Chapter 4 The Gigolo Who Was Never for Sale
Elijah had just turned off the water and was about to reach for a towel when a loud, heavy pounding echoed against the thick mahogany door of his bathroom. Elena seemed to be banging on it with all her might!
"Hey, Gigolo! When are you going to be done? Why are you taking such a long shower!" Elena shouted from outside. Her voice sounded impatient, typical of someone drunk whose emotions were swinging wildly.
Elijah scoffed, the corner of his lips curving into an amused smile. He wrapped a clean white towel around his waist, letting droplets of water still trickle down his broad chest and firm six-pack abs.
"Patience, Miss. The best service requires thorough preparation," Elijah replied in his baritone voice, sounding sexy and teasing from behind the door.
Elijah opened the door slowly. Warm steam immediately billowed out, enveloping his figure clad only in a towel. He towered before Elena, staring at the woman who looked both surprised and mesmerized by the sight in front of her.
"You're being too loud, Darling," Elijah whispered as he stepped forward, forcing Elena to step back until her back hit the hallway wall.
"Are you that impatient to use my services?" Elijah asked again, winking one eye.
Elena didn't answer with words. Instead, fueled by alcohol and the searing pain in her chest, the woman grew extremely bold. With hazy eyes and her consciousness teetering on the edge of collapse, Elena reached for the towel around Elijah's waist and pulled it with one strong tug, forcing the man to close the distance until there was no space left between them.
"Stop talking. Just do your job!" Elena challenged, her breath hot against Elijah's face.
Elena immediately grabbed Elijah's neck, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was far more demanding and wilder than before.
She seemed to want to pour all her anger, Morgan's betrayal, and her broken heart from that night into that kiss.
Elijah was stunned for a moment, but Elena's challenge was fuel to the fire already blazing inside him. He held back no longer. With one dominant move, Elijah lifted Elena's body, letting her legs wrap around his waist, and carried her toward the king-size bed waiting in the center of the room.
That night, Elena seemed to lose all control over herself. She grew much more ferocious, clawing at Elijah's shoulders and demanding every touch with a hunger sparked by her heartbreak. She wanted to erase Morgan's shadow with the presence of the man before her.
Elijah, on the other hand, had to muster all his strength to hold back the laughter tickling his throat. Honestly, the situation was deeply ironic. He, Elijah—the man known to be cold and untouchable, who had never let any woman into his personal life, let alone climb into his bed without being kicked out immediately—was now being treated as a rented gigolo by a woman three years older than him.
Elijah was only 24 years old. His explosive young soul and high male ego were provoked by the challenge from Elena, who was 27. There was something in the way Elena looked at him that drew Elijah in. He, who usually maintained cleanliness and order, didn't mind getting a little dirty with Elena.
"You're so impatient, Miss," Elijah whispered between their kisses, his voice hoarse with a passion that was beginning to shatter all his logic as a man.
Elijah laid Elena on the cool silk sheets, but their body temperature only rose. Even though this was his first experience, Elijah's possessive instincts immediately awakened.
He wouldn't let Elena think of another man while she was with him. If Elena wanted him to be a gigolo, then he would be the only man who would haunt Elena's life from now on, starting tonight.
Elijah pressed his body closer, letting their skin touch without distance. He began placing light yet devastating kisses along Elena's jawline, slowly descending toward her slender neck. Every touch from Elijah felt like an electric shock traveling through Elena's nerves.
Elijah's long, firm fingers began to explore, applying just the right pressure to sensitive spots, making Elena moan softly. The young man might be inexperienced, but his natural instincts were razor-sharp—he knew exactly how to trigger reactions from Elena's body.
"Look at me, Elena," Elijah whispered in his deep baritone, forcing Elena to open her hazy eyes.
"Forget that bastard. Tonight, only I exist in your mind," Elijah said again, his voice now sounding rough and husky. Honestly, Elena's body was incredibly sexy as the top part of her dress slipped down, revealing her full, firm chest. Elijah no longer hesitated to remove all the remaining fabric from Elena's beautiful body.
Due to the intense touches from Elijah, Elena felt her blood boil. Heat spread from the center of her body to her fingertips. The passion Elijah created was maddening, burying her heartache and replacing it with an overwhelming desire. She had never felt so wanted before.
"I want you, Elijah, please," Elena whispered.
Elijah could only clear his throat softly in response to Elena's plea, his voice catching in his throat from extreme nervousness.
Even though he tried to appear dominant, his heart was pounding wildly—this was new territory for him. But the surging passion overpowered everything. They drowned in an ocean of obsession and intense release for hours.
Two hours later, Elena woke up.
Her consciousness was returning, though her head still throbbed. When her eyes opened, the first thing she saw was the high, luxurious ceiling of the penthouse. She turned to the side and nearly had a heart attack. The man, the gigolo, was still sleeping soundly on his back, his breathing steady, and part of his muscular body covered by the messy sheets.
"Oh my God, what have I done?" Elena whispered in panic.
Her face paled. She remembered how she had pulled the man's towel and demanded he do his job. With lightning-fast but careful movements to avoid making noise, Elena got out of bed. Her body ached, but fear dominated.
She picked up her red dress lying on the floor, putting it on with trembling hands. After briefly fixing her hair, she grabbed her small clutch. She rummaged through it—only a few hundred dollars were left.
"This probably isn't enough for a gigolo of his caliber, but it's all I have," she mumbled as she placed the money on the nightstand, right beside the lamp.