Chapter 33
Elizabeth watched him sit there like some goddamn king waiting for his subject to kneel. Her fingers curled involuntarily, but her feet moved anyway.
She crossed to the desk, keeping a careful distance between them.
"Help me." Jacob's voice came out low and rough, echoing in the silent study—a naked demand wrapped in two simple words.
Elizabeth met those eyes blazing with dark fire and knew there was no way out tonight.
She didn't answer. Just lifted her hands and started working the ties of her wine-red dress.
Her movements were slow, deliberate—less like undressing and more like performing some solemn ritual.
Jacob remained in his chair, watching her approach, watching the fabric slide away from her skin.
Tonight, he would have all of her.
A single reading lamp cast amber shadows across the room, illuminating the curves of her body in silhouette. Slender but perfectly formed.
Down to her underwear now, her skin glowed like warm ivory in the dim light—a stark contrast to the cold, hard mahogany furniture, and an even deadlier contrast to the burning darkness in his eyes.
"How does Mr. Smith want me to help?" Her voice came out soft, with the barest thread of tension beneath it, shattering the suffocating silence.
Jacob didn't answer. Just reached out.
That large hand, roughened with calluses from years of holding guns and wielding power, extended toward her.
His fingertips traced a maddeningly slow path up her bare arm, starting at her wrist.
The cool touch sent shivers rippling across her skin.
Elizabeth's body went rigid for a heartbeat before she forced herself to relax.
She kept her gaze lowered, though her breathing had gone shallow despite her best efforts.
His fingers stopped at her shoulder, then pressed down with commanding force.
Elizabeth understood.
She didn't resist. Folded to her knees on the carpet before his chair, slow and obedient.
The position forced her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes—the ultimate gesture of submission and vulnerability.
Jacob looked down at her from his throne.
From this angle, he could see the fragile column of her throat, her lashes trembling against her cheeks.
He reached down, gripped her chin, and forced her to meet his gaze fully.
His thumb, calloused and rough, dragged across her lower lip—not gently, like he was trying to erase something that wasn't even there.
His voice dropped dangerously low, laced with dark magnetism. "Tell me. Where did Henry touch you?"
The question was blunt, degrading—soaked in possessiveness and jealousy that still hadn't cooled.
Something cracked in Elizabeth's icy composure—a flash of humiliation and cold fury.
But she buried it fast, held his burning stare, and answered clearly, "Nowhere. All he ever touched was my blood and my bruises."
The truth.
In her past life, Henry had given her nothing but endless humiliation and physical torture—never intimacy.
Jacob studied her eyes, as if weighing the honesty of her words.
After a moment, he released her chin, though the predatory gleam in his gaze didn't soften one bit.
"Good." The word came out as a low murmur—whether he believed her or simply chose to accept it, she couldn't tell.
His fingers threaded through her hair instead, gripping with that same controlling pressure, guiding her head toward him with unmistakable intent.
Elizabeth's face pressed against the fabric of his pants. She could feel him, rock-hard and straining. Her hands worked his belt, freeing him, and she took the swollen head of his cock into her mouth—tasting the bead of moisture there.
Jacob's scalp tingled, sensation shooting down his spine. The sight of Elizabeth like this, servicing him, drove him half-mad, imagining her tongue swirling around him.
His hands moved to her bra, yanking it down. Her full breasts spilled free, and he palmed them roughly—the soft, heavy weight of them impossible to resist.
Elizabeth gasped around him, her teeth grazing his sensitive skin in warning—a silent plea for gentleness.
That small scrape nearly sent Jacob over the edge. Cursing under his breath, he hauled her up, bent her over the desk, and drove into her in one brutal thrust—no warning, no preparation, just raw possession.
The instant they joined, every coherent thought evaporated from Jacob's mind. All that remained was the primal need to fuck the woman beneath him until she screamed his name in ecstasy.
He turned off the reading lamp. Moonlight spilled through the window, painting Elizabeth's skin in silver-white.
In the darkness, the study filled with ragged breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the protesting creak of furniture bearing weight it wasn't meant to hold.
Jacob's movements weren't gentle—far from it. They were rough, punishing, saturated with possession, and something that felt dangerously close to desperation.
Like he could erase any trace of another man from her skin through sheer force. Like he was punishing her for making him feel this goddamn much—for that infuriating calm she wore like armor.
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out every sensation, her soul drifting somewhere near the ceiling—watching this body being used with cold detachment.
The pain was sharp. The discomfort obvious. But stronger than both was that freezing sense of disconnection.
Only when his lips dragged roughly along the vulnerable curve of her neck—leaving burning marks in their wake—did her body betray her with a barely perceptible shudder, nails biting deep into her palms.
Time lost meaning.
Eventually, it ended.
Jacob collapsed back in his chair, chest heaving slightly, eyes closed as he struggled to catch his breath.
That violent restlessness that had been tearing him apart had dulled somewhat—but it hadn't disappeared entirely.
Elizabeth rose slowly from the carpet, legs unsteady, but she managed not to fall.
Silently, she gathered her discarded dress from the floor and put it back on, movements unhurried—as if what just happened was no different than eating breakfast.
She tied the last ribbon and lifted her gaze to Jacob, still slumped in his chair with his eyes closed. Her voice emerged flat, even colder than before. "Mr. Smith, if there's nothing else, I'll go now."
Jacob's eyes snapped open—the fire extinguished, replaced by that bottomless, frozen darkness again.
He stared at her perfectly composed appearance, at those eyes like an undisturbed frozen lake, and felt that brief calm inside him start to crack and burn again.
How could she be so fucking unaffected?
He bit out a single word, looking away. "Go."
Elizabeth gave a slight nod, turned, and walked out with steady steps, closing the door softly behind her.
The instant the door clicked shut, Jacob's fist slammed into the bookshelf beside him, sending volumes tumbling in a cascade of rustling pages.