Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 125

Chapter 125

Elara

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that felt like

desperation. One hand tangled in my hair, angling my head back. The

other pulled me flush against him.

I froze for half a second. Then my hands fisted in his sweater and I

kissed him back.

Wrong. This is wrong.

But I’d been so cold for so long. And he was warm. And I hated how

much I wanted this.

He walked me backward until my legs hit the couch. I sat down hard and he followed, caging me in with his arms on either side of my

shoulders.

“Tell me to stop.” His breathing was ragged. “Elara. Tell me to stop.”

I looked up at him. His pupils were blown wide. His hair fell across his forehead. I’d never seen him look so undone.

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“I should,” I whispered.

“But you won’t.”

“No.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Relief. Triumph. Something darker.

He kissed me again. Slower this time. His tongue traced my lower lip

and I opened for him. The kiss deepened and I felt myself sinking into

it, into him, into this terrible wonderful mistake.

His hands moved to the hem of my turtleneck. He paused. “Can I?”

I nodded.

He pulled it off. Dropped it on the floor. His eyes tracked over me-

the simple black bra, the shadows of old bruises on my ribs, the

sharpness of my collarbones.

“You’re too thin,” he said quietly. Almost to himself.

I reached for his sweater. “You talk too much.”

He let me pull it over his head. My hands found the hard planes of his

chest. Muscle and warmth and proof that this was real, not another

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fevered dream.

He kissed my neck. My collarbone. The hollow of my throat. Each

touch felt like a brand.

“I think about you,” he said against my skin. “All the fucking time.

When I’m in meetings. When I’m with-” He stopped himself.

“With her?”

His hands stilled. “Yes.”

The admission hurt. But I’d asked for honesty.

“Why?” My voice came out raw. “Why me?”

He pulled back to look at me. Really look at me. “Because you’re the

only one who looks at me like I’m not a god. You see exactly what I

1. am. And you still—”

“Still what?”

“Still let me touch you.”

My throat tightened. “Maybe I’m just as broken as you are.”

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“Maybe.” He kissed me again. Softer. “Or maybe we’re exactly what we

deserve.”

He stood and held out his hand. I took it.

He led me to the bedroom. The bed was unmade–unusual for him. A

book lay open on the nightstand. Evidence of his humanity.

He turned to face me. “We can stop. Right now. You can leave and I’ll

still help you with Anna.”

I searched his face for the lie. Found none.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” The word came out fierce. “I want you to stay. I want-” His

hands flexed at his sides. “I want you. So much it’s driving me insane.”

The rawness in his voice broke something in me.

I stepped forward. Reached for his belt.

His breath hitched. “Elara-”

“Don’t.” I met his eyes. “Don’t think. Not tonight.”

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claiming territory.

I arched into him. My hands found his shoulders, his back, the hard

muscle beneath skin.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said against my neck.

“You always hurt me.”

He pulled back. Met my eyes. “I know.” Something that might have

been regret flickered across his face. “I know I do.”

Then he kissed me again and I stopped thinking.

His hand slid between my legs. I gasped.

“So wet already,” he murmured. “Is this for me?”

I couldn’t form words. Just nodded.

He touched me with the same careful precision he’d used on my

wounds. Learning what made me gasp, what made me arch, what

made my fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Julian-” His name came out pleading.

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I pulled him down into a kiss. Let him swallow my moans as he moved

faster, harder, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

The pleasure built. Higher and higher. His hand found mine and he

pinned it to the mattress, fingers laced together.

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