Chapter Four

The Morning After 

~ Elena ~

 The morning sun poured in through the curtains, warming my skin, but it did nothing to ease the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach. I shifted under the sheets, painfully aware of the empty space beside me. Alexander was gone. Again. The silence in the penthouse felt heavier than ever, and I hugged the pillow to my chest, wishing I could just vanish.

 I thought back to last night, the way he had moved against me, taken me. It was rough, intense, and completely overwhelming. My body still buzzed with the memory, but my mind was screaming that I shouldn’t let myself feel anything for him, not after all the pain, the indifference, the coldness.

 I got up slowly, slipping into a robe, and headed to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of coffee would help ease the knot in my stomach. I was halfway to the counter when I heard the soft click of his briefcase closing.

 “Morning,” I said cautiously, turning to see him fully dressed for work, looking sharp in his suit, his hair perfectly styled.

 He barely glanced my way. "Morning."

 His tone was flat, devoid of emotion, and it hit me harder than any insult ever could. I felt a tightness in my chest.

 "You’re… leaving?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

 "Yes." He picked up his briefcase. "Don’t complicate this. Just stay out of my way."

 I bit my lip, watching him head toward the door. "Alexander…"

 He paused for a moment but didn’t turn around. "I said what I said." And just like that, he was gone.

 I sank onto a stool, gripping the edge as I fought back tears. The ache in my chest wasn’t just loneliness, it was embarrassment. The memory of last night’s passion, followed by this morning’s coldness, twisted inside me. I wanted to scream at him, to make him acknowledge what we had, but deep down, I knew it would be pointless.

 The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. I wandered around the penthouse, sometimes staring out at the city lights, other times pacing the marble floors. My mind kept replaying the tension from last night, the dominance, the heat, the way he had taken me. I hated that I craved it. Hated that I yearned for it. Hated that I still thought about it while he acted like it had never happened.

 By mid-afternoon, my anxiety had morphed into a restless energy. I busied myself tidying the kitchen, even though it was already spotless. I arranged the silverware, lined up the glasses, each little task a way to distract myself from the fluttering anticipation in my stomach.

 Then I heard the front door click open earlier than expected. My heart raced. It was only four, too soon for him to be home. I froze, gripping the counter as I felt the atmosphere shift.

 "Hello," he said, his voice low and commanding as he stepped into the kitchen.

 I turned slowly, trying to keep my composure, but the sight of him, his presence filling the room, made my heart race. He didn’t say anything else, just closed the door behind him and moved closer, stopping right behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

 "Turn around," he whispered, his voice dangerously smooth.

 I stood there, completely frozen. "What?"

 "Turn. Around," he repeated, this time with a sharper edge to his voice. His hand brushed against my arm, guiding me. "Strip."

 I shook my head, fighting to keep my cool. "Alexander… we can’t…"

 "You will. Now." His grip tightened on my arm. "Or I’ll do it for you, and trust me, you won’t like it. I’m still giving you a choice. Strip."

 I bit my lip, hesitating as my chest tightened. I wanted to argue, to push him away. I wanted to retreat and hold onto my control. But I couldn’t ignore the heat pooling between my legs, the ache that had been building all day.

 When I still didn’t move, he let out a sigh and stepped closer, his body pressing against mine from behind. I felt the cold steel of his suit jacket against my back, the warmth of his chest just beneath it. He didn’t need to touch me to make his intentions clear.

 In one swift motion, he pinned me against the counter. My back pressed against him, my hands bracing against the cool surface. I swallowed hard, my breath hitching at the pressure, the dominance, the sudden closeness.

 His lips grazed my neck, biting and kissing, setting off a fire in their wake. I shivered, trying to pull away, but his hands held me firmly. My robe was slipping at the edges, revealing my skin, and I felt my resistance start to fade, even though I didn’t fully give in.

 "Do you feel that?" he whispered in my ear, his voice deep and rough. "All this tension. All this desire. You’ve been holding back all day."

 "I,I..." My voice barely escaped. I could feel the heat pooling lower, a mix of fear, frustration, and longing.

 "I know," he said, pressing his lips harder against my neck. "But I’m not gentle. Not today."

 I tensed as his hands traced my waist, slipping beneath the gown I was wearing. He shifted, pressing against me in a way that made his intentions crystal clear. My heart raced. This was intense, overwhelming, the kind of heat that left me trembling and breathless, yet I refused to meet his gaze. I kept my eyes fixed ahead, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, anchoring myself to the only solid thing in the room.

 His hands moved with purpose, lifting the hem of my gown while his mouth left fiery trails down my neck. I felt exposed, vulnerable, yet electrified. Every nerve in my body was alive.

 Then the pressure shifted, the dominance changing its angle, and I realized what was about to happen. He was taking me from behind, and the heat that surged in my chest made me gasp. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip stayed firm.

 "You’re not stopping me," he murmured, a dangerous satisfaction lacing his tone. 

 I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my body betraying my mind as tension escalated with every movement. It was intense, overwhelming, each motion resonating through me. I was learning, feeling, experiencing every brush of skin, every push and claim.

 He kept a steady rhythm, fueled by instinct and desire. The counter beneath my hands felt cold, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from our bodies as we moved together. I could feel the strength of his control, the dominance clear in every touch, every press, every grip.

 "Look at me," he murmured, but I didn’t give in. I held my ground, my back turned to him, subtly pushing back even as my body betrayed my determination.

 "Good," he breathed against my neck, his voice low and rough. "I like that you’re putting up a fight, but right now, you’re mine."

 I struggled to catch my breath, every nerve ending alive, every part of me ignited. My thighs quivered as he shifted, and I bit my lip to hold back a moan. The heat and pressure, the intimacy and control, were almost too much to bear, yet there was a strange clarity in it. I was here. I was resisting. 

 The rhythm shifted again, and I felt him lift me slightly, placing me on the countertop. I steadied my hands, my body adjusting as the intensity grew. The sensations were all-consuming, his raw energy commanding every part of me.

 I could hear my own breath, quick and shallow, mixing with his low, steady murmurs. The push and pull of resistance and dominance sent shivers through me with every passing moment, sharpening my awareness of the power dynamics swirling between us.

 And then it ended as suddenly as it began. He leaned into me one last time, a low, rough whisper brushing against my ear. "You’re incredible."

 I stayed silent. I didn’t move. My body still buzzed with tension, still trembling from the intensity. My back pressed against the counter, I felt raw, exposed, conflicted, and vibrantly alive.

 He straightened up, adjusted his jacket, and walked toward the door without saying a word. I didn’t turn around. 

 ----

 ~ Alexander ~ 

 I watched her struggle against the pull, fighting it yet subtly surrendering, and it drove me wild. Every act of defiance, every moment of doubt, every tremor in her body cranked up the tension to an almost unbearable level. For this brief moment, she was mine, and claiming her, even just a little, felt like a victory.

 I could feel her tension under my fingertips, hear her breaths quickening, stirring something primal inside me. But I knew I had to hold back. I could take control, I could assert my dominance, but she wasn’t beaten. Not yet. Not completely. And that only made her more irresistible.

 When I left, I didn’t glance back. She needed time to process it all, to feel it, to understand it. The silence was part of the control. Part of the game. Part of what kept her on edge.

 ~ Elena ~

 I slumped against the counter, finally letting out a breath. My muscles ached, my chest was rising and falling rapidly, and my mind was a chaotic storm. I hated him. I wanted him. I loathed that I wanted him.

 Tears threatened to spill, but I held them back. I ran my fingers over my neck where his lips had lingered, still ignited by the memory.

 I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel safe or normal again. He walked out of the room as if nothing had happened, leaving me alone with the remnants of his dominance and the chaos of my own desire.

 The penthouse felt colder now. Empty. And I came to the painful realization that nothing between us would ever be simple.

 I stayed there, frozen for what felt like forever, my back against the counter, chest still trembling, thoughts swirling. I hated him. I wanted him. And somehow, both of those truths were inescapable.