Chapter 152
Elena's POV
Not soft. Not tentative. Deep and claiming, with a hunger that stole what little breath I had left. One hand slid to cup the back of my head, holding me in place, not letting me escape even if I'd wanted to.
My brain short-circuited. This wasn't the careful rejection I'd been bracing for. This was—
His mouth moved against mine with clear intent, and my hands came up instinctively, fisting in his shirt, holding on because my knees had gone weak and I needed something solid to anchor me.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips.
"That's why," he said, voice rough and low, "you don't say things like that on the street."
I blinked, dazed, trying to make my brain work again. "I don't—what?"
"Because I can't control myself when you do."
The words registered slowly, sinking in one by one. Can't control myself. Which meant—
Before I could finish that thought, his hands moved to my waist. In one smooth motion, he lifted me up and set me on the console table in the entryway, positioning us so we were eye to eye.
I gasped, gripping his shoulders for balance. My legs dangled, and I felt absurdly vulnerable sitting there, caught between him and the wall.
He stepped closer, filling the space between my knees, his hands still on my waist. His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn't look away.
"If you'd said that out there," he continued, his voice still rough, still strained, "in the middle of the street, with people around—" He paused, jaw working. "I wouldn't have been able to stop myself. Do you understand? I would have marked you right there, and I wouldn't have cared who was watching."
The weight of those words hit me like a freight train.
"So..." I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers were still clutching his shirt, knuckles white. "This... you're saying yes?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me with those intense eyes, and I couldn't read what was behind them. Fear clawed at my chest again.
"Caleb, please—"
His hand came up, palm pressing against the side of my neck. I felt my pulse hammering against his skin, rapid and erratic. His thumb rested lightly at the hollow of my throat.
Not threatening. But possessive.
"This is the last time," he said quietly. Each word was deliberate, weighted. "The last time I let you in. The last time I trust you when you say you want this. If you change your mind again, if you decide later that I'm not what you want—" His jaw clenched. "I don't know what I'll do, Elena. But it won't be pretty."
I should have been scared. The rational part of my brain knew that. But instead, I felt something else entirely. Something that settled warm and certain in my chest.
Because he wasn't rejecting me. He was protecting himself. Protecting what was left of his heart after everything.
"I won't," I said, my own hand coming up to cover his where it rested against my neck. "I won't change my mind."
"You've done it before."
The words stung because they were true.
"I know." My voice cracked slightly. "I know I have. And I know I don't deserve for you to believe me now. But Caleb—" I took a breath, steadying myself. "I'm not asking you to give me a way out. I'm asking you not to give me one. I don't want an escape route. I don't want to be able to run."
His eyes searched mine, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that I was lying.
"I'm yours," I said simply. "If you'll have me, I'm yours. And I don't want a safety net. I don't want to keep one foot out the door. I just want—" My voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I just want you."
The kiss deepened as Caleb carried me through the doorway, his mouth urgent against mine. My coat slipped from my shoulders and hit the floor with a soft thud. I barely registered it. My hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, and his grip on my waist tightened as he backed toward the bedroom.
The sharp trill of a phone cut through the silence.
I felt him tense, but he didn't stop. His lips moved to my jaw, then down to my neck, and I tilted my head back, breathless.
The phone rang again.
"Caleb—"
"Ignore it," he muttered against my skin, his voice rough.
But it kept ringing. Over and over. The sound grated on my nerves, pulling me out of the haze.
"It might be important," I whispered, though I didn't want to stop either.
His jaw clenched. "It's not."
Another ring.
I pushed gently at his chest. "I should—my phone's in the living room. What if it's—"
"Don't care." His hands slid to my hips, holding me in place.
But the ringing continued, relentless.
I tried to step back. "Just let me check—"
"Elena." His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Stay."
I hesitated, caught between the heat in his eyes and the persistent noise. Finally, I placed my palm against his cheek. "Just one call. Then we have the whole night. And tomorrow. And the day after that." I smiled softly. "We have the rest of our lives."
His gaze fixed on my mouth. Something flickered in his expression—hunger, frustration, maybe something softer I couldn't name. He leaned in and kissed me again, hard and possessive, before finally letting go.
"Go," he said, his voice tight.
I hurried to the living room, my heart still racing. The phone was ringing for the third time. It was Mom.