19

Elara didn’t pull away.

Instead, something shifted in her expression. A slow smile curved her lips as her hand lifted, wrapping lightly around the back of his neck.

He was taller than her, his presence naturally dominating, but she tilted her chin just enough to keep their eyes locked, refusing to look away.

His hand was still firm on her waist.

The air between them tightened.

“Why don’t we just strip in front of each other then?” she said softly, her voice laced with challenge more than innocence.

Alex’s lips curled into a smirk.

There it was again—that fire.

“That’s funny,” he replied, his voice low, edged with something dangerous. “We’ve not even stripped, and this is already happening.”

Before she could react, he caught her wrist and guided it down to touch his zipper and feel him.

Elara froze for a split second.

Then her breath hitched.

She knew exactly what he was doing.

And instead of pulling back she played along.

Her fingers moved slightly, brushing against him through the fabric, just enough to provoke, just enough to test him.

Not because she wanted this to go further.

But because she wanted him to stop.

To leave.

To lose control first.

“You’re playing with fire, my contract wife,” Alex muttered, his voice tightening as he struggled to keep himself in check.

“You started it, didn’t you?” she shot back with a faint smile, her tone teasing, pushing him further.

There was something reckless in the way she looked at him now.

Something that said she wasn’t backing down.

Alex inhaled sharply, his control slipping inch by inch.

“I’ll break your legs, don’t try me,” he snapped, his voice rougher now.

But Elara laughed and that only made it worse.

“I wonder…” she said, tilting her head slightly, her eyes dancing with mischief despite everything she had just gone through. “How many lengths are you, by the way?”

That did it.

Alex’s composure cracked just a little more.

His lips parted, but no words came out immediately.

And before he could regain control, she pushed him, not hard but enough to switch their position. Their gazes locked and she loved how he folded because of him.

Now his back hit the wall.

Now she's standing in front of him.

Her hand was still where it had been, rubbing zipper, her fingers teasing in a way that made his restraint hang by a thread.

She doesn’t care how hard he gets, she's enjoying his weakness. Truly, touching a man's dick makes him weak. She wonders how sweaty he'd get the moment she starts stroking his bare dick.

“What do you say?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still filled with challenge. “Should I still strip?”

“Elara…” he exhaled her name like a warning, like a plea, like he was holding onto the last bit of control he had left.

She leaned in slightly.

Her lips close to his ear.

“Who’s the fire now?” she whispered, then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, a playful wink following.

That was it.

Whatever restraint Alex had left him.

His hand shot up, gripping her tightly as he pulled her closer, and before she could react his lips crashed against hers hardly.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was everything he had been holding back.

Elara gasped against his lips, the sound muffled as he deepened the kiss, refusing to let her pull away.

For a moment just a moment she froze.

Then her hands pressed against his chest, not fully pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either.

It was confusing.

It was hot.

It was something she didn’t want to name.

His hand moved to her breasts, she's not wearing a bra but it didn’t show, he just felt that.

"Uhmm."Elara half moaned, still trying to push him off, her puss lips clenching, aching to be touched.

Alex’s grip tightened briefly before he suddenly pulled her hand away from him, breaking the contact that had pushed him over the edge.

And then he broke the kiss abruptly and harshly.

Like he had just realized what he was doing.

They both stood there, breathing heavily.

The tension hadn’t disappeared.

Alex stepped back, releasing her completely this time.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw clenched tight as he dragged a hand through his hair.

He couldn’t stay.

Not like this.

Not when every second made it harder to walk away.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door.

Like he needed distance before he lost control again.

The door opened and shut behind him, leaving Elara standing there, stunned, her lips slightly parted, her breathing still uneven.

Outside, Alex stopped a few steps away, exhaling sharply.

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing once before stopping again.

“She’s driving me crazy,” he muttered under his breath.

This was only the second day.

And already, things felt complicated.

Too complicated.

A whole year of this?

Three hundred and sixty-something days of pretending, of proximity, of tension like that?

He let out a dry laugh.

“This is going to be a problem,” he added quietly.

***********

(MAMA CLARA CLUB)

Mama Clara Club was the complete opposite of everything the Harrington world represented.

The air was thick with alcohol, music blasting from speakers that had clearly seen better days. Colored lights flickered across the room, illuminating bodies dancing too close, laughter mixing with slurred conversations.

Behind the counter, Clara moved quickly, her hands working almost on autopilot as she attended to customers one after the other.

She looked tired physically and deeply, exhaustion had settled into her bones.

“Ten shots of tequila,” a man said, leaning against the counter with a lazy grin.

Clara didn’t respond verbally.

She simply reached for the bottles, pouring each shot with precision, sliding them across the counter toward him.

Her movements were efficient, practiced and detached.

“You’re pretty, by the way,” the man added, his tone suggestive.

Clara didn’t even look at him.

“Drink up,” she said flatly.

No smile.

No interest.

Just dismissal.

The man chuckled, downing the shots one after another before dropping some cash on the counter and walking away.

Clara picked up the money, counting it quickly before tucking it away.

Another customer.

Another meaningless interaction.

Another night in a place she didn’t belong.

She exhaled quietly, leaning back for just a second.

Sometimes, she wondered what her life would have been if things had gone differently.

If she hadn’t left school.

If she hadn’t ended up here.

If her mother would just agree to let her reach out to Alex Harrington.

Maybe things would change.

Maybe she wouldn’t be stuck behind this counter tonight.

“Clara.”

Her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts.

She turned.

Her mother stood a few steps away, her expression unreadable.

“Your sister sent me a message,” she said. “She invited us to her reception party tonight.”

Clara blinked slightly.

“It’s too late,” she replied. “We can’t get a bus to Lagos at this time.”

Her mother nodded slowly.

“I knew that family would try to keep her from us,” she scoffed.

Clara sighed softly.

“Mother, who wouldn’t want to keep a rare gem like Elara?” she said quietly.

Her mother didn’t respond kindly to that.

She scoffed again, clearly displeased.

Before Clara could say anything else, the door burst open.

The noise cut through the music.

Clara’s attention snapped toward the entrance.

A group of men walked in not like normal customers.

They moved like they owned the place.

Clara’s brows furrowed slightly.

From where she stood, she could see everything clearly.

The club wasn’t big.

Every movement was noticeable.

“Looks like we’ve got new customers,” her mother muttered, adjusting her wrapper.

Clara didn’t respond immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Are they customers or something else?” she murmured under her breath.

Something felt off.

Just then one of them pulled out a gun.

A loud shot rang through the air.

The ceiling cracked slightly from the impact.

Screams erupted instantly.

People scattered in every direction, panic spreading like wildfire as bodies pushed toward the exits.

Clara’s heart raced fearfully.

Her eyes widened in shock.

“What the hell...” she started.

“Who the hell are you?!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “And how dare you barge in here like this?!”

But they didn’t answer.

They didn’t even look at her.

Instead, they started destroying everything in sight.

Chairs overturned.

Bottles shattered.

Glass scattered across the floor.

The sound of breaking objects mixed with screams and footsteps.

Clara’s mother grabbed her arm and pulled her down behind the counter.

“Mommy, what are you doing?” Clara whispered urgently.

“Stay down!” her mother hissed.

“Come out here!” one of the men growled.

The command echoed through the now half-empty club.

Clara’s chest tightened.

Slowly she stood up.

Her mother tried to stop her.

But she didn’t listen.

She stepped out from behind the counter, her heart pounding, but her face set with anger.

She walked toward them even though fear crawled up her spine.

One of the men stepped forward.

He didn’t raise his weapon again.

Instead, he pulled out a folded piece of paper.

He handed it to her.

Then signaled to the others.

Within seconds they turned and left.

Just like that, everywhere became silent.

Broken only by distant murmurs and the aftermath of destruction.

Clara’s hands trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper.

Her eyes scanned the words.

“This is just the beginning. And if you don’t want this to continue, tell your daughter to stay away from Alex Harrington.”