Chapter 64: Caught up in the Heat

Elyse’s P.O.V

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here at the bar. The neon lights buzz above me, and the low hum of chatter from people around me just blends into the background. It’s all white noise, just like my thoughts, floating around aimlessly in my head. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back again and again—Kyle.

I should have listened to my gut. I should’ve known better than to let him get under my skin like this.

I had made the stupid mistake of following him. After that conversation earlier, I couldn't shake the thought of him saying he had a date. Part of me wanted to believe him, but there was another part that just… couldn’t. I mean, just two days ago, he confessed to me, told me how he felt, and now suddenly, he’s off with some gorgeous woman, acting like nothing ever happened between us? It didn’t make sense.

So, like a fool, I decided to follow him. The restaurant was fancy and upscale—nothing like the places I would pick for a date. As soon as I walked in and saw him with her, my stomach dropped. The woman sitting across from him had red hair that practically caught fire under the lights and eyes so green they could pierce you—she looked like someone who had every reason to take his attention away.

I was right there in the doorway, standing frozen, watching them laugh, watching him lean in closer than I had ever seen him lean toward anyone else. My heart twisted in my chest, and I had to get out of there before I made a fool of myself.

So here I am, now, at a bar, nursing a drink that’s probably my fifth or sixth by now. The amber liquid swims in my glass, and I watch it like I can find answers at the bottom. Maybe if I drink enough, I won’t feel this sick feeling in my gut anymore. Maybe if I drink enough, I won’t care about the look on Kyle’s face when he turned to me in that elevator, or the way he told me that it was none of my business anymore.

The bartender—maybe it’s his third time refilling my glass, or his fourth—looks at me with a raised brow. I’m guessing I don’t look like someone who should be sitting alone at a bar, nursing one too many drinks.

“You alright there?” he asks his voice warm but tinged with concern.

I try to focus on him, but it’s like the room is spinning around me, and everything is a little too much. Too bright, too loud. I swallow thickly before answering, “I’m fine,” I manage, my voice thick, heavier than I want it to be.

“Are you sure?” he presses, his eyes flicking to the nearly empty bottle in front of me. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight. How about you call it a night?”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out right. Instead, I just stare at the glass in my hand, watching the ice cubes clink together, the way they float in the liquid. The motion is soothing somehow, hypnotic. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to face what’s waiting for me there.

The bartender sighs, clearly deciding I’m too far gone to argue with. “Alright, I’ll call your driver. You’ll be safe getting home, yeah?”

I nod, because there’s nothing else left to say. Safe sounds good. I just want to forget.

A few moments later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a message from my chauffeur. He’s here. I stand on shaky legs, pulling myself together as best I can, feeling the weight of the alcohol in my limbs. I pay the bartender, my hand fumbling for my wallet, and give him a small, unsteady smile as I leave. He waves me off, probably relieved to see me go.

When I get into the car, I lean back against the seat, letting the cold leather cool my skin. The driver doesn’t say a word, and I don’t say anything to him either. I’m just lost in my thoughts, trying to make sense of everything and failing miserably.

“Home?” the chauffeur asks, his voice a soft murmur in the otherwise quiet car.

I nod. “Yeah… home.”

The drive feels long. My mind wanders, jumping from thought to thought, like a racecar tearing around a track. Was Kyle really just playing me the whole time? Was he just trying to get me jealous? I know he’s done it before, but this feels different. He was so… genuine when he talked to me. When he looked at me, it felt like it meant something. But now, looking back, I wonder if it was all just some kind of game to him.

I stumble through the front door, the alcohol blurring my senses and muddling my thoughts. I call out, “Cam? Cam, are you here?” My voice is hoarse, desperate even, but no answer comes. The silence is heavy—a deafening reminder that maybe Cam hasn’t come home yet. Or maybe I’m just too far gone to really know the time. My head is spinning, and every step toward the bedroom feels like a battle against a force I can’t name.

As I reach the hallway, I barely catch my reflection in a darkened mirror—a disheveled mess of uncombed hair, half-closed eyes, and a look of raw vulnerability. I force a laugh at myself, a bitter sound that dies quickly. “Come on, Elyse,” I mutter under my breath, “you’ve been better.” But even as I speak, my body protests the effort, heavy and uncoordinated. I lean against the wall for support and stagger my way toward the bedroom. I don’t even have time to take off my coat before I collapse onto the sheets.

But instead of the blissfulness of sleep…I’m greeted with something else entirely.

A sudden heat creeps along my skin, starting at my core and radiating outward in tremors. I sit up, confused, feeling a burning sensation that seems to surge through every nerve ending. My heart starts racing, and I can’t shake the thought that it’s all because of Kyle. I know it’s absurd—Kyle, of all people—but every wild, drunken thought of mine tonight seems to circle back to him.

I rub my face with my hands, trying to rid myself of the confusion. My mind, already clouded by drinks, now fixates on the heat and the pulsing sensation that’s unmistakably arousing.

I shift on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but the intensity of this heat makes it impossible to settle. Every tremor, every shiver of desire, tells me that I’m in a rut again—an all-too-familiar rut that always seems to ignite when Kyle’s name crosses my mind.

I reach down, my hand trembling as I start to undress, the fabric of my shirt sliding off as I push it aside. Every movement feels both mechanical and charged, as though my body is betraying me by moving on its own accord.

“Come on, come on…” I whisper to myself, a low murmur that mixes arousal with frustration. My hand reaches toward my already aroused length, and I start to stroke myself in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure. The room is silent except for the sound of my breathing and the soft, ragged swish of my movements against my skin.

The sudden brightness stings my eyes as the bedroom lights flick on, pulling me from the feverish haze I’ve been lost in.

Then I hear it—his voice. 

“Elyse?” Cam’s tone is laced with concern as he steps closer. “Are you okay?”

But I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to be alone in this unbearable need. 

I reach out blindly, my fingers grasping Cam’s wrist and tugging him closer. His scent is familiar, comforting even, but it’s not the one I crave. It’s not Kyle. Yet, in my desperation, I push that thought away and pull Cam onto the bed with me.

“Help me, Cam,” I beg, my voice raw and desperate. “Please… I need you.”