling around them. His touch was deliberate, slow, teasing. Her legs trembled beneath the surface.

“You’ve been starving, haven’t you?” His voice was low, rough. “Hungry for something he hasn’t given you in months. I see it in your eyes. I feel it every time you breathe me in.”

Her throat worked, but no denial came.

His hand grazed her thigh now, heat searing through water and flesh alike. Elena’s resolve cracked. Her eyes fluttered shut, a broken moan slipping from her lips.

That sound undid him.

In a heartbeat, Adrian’s mouth was on hers—hot, urgent, devouring. The kiss was wet and desperate, their lips crashing together with months of repressed hunger.

Elena clung to the edge of the tub, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His hand gripped her jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue demanding, claiming, leaving her breathless.

She gasped when his other hand slipped higher beneath the water, skimming the inside of her thigh.

“Adrian—” she moaned, half protest, half plea.

“Say my name like that again,” he growled against her lips, “and I swear I’ll never stop.”

Her heart pounded violently, guilt screaming in her chest—but her body betrayed her again, arching toward his touch, shivering with need.

The water sloshed violently as Adrian leaned over the tub, pressing his body against hers. His T-shirt soaked instantly, clinging to his sculpted chest. His mouth trailed down her throat, hot, insistent kisses marking her skin.

Elena whimpered, torn between resistance and surrender.

“This is wrong,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

Adrian’s lips found her ear. His voice was dark, broken with desire. “Then stop me.”

But she couldn’t.

Her hands fisted in his wet shirt, dragging him closer, crashing her lips back to his. The kiss was wild, frantic, years of repression exploding in a single, reckless moment.

Adrian groaned, his hand sliding higher, finally breaching the last barrier of her resistance. His touch seared her, claiming what she’d tried so hard to deny.

Her cry echoed in the steamy bathroom, half shame, half ecstasy.

In that instant, Elena knew—there was no going back.

They had crossed the line.

And she didn’t want to turn around.