A D R I A N

The blackout doesn’t fade in, it detonates. One second the festival is a storm of applause and lantern light, and the next it’s a black void swallowing everything. People scream. Someone crashes into a railing. Glass shatters somewhere behind us like a gunshot. The stage under our feet bucks as the crowd loses its mind. I grab Elara before I even register moving. She slams into my chest, breath knocked out of her.

“Stay behind me,” I growl into her hair. She’s shaking, not scared, but wired, ready to sprint into the chaos. Of course she is. I clamp a hand around her waist because the crowd surges again and a man shoulder-checks her hard enough to make her stumble. 

I pull her tighter. “I said stay with me.” Under the planks, something booms, a deep, metallic thud. Intentional. Not an accident. Kai shouts directions into the dark. Lucien is demanding phone flashlights, calm movement, order but it’s useless. Panic is a living thing now.

“Adrian, people are hurt—” she starts.

“And you’re not getting crushed trying to fix everyone at once,” I snapped. My voice cracks. I don’t care. Another tremor ripples the boardwalk. The crowd screams again. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and drag her sideways off the main surge. “We’re moving. Now.” She stumbles, then grips my shirt. She hates it. But she follows.

—

The boardwalk is a madhouse, bodies slamming into each other, kids crying, someone yelling for a medic. I keep Elara pinned to my side, pushing through with zero finesse. She keeps trying to pull away like she can sprint into the middle of it and magically fix the world.

A phone light flares too close and she flinches, practically crashing into me again. I grab her hips to steady her. It might be too rough. I can’t help it.

“Adrian, let go..”

“Do you want a cracked rib?” I shoot back. “You can’t help anyone if you’re on the ground.” She glares at me like she wants to fight. “There are children out there..”

“I know!”  My voice breaks again. Christ. Another rumble shakes the planks. Close. Deliberate. She tumbles forward into my chest and I catch her fully this time,  arms around her, her heartbeat slamming into mine. Her fingers curl into my shirt. She probably doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

“Adrian…”  Soft. Wrong. Dangerous. I swallow hard. Everything in me is stretched to breaking.

“We need off the boardwalk,” I mutter. “Before you get trampled.”

“You don’t have to..”

“I said we’re going.” She opens her mouth to argue… and then shuts it. She won’t admit it, but she trusts me to lead her out.  And that terrifies me more than the blackout.

—

Emergency lights flicker uselessly along the staff corridor, throwing ghost-blue shadows across the walls. The noise behind us is fading but not far enough. Elara keeps looking over her shoulder like she’s seconds from tearing away from me. I’m not giving her the chance.

“We can’t hide,” she hisses.

“We’re not hiding. We’re not getting flattened. Big difference.”

She snorts, breath sharp. “That’s the same thing.”

“I swear to God, Elara..” Another shout echoes down the hall. She jumps. I don’t think. I just reach. I yank open the first door I find,  a storage closet. Small, cramped, barely a sliver of space. Perfect.

I pull her inside. She stumbles over a bucket and grabs my arm to keep from falling. The door slams behind us, plunging the room into thick, breathless dark.

“What the hell, Adrian..”

“Just stay still.” My voice sounds shredded. “Give me a second.” She’s close enough that her breath brushes my collarbone. Close enough that I can feel her chest move with every furious inhale. The space forces us nearly pressed together, hips touching every time one of us shifts.

“You can’t keep dragging me around like I belong to you,” she whispers, voice low, trembling.

“Then stop making me think you’re about to get yourself killed.” Silence. Heavy. Too close. Her forehead tips toward mine,  not touching, but close enough that I can feel her warmth.

“Adrian…” Everything in me clenches. Too honest. Too dangerous. Outside, the island roars.  Inside, it’s just her breath, my pulse, and the dark closing around us like a secret.

—

Her back hits the shelf with a soft clatter of plastic and breath. My hands are already on her waist, her ribs, her face. I don’t know where to hold her, I just know I have to.

“Elara,” I say, and it’s not a warning. It’s a prayer. A plea. A fucking collapse. She kisses me first. No hesitation. No strategy. Just heat and teeth and breath and the kind of hunger that makes me groan into her mouth like I’ve lost the last thread of control.

Her thighs brush mine. Her fingers tangle in my hair. My hands slide under her shirt, and when I feel the heat of her skin, I swear I almost fall to my knees.

“Tell me to stop,” I manage. She doesn’t. She grabs the front of my pants and pulls me closer until there’s nothing between us but the thickness of my zipper and her heat, radiating through thin fabric.

My hand slides between her thighs, cupping her over her panties. She jerks into my palm with a soft, broken noise that nearly ends me.

“Elara..fuck.” She’s wet. I rub slow circles with my thumb, and she gasps into my mouth, hips rocking instinctively.

“More,” she whispers, biting my lip. I oblige. I slip my hand into her underwear and find her slick, throbbing, so fucking warm I nearly lose it.

She claws at my belt, fumbling to unbuckle me. Her other hand is on the shelf, bracing herself like she knows what’s coming and she’s already barely holding on. I drop to my knees, rip her panties aside, and taste her like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime. 

She moans. Loud. Wrecked. My tongue strokes her clit, slow then fast, and when I suck her just right, she goes taut like a bowstring.

“Don’t stop,” she begs, and I have no fucking intention of stopping. Her thighs shake. Her hands grip my hair. Her climax starts like a wave in her belly and crashes through her with a cry that makes me rock-hard and trembling and completely undone. I rise, breath hot against her cheek. Her eyes are glassy.

“You okay?”

She nods, dazed. “Don’t stop.”

—

I fumble open my belt, one-handed, my other hand still between her legs because I can’t stand to lose the heat of her, not even for a second. Her fingers are on me in an instant, shoving my pants down, wrapping around me like she’s done this in dreams, not real life. I bite back a groan as she strokes me, her thumb teasing the tip, spreading the slick.

“God, Elara..”

“Condom?” she pants.

“In my wallet.. Fuck! left pocket.” She grabs it, rips it open with teeth, and I nearly lose my mind watching her roll it down over me like she owns me now. Maybe she does. I grip her thighs, lift her up onto the crate like she weighs nothing, and she wraps her legs around me like they belong there. The head of my cock nudges her entrance, one thrust and I’ll be inside her.

“Tell me no,” I rasp. “Say slow and I will.”

Her eyes burn. “I said don’t stop.”

I start to press in— The doorknob rattles. We freeze. She clutches my shoulders, wide-eyed. Then the door creaks open two inches.

Isabella fucking Valcrosse. One eyebrow arched. Smirking. Holding a flashlight like a queen catching her son sinning in church. We’re both panting, clothes half-off, flushed and feral. She doesn’t flinch.

“Well,” she drawls. “This explains the power outage. Lust, sabotage, and poor timing.” Elara gasps and shoves her face into my shoulder. I don’t move. I can’t. Isabella lets the silence stretch just long enough to kill us.

Then:
“Later. Where I can watch.”  A wink.  The door clicks shut.

—

The door clicks shut like a gunshot. Elara’s face is still buried in my neck. Her whole body is rigid against mine, thighs clamped tight around my hips. I don’t move. Neither does she. Then, slowly her breath hitches. A tiny, furious laugh breaks loose.

“Oh my god,” she whispers into my collar. “Your mother.”

“Technically, she didn’t see anything.”  I’m already adjusting her top back over her shoulder, trying not to touch her more than necessary.

“You were.. we were..”

“About to,” I say, voice low. She groans and presses her fists to her eyes. “I am never making eye contact with her again.”

“You think I am?” The moment stretches. Our clothes are half-on, our bodies still flushed, and the weight of what almost happened sits thick between us. She meets my eyes finally.

“We’re not done,” she says quietly. Not a question. Not a threat. A promise.

—

I step back just enough to let her slide down from the crate. Her legs are unsteady. Mine aren’t much better. We don’t speak as we fix our clothes. Just quick glances, shallow breaths, hands that keep brushing and lingering too long.

Before she can reach for the door, I cage her in again, palm flat on the wood beside her head, lips hovering at her ear.

“You said not to stop,” I murmured.

“I meant it,” she whispers. I don’t kiss her. Not yet. The hunger’s still there, but something else is stronger. Timing. Control. And the way her eyes flicker when she says..

“Next time…” My breath catches.

“Next time what?” Her smile is slow. Lethal.

“Somewhere no one can interrupt. No lights. No doors. Just you.”

I almost groan. But then she adds, eyes gleaming.

“Unless she meant it. About watching.”