Chapter 10 Moan My Name, Babe!
Elijah's hands began to dance over Elena's skin with the precision of a maestro playing his most precious instrument. He was in no hurry; he savored every inch of Elena's beautiful body beneath his palms. His movements crept from her waist, rising slowly until his fingers brushed against her side, creating a searing sensation that left a trail of heat at every point he touched.
Elijah leaned down, letting his lips explore the curve of Elena's neck, inhaling her sweet scent which was now mingled with surging passion. He gave a small, teasing bite there, causing Elena to arch her chest and grip Elijah's shoulders even tighter.
"E-Elijah... hhh," Elena gasped, her head falling back, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the world around her begin to fade. Slowly but surely, she began to lose herself in the atmosphere Elijah had created. The view of the New York lights behind the glass window was now just a blurred backdrop. For her, the only reality remaining was Elijah's touch, which felt so vivid it scorched her logic.
Elijah moved to Elena's ear, whispering low, intoxicating words of praise while his hands mischievously began to trace the curves of her thighs, revealing her luxurious gown inch by inch.
"You are so beautiful, Elena. Far more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen," Elijah whispered, his deep voice sending vibrations directly to the center of Elena's consciousness.
Elijah’s touch now shifted to more sensitive spots, applying gentle pressure that made Elena feel as if she were floating in the middle of a storm. Her blood rushed wildly, her heart racing at the same rhythm as the young man above her. Elena no longer cared who Elijah was, nor did she care about Morgan who had betrayed her, or her family's scandals.
Under Elijah’s fingers, she was no longer the pathetic Mrs. Vance; she was simply a woman longing for touch after magical touch from a man much younger than herself.
Every time Elena tried to catch her breath, Elijah always found a way to pull her back into a deeper vortex of pleasure. Hot kisses now rained down on Elena's collarbone, while Elijah’s hands worked with a lethal rhythm, ensuring that not a single inch of Elena's body escaped his claim of power.
Elena had completely lost her footing. She panted, her fingers locked in Elijah's hair, pulling him closer, silently pleading for something more. Elijah smirked in the darkness, his blue eyes glinting with satisfaction as he saw his prey completely submit.
"The night is still long, Darling," Elijah whispered with a thick, possessive tone. "And I will make sure you won't be able to remember any man's name but mine."
Elena no longer had the strength to resist. All her defenses had melted into a hot liquid flowing through her veins. She looked up, gazing into Elijah's blue eyes flashing under the dim city lights, searching for an anchor in the middle of the storm of passion hitting her.
"Do it, Elijah... Please, do it," Elena whispered, her voice hoarse with passion that had reached its peak.
Hearing that request, Elijah felt an extraordinary wave of satisfaction wash over him. There was a deep sense of victory behind his gaze; not just because of the physical intimacy they shared, but because Elena had completely dissolved into the charm he had crafted. For Elijah, this moment was the pinnacle of a long game he had been playing, where he had succeeded in becoming the sole focus in Elena's collapsing world.
"Say it again, Elena. Say you want me?" Elijah whispered again; he wanted Elena to beg for him to make love to her. The touches and pecks on Elena's body were no longer enough for her. She wanted more!
"Ahh, Elijah, do it, Baby!"
Meanwhile, a very different atmosphere enveloped a luxury penthouse apartment in the Park Lane area of Mayfair, London. From the large window overlooking Hyde Park, the lights of London provided a calm but cold glow. Inside the room, dominated by modern minimalist design and high-end materials, Morgan stood silently, staring blankly at the darkness of the park below.
Despite being in one of the most elite locations in the world, a deep unease crept into Morgan's mind. Beside him, Marissa was busy with her own activities, but Morgan could not distract himself from the strange feeling that began to gnaw at his composure. Something felt out of place—a bad omen appearing for no clear reason.
Morgan tried to check his phone, hoping for news or updates regarding the situation in New York, but the silence he found only worsened his anxiety.
In the midst of London’s luxury, he felt as if the control he had held so tightly was slowly beginning to loosen. Thoughts of Elena and everything he had left across the ocean suddenly felt so burdensome.
This anxiety was not without reason; it was the instinct of someone who felt that the foundation he had built was being threatened. Morgan paced the spacious room, trying to rationalize his feelings, but the shadows of his failure and betrayal of the woman he married seemed to lurk behind the shadows of his magnificent apartment.
The night in London, which should have been a perfect escape, was now turning into a pressure that made Morgan restless.
Morgan sighed heavily, his thumb pressing the phone screen irritably. He tried to call Elena's number for the third time in the last ten minutes, but only the operator's voice greeted him. Elena's phone was off.
"Damn it," Morgan cursed under his breath. He threw his phone onto the velvet sofa, feeling insulted because, for the first time, Elena—the wife he had ignored—was unreachable when he needed her.