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Chapter 33

Author: Thessa
last update Last Updated: 2025-12-04 17:25:51

ELARA

I’m working at my desk when James stops by.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against my desk. “I saw the press conference yesterday. You and Damien looked… intense.”

“We said what we needed to say.”

“Are you really okay?” he asks. “The way he talked about Lucas Reed, about getting revenge… it was a lot.”

“He was keeping me safe,” I answer. “Lucas hurt us. But Damien made sure he couldn’t do it again. I’m not sorry about that.”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry. I’m just worried about you. Damien Cross is… dangerous. People who get too close to men like him either change completely or get broken.”

I look straight at him. “Or they get protected. Loved. Treated like they’re the most important person in the world.” I pause. “I know

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    ELARAI lean against the cool tile wall, spreading my legs wider. I dip my fingers inside my pussy...putting in two at first, then three...stretching myself the way he does. The burn is delicious, but not enough. Never been enough. I pump them slow, then faster, curling to hit that spot that makes my breath hitch. My thumb grinds my clit in tight, ruthless circles.Water pounds my back, hot and relentless, matching the rhythm building inside me. I bite my lip to stay quiet, but moans slip out anyway...wet, needy sounds that are swallowed by steam. I can hear his voice in my ear: Good girl. Take what you need. But it’s not his fingers or his cock that is inside me, and the emptiness gnaws at me even as pleasure coils tighter.My release is hard and hot on my fingers, my walls clenching around my fingers, and a sharp cry tears from my throat. Hot pulses ripple through me, my thighs are quaking, and water mixes with my release as it drips down my legs.But the orgasm is shallow, quick, a

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    ELARA I wake up to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and a heavy arm draped across my waist. For a moment, I'm disoriented. This is my apartment. My small, modest bedroom with the IKEA furniture and the slightly crooked ceiling fan. But the arm across my waist is pure Damien Cross—muscular, possessive, claiming me even in sleep. He stayed. We didn't discuss it. Didn't negotiate whether this "space with benefits" arrangement included sleepovers. But apparently, he decided for both of us. I should be annoyed. Should push him away and remind him that this was supposed to be about my independence, but after last night and these early morning I really do not want to. Instead, I sink back into his warmth, letting myself have this moment of pretending everything is normal. "You're awake," his voice rumbles against my neck. "How long hav

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