His Cold CEO
It was an anchor thrown into Elias’s storm.
Elias reached for him, not with the possessive claim of earlier days, but with a raw, almost desperate need for contact. His fingers brushed the soft hem of Noah’s sweater, then curled around his hips, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned. He buried his face in the curve of Noah’s neck, inhaling the scent of him – bergamot, clean skin, home. “You’re the only thing I haven’t managed to destroy,” he whispered, the confession muffled against Noah’s skin, a tremor running through him.
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