All Chapters of I Hate How Much I Want You: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Adrian’s POVWhat happened after that, I’ll remember for the rest of my life, in pieces.His hands tearing at the buttons of my shirt. The scrape of his teeth along my jaw. My name, torn out of his mouth in a voice I’d only heard once before, in a storage room smelling of old beer, when he’d hated me and wanted me and couldn’t decide which. This was nothing like that. It wasn’t rage. It was something slower and more terrible, a hunger that had finally been told it could stop hiding.Elias rolled us over without warning and pinned me to the mattress, knees on either side of my hips, hair falling in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed. His mouth was red. He looked down at me with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs.“You think you’re the only one who gets jealous?” he said.“What?”“Claire.” He bent and bit my collarbone, not gently. I arched off the bed. “The alley. Her hands on your chest. I wanted to rip her arm off.”“Elias…”“And the girl at the party, the one you kissed t

Elias's POVThe phone that rang in the other room was Eleanor's lawyer.I answered it standing in my kitchen at 12:40 a.m., barefoot, with a flash drive still warm in my fist. Julian had already pressed pause on the laptop. Adrian sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, and I could see his shoulders shaking from across the room."Mr. Kane?" The voice on the line was crisp and female and did not sound sleepy. "Dana Whitfield. Eleanor Vale gave me your number. I understand you have something I need to see.""How do you know that?""Because Maddie Lang texted Eleanor an hour ago asking whether it was safe to come to you." A pause. "Mrs. Vale was concerned. She asked me to call. Is Maddie with you now?"I looked at the girl at the kitchen table, wrapped in Julian's spare hoodie, clutching a tissue. "Yes.""Good. Keep her there. Don't copy the file onto anything connected to the internet, and don't send it to anyone. I'm twenty minutes away.""It's almost o

Elias’s POVAdrian led me into the bedroom without another word.The door clicked shut behind us. Afternoon light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting soft gold across the unmade bed, the tangled sheets, the quiet space that suddenly felt too small for everything between us. My heart was already racing. Adrian turned to face me, eyes dark and steady, and for a long moment we just looked at each other.Then he stepped in.His hands rose to my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones, and he kissed me—slow, deep, deliberate. No rush. No desperation. Just the careful press of mouths, the soft drag of lips, the quiet sound I made when his tongue finally slipped past mine. My hands settled at his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt like I needed something to hold on to. The kiss deepened gradually, growing warmer, wetter, until I was breathing hard against his mouth and he was guiding me backward toward the bed.The backs of my knees hit the mattress. Adrian eased me down

Adrian’s POVElias opened the cabinet and looked inside for a long second. I stayed where I was, still tasting him on my tongue, watching the way his shoulders moved as he breathed. He pulled out a pair of soft leather cuffs, a black silk blindfold, a small bottle of lube, and a sleek black vibrator with a remote. Nothing extreme. Nothing that would leave marks we could not explain later. Just enough to change the air between us.He turned back to me, eyes darker than I had ever seen them.“Take your clothes off,” he said.I did. Shirt first, then jeans, then everything else, until I stood naked under the red light while he stayed fully dressed. The imbalance felt deliberate. He stepped close, set the toys on the low table, and ran his hands over my chest, slow and assessing. When his fingers brushed my nipples I shivered. He noticed. He did it again, harder, watching my face.“Hands,” he said.I held them out. He buckled the soft leather cuffs around my wrists, checking the fit twice

Elias's POVThe trustees met on Monday at ten, and by Sunday night I'd already been convicted by everyone I'd ever shared a garage with.It started with the group chat. Mine had forty-one members, mechanics, drivers, and engineers, and for two years it had been nothing but memes and tyre pressures. On Sunday it went quiet. By midnight, three people had left. By morning, someone had changed the name from 'Pit Crew' to a word I won't repeat.My teammate Marcus, who had once lent me his jacket in a downpour, sent a single private message. 'Don't come to the garage. People are pissed. Sorry, man.'I read it six times. Then I put on my one good gray shirt and went anyway.---The boardroom had a window over the quad and a table long enough to land a plane on. Twelve trustees sat along one side in dark suits. At the head was Arthur Hargrove, heavy and white-mustached, with the flat eyes of a man who had decided the verdict before the trial. Mrs. Holloway sat to his right, silent. And at the