I didn’t know what it was about elevators, but it seemed all great romances had an epic kiss in the claustrophobic transportation. Our tale wasn’t exactly a romance, but Gil’s hand cupped my cheek, his thumb feathering over my bottom lip. “I’m sorry about the other night.”

I moaned under my breath as his thumb dipped into my mouth.

His emerald gaze darkened, his body pressing into mine until he crowded me against the mirrored wall. My spine crashed against the coolness, my breasts and belly tingling as he imprisoned me with his weight.

He trembled, his hips tight on mine, one arm braced on the mirror. “I’m sorry for being so rough with you. What I did...wasn’t right. I wasn’t...myself.”

My heart galloped as his voice caught with something dark and dismal.

My mind was useless, already drunk on his almost-kiss, but temper flared with coherency. “Wait...you’re apologising about having sex with me?”

He frowned, his stare fixated on my lips. “I was rough with you.”

“I liked it.”

“I fucked you like an animal.” His forehead furrowed as he shut his eyes. “I never wanted to treat you that way. I made a promise when I was younger to always treat you with—”

“With silk gloves?” I moved, trying to push his heavy weight off me. He didn’t let me, trapping me harder against the wall.

“With respect.” His eyes locked on mine. “Men are monsters, O. I learned that lesson right from childhood.”

The whorehouse of his youth.

The screams of sex.

The howls of men.

For the first time, comprehension bowled into me. “Is that why you never attempted to sleep with me when we were younger?” I didn’t know how I felt about that. In awe? In pain? Grateful? Frustrated? “You knew how much I wanted you, yet you never touched—”

“How could I touch you when I was that bastard’s son?” His mouth bracketed by strain. “I didn’t know if I could control myself, and judging by the other night, I was right to keep my dick in my pants.”

“Wow.” I went to push him away but wrapped my hands behind his neck instead. “You’re an idiot.” Jerking his head down, I kissed him.

He convulsed as my tongue broke the seam of his lips, tasting him, claiming him. His hands dove into my hair, holding me still as he opened his mouth and kissed me exquisitely hard.

The hushed world of the elevator, the weightlessness of falling—it became a tinderbox. A mirrored prison where lust was a scalpel and desire a blade. Need sliced at my skin, blood bubbled with want.

Our lips slipped and glided, our teeth clacked, our tongues tangled.

His hips thrust into mine. His hands dropped to my ass, squeezing me, massaging with animalistic paws, wrenching me against the hard steel in his jeans.

The elevator pinged.

The doors opened.

The architecturally light-drenched lobby ripped apart our hushed, erotic world.

Gil tore himself from me, stumbling backward with his hands shaking and lips wet. I swayed on my heels, swallowing hard, smoothing my skirt down with trembling fingers.

I managed to walk off the elevator and ignore the amused stares of two security guards, my body still clenching for Gil.

What the hell just happened?

Pulling me to the side, wrapping us in shadows of a corridor leading to the washrooms, Gil gritted his teeth. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“I kissed you. I started it.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“Don’t worry, Gil. I wanted you to maul me. I like it when you lose control. The only thing I don’t like is when you apologise for it.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“I’m getting tired of hearing that.” I sniffed. “It’s repetitive.”

“It’s the truth.”

A dagger slipped through my ribs and found my heart. “Why are you so determined to stop this?”

His eyes sought mine, empty but depthless at the same time. “Because I only destroy those I love. And I fucking refuse to destroy you.”

I rubbed at my aching chest. “But what about us?”

He exhaled hard, his tan jacket creaking a little. “There is no us.”

“There’s always been an us.”

“It’s because of us that you’re in danger!”

“What does he want from you, Gil?”

His face shut down, his features unreadable. “Nothing.”

I walked away, my heels condemning and loud on the travertine floor.

“O.” His fingers wrapped around my arm, dragging me to a stop. “I can’t let you leave. You can’t be alone. Not until I figure this out.”

Annoyance trickled with previous passion, creating a cyclone of unresolved emotion. “You’re forgetting I’ve lived alone for most of my life. I’ve managed perfectly well without you. ”

I aimed for that to bruise just like he’d just bruised me, but I wasn’t prepared for the way sorrow painted his body with tragedy. “I know.”

My fight faded as fast as it had arrived. “You can’t keep what you’re hiding a secret. Not anymore. I deserve to know what’s going on. You can tell me. You know I won’t judge you. I’ll help—”

“Stop.” His eyes darkened, glinting like chiselled stone. “You want to know? Fine. He wants you because he knows you mean something to me. That you’ll ensure I’ll obey.” He snarled as if he could deny it. “He’s right.”

“Gil, I—”

“I didn’t want this to happen. I tried to keep you away so this wouldn’t happen. But it has and...”

“And?”

His muscles locked in place. “And now we both have to pay.”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Nineteen

______________________________

Gil

-The Past-

“OLIN MOSS, WHAT have I told you about talking in class?”

I looked up from the pop test Ms Tallup had assigned us. Olin’s shoulders hunched, her head slid to the side, her gaze catching mine.

My fingers tightened around my pen.

The class was silent.

It’d been silent since the test began.

My hearing was acutely attuned to Olin’s every noise, and she hadn’t made a peep.

My eyes narrowed to blades as Ms Tallup snapped her fingers with a sniff. “Detention, Miss Moss. This afternoon.”

“Wait. But I—” Olin held up a hand. “I wasn’t talking—”

“Arguing won’t help your case.” Ms Tallup sat in her chair and ignored the class as Olin threw me a disbelieving look.

I wanted to tell her not to worry. That she didn’t have to do detention because she hadn’t done anything wrong. But I couldn’t because I knew why this had happened.

Last week, the deputy principal had found Olin and me hiding behind the school gym after hours. I’d had a rough night. My ribs were sore from being punished for not getting payment from some john at three in the morning.

My father decided to take payment in blood.

My blood.

After he’d finished, I’d walked out of the house—if that was even a word for the hellhole I lived in—and wandered (stumbled) the streets. At dawn, I’d found an old sketch pad abandoned on the footpath a block away from school. Some of the pages held doodles of dogs and flowers, but the rest were blank, offering a distraction from my pain.

I’d always liked to sketch, but I hadn’t attempted anything in years.

But as the sun rose and I waited for Olin to arrive at school, I drew the building, the street, and the tree outside our classroom. I even drew Olin—or what I could from memory.

All day at school, I deliberated whether to show her. The work wasn’t very good, but it’d made all the other shit in my life fade knowing I could create art from nothing.

The magic it gave me while dragging a pen over paper had been life-changing.

As life-changing as Olin.

Despite my lines being rudimentary and my skill lacking, I decided to show her, picking a spot where we wouldn’t be seen by other students behind the gym. She’d been so happy to share in my newfound hobby, so grateful that I’d given her another piece of myself, and we’d hung out for far longer than we planned.