Chapter 69 69
Elliot's POV
I almost thought she wasn't going to open the door. I stood there in the dark hallway, staring at the thin strip of light under the door, watching her shadow pace back and forth—nervous, hesitant. I figured she was regretting it, that she was going to leave me hanging out here, so I sent that last message: "I see your shadow. Open the damn door already."
It wasn't a threat. It was a plea dressed up as one.
I couldn't walk away without seeing her, without touching her—even if it was just for a second—without making sure she was still real.
The door opened slowly. I saw her and my breath caught. She was in those short pajamas that hugged her round belly, hair loose over her shoulders, eyes shining with fear and something else I felt too.
She looked beautiful—more than ever—with that new curve giving her this mix of maturity and vulnerability. I stepped in before she could close it, pushing the door with my shoulder. She shoved me back with both hands on my chest—hard, desperate. We ended up out in the hallway again, door half-open behind us.
"You're going to get cold," I said, trying to open it again.
She whispered, voice shaking:
"Andrew could wake up."
"He's drunk. He wouldn't wake up if a building fell on him."
I pushed the door all the way open, grabbed her arm, and pulled her inside first. Closed it quietly, no sound. She stayed pressed against the wood, breathing hard. I moved closer slowly, planted my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. My face got nearer until our noses brushed. She smelled the same: her lotion, her skin, that soft perfume that always drove me insane.
I tried to kiss her. She turned her face away.
"No," she whispered. "Just talk. That's why I opened the door."
I looked at her lips, then her eyes.
"You got this pretty just to talk?" I asked, noticing this wasn't some casual bedtime look.
I saw her cheeks flush, burning under the hallway light. She pushed me again, but I didn't budge. I moved to her side, wrapped my arms around her from behind, hands grazing her rounded belly. I felt it move a little under my palms. She tensed.
"You're gorgeous," I whispered in her ear. "You look incredible."
I tried kissing her again—this time on the neck. She turned away again. I cursed under my breath, frustrated. Then she started crying—quiet, shoulders shaking.
"Andrew's right there," she said between sobs.
I took her hand, opened the door, and pulled her back out into the hallway. It was cold, but I didn't care. I grabbed her face—maybe too hard, losing a bit of control—and kissed her. A brutal crash of lips. Hers parted in surprise, and I went in, tasting her again. That familiar texture, that flavor that wrecked me, those little gasps from her throat when my tongue found hers. I couldn't believe it. I was kissing Mrs. Ellis again. It hurt and felt perfect at the same time. That connection I'd thought was unexplainable suddenly made all the sense in the world.
"I love you," I whispered against her mouth before diving back in.
Yeah, I was desperate. Screw looking strong—I wanted my Mrs. Ellis!
She gasped, tugged my hair, pulled me closer. Her belly was in the way, but it didn't stop me. I shifted to her right side, turned her face, kissed her cheek, her neck, bit her soft shoulder. Slid my hands under her pajamas, cupped her breasts—bigger, firmer, heavier now. I got used to the new size, how they hardened under my palms. I groaned against her skin at how fucking amazing it felt to touch her, feel her, have her right here—not imagining her to breathe, but real. She was here, in my arms!
"I'd forgotten you," she moaned, voice broken.
"You tried," I whispered. "But you didn't. This is proof you're a damn liar. You hurt me with your words, but guess what? Your body talks to me and says I wasn't some fucking mistake in your life. I was Elliot—your lover. Face it, get used to it, accept it, and don't you dare say you don't feel the same."
I kissed her harder, knowing she hadn't forgotten. That I was still inside her, even if she denied it.
"Am I still just a kid?" I asked, grabbing her hand and sliding it inside my pants, over my hard cock.
I watched her eyes widen, saw her bite her lip. She attacked my mouth, bit my lips. I eased her pajamas down slowly while she stroked me—squeezing, moving. I touched her carefully, exploring, rediscovering. My fingers got wet with her. I pushed two inside without warning. Silenced her with a hard kiss. She stepped back, but I didn't pull out. Pinned her against the hallway wall, held her face while I kissed her neck and fucked her with my fingers—slow, deep—feeling her shake and moan into my mouth.
"I love her," I growled. "I adore her. I miss her. I want her. Fuck."
I pulled my fingers out just long enough to undo my pants, free myself. She gasped, tried to turn, but I didn't let her. Pinned her with my body, bit her shoulder, and growled:
"You won't stop me."
"I'm scared," she said, voice cracking.
"What you are is dying to get fucked by me."
I thrust in right then—one hard push. Covered her mouth with my hand while I whispered in her ear:
"I missed this pussy so much. So fucking much. My Mrs. Ellis… do you even understand what you did to me, or are you just pretending it wasn't that big a deal? Because it was. You are everything to me."
She moaned against my palm, body trembling. I moved inside her, taking my time, feeling how she fit around me, how she clenched. Her belly wasn't a barrier like this—from behind. I had her. I had her again. Her hands dug into my thighs, pulling, scratching. I kissed her neck, bit the soft skin while I kept thrusting. She panted, tried to stay quiet, but muffled moans slipped out.
"Tell me you want me," I whispered, speeding up.
She didn't answer. Just clenched tighter, kissed me desperately when I turned her face to mine—tongue on tongue, teeth clashing. I felt her shake, tighten around me. She came in maybe two minutes—less—body convulsing against mine. I followed seconds later, reluctant because I didn't want it this fast or to end like this, but we weren't somewhere we could take our time.
She was crying quietly, shoulders heaving. I fixed her pajamas, kissed her forehead, her temple, her hair.
"Don't cry," I said. "Don't cry."
"No… we shouldn't."
"Who says?"
"This isn't right, Elliot."
"And who cares? What matters is that we find each other again—and here we are… together."
"This is pathetic, Elliot."
"No, it's love."
"I don't love you, Elliot."
"I don't believe your lies anymore. You can't fool me. You can convince yourself you've fixed your marriage, that you've got your family back, that you're the perfect wife. But deep down… this is us. Two people who love each other."
"No, we're not. You know exactly what we are: two disloyal people who think love fixes everything."
"Then… yeah, you do love me."
"Please, Elliot."
"You love me. For once, just fucking say it."
"And then what?! I'm married, pregnant, and you're still just a kid!"
"I'm a man, damn it, Katherine! A man!" She tried to shush me, but I wouldn't let her.
"Oh, you're a man now? Please—you do whatever your mom tells you, you're barely in college. And you still depend on her! And don't think for a second I want you to become a 'man' for me. What I'm saying is live your life! And leave me alone with mine."