Chapter 70 70
Elliot's POV
The next morning I woke up early.
Emma was still asleep, breathing steady, the sheet tangled around her legs. I looked at her for a second, feeling a pang that wasn't guilt—just exhaustion. I'd packed her suitcase while she slept: everything folded neatly, toiletries bag zipped, beach dress tucked at the bottom. I didn't want her here another minute. Not after last night, after having her again, after feeling her body shake against mine in that cold hallway, after hearing her broken voice say she didn't love me while her pussy clenched around me like it never wanted to let go.
Yeah… with her it was always pleasure and pain, because while her body fit perfectly with mine, Mrs. Ellis said things just to cut me. Like she'd show me heaven, then shove me straight to the gates of hell.
I sat on the edge of the bed, gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. She opened her eyes slowly, confused.
"Morning… what time is it?"
"Early," I said. "I changed your flight. Leaves in an hour and a half. You need to get ready—wake up."
She sat up fast, sheet falling to her waist.
"What? Why? What do you mean a flight? We're leaving already?"
"No, Em—you're leaving. Something came up. You have to go back. I'm staying a couple more days."
"What came up? Elliot, what's going on? Last night you were fine, dinner was—"
"There's nothing to explain," I cut her off. "Get dressed quick. Taxi’s already ordered."
She stared at me, eyes wide, searching my face for something she wasn't going to find.
"Did something happen you didn't tell me? Is everything okay? Tell me! You can't just expect me to leave like this."
"For starters, you shouldn't have come. My mistake. Now you need to go back. Don't ask. Just get dressed."
She got out of bed, not understanding, moving slow like she was waiting for me to say it was a joke. She put on yesterday's clothes, washed her face, grabbed her toiletries. I helped with the suitcase, carried it down to the lobby. At the hotel entrance I hugged her tight, kissed her on the lips.
"We'll see each other soon," I said. "I love you."
Lie. I didn't love her. Not like her. But I said it because that's what you're supposed to say.
She climbed into the taxi with wet eyes, still lost. I watched it pull away. Then I flagged another cab and gave the driver the Ellises' address.
When I got there, Andrew opened the door looking hungover—hair a mess, hand pressed to his temple.
"Fuck, Elliot. My head's killing me. Last night was fun, huh?"
"Real fun," I said, forcing a smile. "How you holding up?"
"Like I got hit by a tram. Come in, come in."
I stepped inside. Kate was in the kitchen, back to me, washing mugs. She turned when she heard me. Our eyes met for a second. I saw the fear, the anger, the exhaustion. Andrew walked over, kissed her cheek.
"I'm heading to the office for a bit. Need to grab some papers."
"Mrs. Ellis didn't tell you? She offered to show me around the area today."
"Oh, nice," he said. "Have fun, you two. I'll call before lunch to see what you guys are up to."
Andrew kissed her again—this time longer, on the lips. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. When he pulled away, he looked at me.
"Take care of my wife," he said.
"Always," I answered.
Andrew left. The door clicked shut. We were alone.
Kate spun around and punched me square in the face. Hard. My lip split, blood trickling.
"Fuck!"
"Get the hell out of my house!" she yelled. "You don't get to show up here and make plans like this is yours. Get out!"
I wiped the blood with the back of my hand.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I grabbed her, wrapped my arms around her waist like I could pull her inside me so she'd never get away again. She fought instantly—palms flat on my chest, shoving with everything she had—but it wasn't enough. I squeezed tighter, pressing her against me until I felt her round belly push into my stomach, that warm, living barrier reminding me what had changed and what hadn't. Her breathing sped up against my neck—fast, ragged. She smelled like her: fresh-washed hair, that lotion she always used, that soft perfume that had driven me crazy from day one. I couldn't hold back.
I kissed her. Hard. Lips crashing into hers, urgent, no asking permission. She froze for a second—rigid, like her body didn't know what to do with mine. Then her mouth opened, not to kiss me back but to protest, to say something that never made it out. I took the opening: slid my tongue in, tasting her again, deep, claiming every spot I'd missed for months. She gasped into my mouth—a muffled sound that shot down my spine like electricity. She kissed me back for one treacherous, involuntary second—lips trembling against mine—before turning her head and pushing harder.
I didn't let her pull away. One hand on the back of her neck, the other on her waist, I half-dragged her toward the couch. She stumbled a little, dress riding up her thighs, but didn't fall. I pushed her down until her knees hit the edge and she dropped onto the cushions. I was on her in a second—one knee between her legs, body weight pinning her against the pillows. I kissed her harder, biting her lower lip until I tasted the faint metallic tang of blood—just a graze. She opened her mouth to scream or breathe, I don't know, and I plunged my tongue in again, invading, tangling with hers while my hands slid up her sides, gripping the dress fabric, hunting for skin underneath.
She gasped against my mouth—broken sound, half moan, half protest. Pushed at my chest with both hands, nails digging through my shirt.
"Stop," she whispered, voice shaking. "Elliot, stop."