Chapter 120
Elsa
Drake's lip curled into a mocking smile that made me want to punch him. "Want Allen instead? Too bad he pushed you away. Twice."
He moved closer, his scent overwhelming me in the small space, making my head spin even more. My body leaned forward traitorously, seeking his warmth.
"Stay... away," I gasped, my voice breaking pathetically, but my body was already betraying me, swaying toward him, seeking his touch even as I tried to pull away, my hands pushing weakly against his chest. "Don't... fucking touch me."
"Your body knows who you belong to, Elsa," Drake whispered, his hand cupping my face, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized I'd shed. "No matter how much your mind fights it."
"Stop fighting it," he growled, his breath hot against my neck as his teeth grazed my pulse point. "Your body knows exactly what it wants."
My back hit the cold wall, sending a shock through my overheated skin. Drake's body pressed against mine, hard and unyielding. His erection pushed insistently against my stomach as his hands found their way under my blouse, fingers digging into my ribs. I turned my face away, refusing to look at him.
"Fuck you," I managed to gasp, but my voice sounded breathy and weak even to my own ears. My nipples hardened painfully against my bra, aching for his touch despite my protests.
Drake's low chuckle sent shivers down my spine. "Saying no while your body's begging for it." He shifted his hips, grinding against me deliberately. He pressed his nose to my neck, inhaling deeply as his hand slid down to cup me through my pants. "Your scent's screaming for me."
"It's the goddamn drug," I protested, trying to hold onto my dignity as my body betrayed me, arching into his touch like a starving animal. My hips bucked against his hand involuntarily. "Not me. Never me."
In one swift motion, Drake lifted me again, carrying me to the small window at the far end of the room. The night air coming through the partially open window was cool against my feverish skin as he set me on the narrow ledge, positioning himself between my legs. His hands pushed my thighs apart roughly, his fingertips leaving marks I knew would bruise by morning.
"Elsa, look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping to that Alpha timbre that bypassed all rational thought. "Look at who's touching you. Who you belong to."
I forced my eyes open, my vision swimming. Drake's face was inches from mine, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
"Drake, you fucking bastard," I spat, but my thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer until I could feel every hard inch of him pressed against my core. My body was waging a war against my mind, and it was winning with every passing second.
I hate him. I hate him. So why does it feel so fucking good?
His hands slid under my blouse, roughly pushing my bra up until my breasts spilled free. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to fight the waves of pleasure threatening to drown me as his thumbs circled my nipples.
This wasn't right. I didn't want this—didn't want him. But my body remembered his touch, responding to him like it had been programmed to do so over our ten years together.
Drake's movements became more intense, more demanding as he unfastened my pants and shoved them down my hips. Through my drug-hazed mind, I caught a glimpse of something raw and honest in his expression—something I'd never seen before. Pure, unfiltered desire.
The drug surged through my system, erasing the last of my inhibitions. My head fell back, a moan escaping my lips as heat pooled low in my belly. I was burning alive, every nerve ending screaming for release.
"Please," I whispered, hating myself for begging. "Please, Drake."
Then Drake stopped.
His hands stilled, his breath hot against my collarbone. The sudden absence of movement was torture.
"No," I gasped, my pride shattered by the drug and the need coursing through me. I grabbed at his belt, fumbling with the buckle. "Don't stop. Please." The word 'please' felt foreign on my tongue—I never begged him for anything. But the ache inside me was unbearable, pulsing between my legs with every heartbeat. "Move, Drake. Fucking move!"
Drake remained motionless, his eyes dark with something between amusement and hunger.
"What's wrong?" I taunted, desperation making me reckless as I pressed my palm against his erection. "Can't get it up? Maybe you're losing your touch."
His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't stop myself. I grabbed his tie, pulling him closer until our lips were nearly touching.
"Fuck me, Drake," I whispered against his mouth, rolling my hips against him. "Or are you all talk now?"
With a growl that was more wolf than man, Drake responded, lifting me off the windowsill and slamming me against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, but I barely felt it through the haze of arousal and chemicals flooding my system. His hands were everywhere—in my hair, gripping my ass, tearing at my clothes until I was half-naked and trembling.
Time blurred as we moved around the small room, ending up against another wall. My legs trembled, barely supporting my weight as Drake thrust into me again and again. The high was starting to fade, leaving clarity in its wake—and with it, shame. I could feel sweat cooling on my skin, my heart rate slowly returning to normal.
What the hell am I doing? Again? Always with him?
"No more," I whispered, the fight gone from me, my muscles aching from overuse. "I can't... please, stop."
Drake's laugh was cold against my ear. "Going to pull up your pants and pretend this never happened, Assistant Hale? Typical."
The old shame washed over me, hot and bitter. He was right. How many times had we done this? How many times had I sworn it would be the last? What difference would one more time make when I was already ruined?
"We've done this so many fucking times," I said dully, feeling hollow inside. "What's one more?"
The sudden blaring of my ringtone cut through the tension. I froze, suddenly realizing Drake hadn't taken my phone as he usually did during our encounters. The screen lit up in my discarded purse.
Allen.
Drake saw the name too, his expression darkening to something dangerous. He moved to retrieve my phone, holding it up with a cruel smile.
"Should we answer? Let him hear what you sound like when you're with me?"