E L A R A

I don’t realize how badly I’m shaking until the boardroom door closes and the hallway quietly swallows everything. My fingers are still locked around the papers I brought in, edges digging small crescents into my palms. I barely feel them. My body is vibrating with leftover adrenaline, too much fear, too much everything.

Adrian doesn’t let go of my hand. Not once. His grip is too tight, but it’s the only thing keeping my knees from giving out. We make it maybe ten steps before he stops so abruptly I almost hit his chest. He turns, and the look on his face which is raw, furious, and scared almost knocks the wind out of me.

“Elara,” he says, voice shredded. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I had to do something,” I whisper.

“You walked in alone.” His jaw flexes hard. “Against all of them.”

“I wasn’t going to let them bury Isabella,” I say, breath catching. “Or you.”

Something in him flinches. He lifts a hand to the back of my neck, thumb brushing damp hair, gentle in a way that ruins me. “I thought I was going to walk in and watch them tear you apart.”

“You didn’t,” I murmured.

“Only because you didn’t fall apart.” That one nearly breaks me. Because I almost did.

He swallows, clears his throat like the words scraped too deep, then takes my hand again, more carefully now, like he’s afraid to hold too tight or not tight enough. He leads me away from the boardroom, pace slowing the farther we get, as if he’s trying to let both of us breathe again.

We reach the Skybridge, a stretch of glass and wind and open air. The lights under our feet shift from blue to gold. My pulse is still too fast.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” I admit. “Also trying not to puke. Adrenaline’s a bitch.”

His mouth twitches but doesn’t quite become a smile. “You’re shaking.”

I look down. My hands won’t stop trembling. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever apologize for surviving.” 

I don’t know why that hits as hard as it does. We walk until we reach the center of the Skybridge, where the island spreads out below us like it has no idea what just happened. The wind tugs at my hair; I push it back, but Adrian’s already reaching, brushing a loose strand behind my ear like he can’t help himself.

“You can’t do that again,” he says quietly. “You can’t walk into a firing squad meant for me.”

I swallow the sting in my throat. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.” His breath shakes. “You chose to stand there alone.”

“And you chose not to be in the room,” I fire back, softer but no less true. “You trusted they wouldn’t twist the knife the second you stepped out.” His breath catches, hurt, not anger. “Elara…”

“It wasn’t fair,” I say, stepping closer. “None of it was fair. But watching them tear into you while you weren’t there to defend yourself felt worse.”

My hand lifts on instinct and presses to his chest, right over his racing heart. “I wasn’t going to let them destroy you. Not while I’m still breathing.” His hand covers mine immediately, fingers threading through like it’s automatic. Like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams he’d never admit to.

“Elara,” he says again, softer, wrecked. He leans in until our foreheads touch. His breath trembles against my lips. His thumb slides over the inside of my wrist, slow, searching, grounding both of us.

“I was scared,” he whispers. “For you. More than I’ve ever been.”

My eyes close for a moment. “Good,” I breathe. “Now you know how it felt.”

Something shifts in him, pain, relief, want, all tangled and when I look up, his mouth is right there. Not touching. But close enough that I can feel the shape of his breath. We’re one breath away from breaking everything open. His lips are right there, close enough to feel but not touching. His hand is still on my wrist, like if he lets go, we both go over the edge.

“Adrian…” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for. He doesn’t answer. He just closes the inch between us and kisses me.

It’s not gentle. It’s not polite. It’s all teeth and breath and every unsaid thing between us crashing forward at once. I gasp into him, and he swallows it like he’s starving. His hand slides to my hip, gripping hard, dragging me flush to his chest.

My back hits the Skybridge railing, warm glass at my spine, his body caging mine in completely. I don’t care who can see. I don’t care if there’s a camera fifty feet away catching every second. His mouth is on mine, his tongue deep, and nothing has ever felt more like oxygen. I tug at his shirt like it’s in the way, and he groans, deep in his throat, like the sound costs him.

“Elara,” he pants against my lips. “Tell me to stop.”

I kiss him harder. “No. Don’t you dare.”

His eyes flare, something wild and wanting and then he drops to his knees. Right there. On the Skybridge. Wind rips through his hair. The ocean glows below us. His hands slide under my dress, rough palms skating up my thighs. When he kisses the inside of my knee, I whimper. Actually whimper. His eyes snap to mine and hold.

“You keep your eyes open,” he says, voice low and dark and reverent. “You hear me?”

I nod. I’m not sure I can speak. He lifts me, strong arms sliding beneath my thighs like I weigh nothing. I gasp as he sets me on the stone ledge of the bridge, not the glass barrier, but the waist-high stone lip in front of it. It’s solid. I feel safe. But it still feels dangerous in the best possible way.

“Lean back,” he says. “Let me.” My hands grip the railing. The wind catches my dress and blows it up around my hips, exposing my soaked panties, the dark heat between my thighs. His breath hitches.

“You’re already wet,” he groans. “Fuck.”  

Then his mouth is on me. One long, slow lick through the fabric. I jolt. The friction. The tease. He growls and presses his tongue harder, nose nudging the lace, inhaling like he needs the scent of me to breathe.

He kisses me over the fabric until I’m shaking, then hooks his fingers under the edge and pulls them down. I’m bare. Spread. Perched like an offering in the wind.

And then— Oh my God. His tongue is on me again, slick and hot and slow. He licks through my folds like he’s trying to memorize the taste. Then his lips wrap around my clit and suck, just once and I actually cry out. My thighs tense around his shoulders, but he growls and spreads me wider, holding me open with both hands.

“Elara,” he rasps, “look at me.” I do. His mouth is soaked. His eyes are on fire. I’m already trembling, already close, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue flicks faster now, circling, teasing. One hand slides up and two fingers push inside me, slow and deep. I gasp, tight, stretched, throbbing. He curls them just right and I break.

I come with a ragged, choking moan, hips jerking, thighs clenching around his head. He groans into me, mouth still on me as I ride it out, licking me through every last tremble. When I finally collapse forward, breathless, ruined, he kisses the inside of my thigh, soft now. Gentle. Almost worshipful.

He stands slowly, sliding his hands up my sides like he’s afraid I’ll blow away. His mouth is slick with me when he kisses me again, and I moan into it, tasting myself on his tongue. He doesn’t ask for anything more. Doesn’t unbuckle his pants. Doesn’t push. Just holds me, pressed against his chest, while the wind howls around us.

I nuzzle into his neck. “You didn’t…”

“I wasn’t going to take you there,” he murmurs. “Not after today. Not unless you’re sure. Not unless it’s you asking.” I swallow. I love him for that. His jacket was around my shoulders before I realized he took it off. His fingers brush my hair back. His lips press to my temple, and I feel him breathe against my skin like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“I saw your face,” I whisper. “When you walked in. I didn’t know if you were going to kiss me or burn the room down.”

“I was ready to do both.” We’re quiet for a long moment. The sky is turning violet, stars pricking through the dark. The ocean below us glows with bioluminescence just faint enough to look like a promise. Then he speaks. Soft. Steady. Close enough that his breath brushes my cheek.

“Eyes open.” The words wrap around my ribs like silk. I press my forehead to his.

“Eyes open,” I echo. And then— A footstep. Close. We both freeze. Someone else is on the Skybridge.