Page 18 of Trapped By the Cartel

I let out a low chuckle, enjoying the indignation bubbling within him. It was a refreshing change from the stoic resistance he'd been projecting earlier. "Fair enough," I conceded. "But everyone craves something, Elliot. Even you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but I cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't deny it. Everyone has desires, hidden or not. It's what makes us the people we are."

The air was heavy, a palpable energy that crackled between us. I watched as he wrestled with his thoughts, his expression shifting between annoyance and contemplation. He seemed genuinely bewildered by my persistence, and I relished the challenge of breaking down the walls that surrounded him.

Suddenly, there was a commotion near the far end of the table, a loud crash followed by a flurry of panicked voices. A server, laden with a tray of ornate pastries, had tripped, sending the delicate desserts scattering across the pristine white tablecloth.

Chaos erupted in the dining room. Servers rushed to clean up the mess, while the other inhabitants of the manorturned their attention to the spectacle. The sudden disruption momentarily broke the intense connection between Elliot and me.

As the servants scrambled to clear the spilled pastries, a young man—one of my younger associates—attempted to steady a wobbling table laden with silverware. In doing so, he inadvertently bumped into the chair opposite Elliot, sending it sliding across the polished floor.

Elliot instinctively reached out to grab the chair, preventing it from crashing into him. But as he did so, the sudden movement threw off his balance. He stumbled forward, arms flailing in an attempt to regain his footing.

And that's when it happened.

Driven by his instinct to steady himself, Elliot's hand instinctively shot out, grasping for something—anything—to prevent a fall. His fingers closed around the armrest of the chair beside him, which, due to the unexpected jostling, had been subtly shifted closer to his own.

But it wasn't just any chair he grabbed onto. It was my chair.

The moment our hands connected, I felt a jolt—a physical reaction that resonated deep within my body. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. The contact sent a wave of heat rushing through me, tightening my muscles and making my breath catch in my throat. I hadn't expected this to happen.

I hadn't consciously moved, hadn't intended for it to happen, but as Elliot pulled himself upright, the momentum shifted us both. He didn't release his grip, and I didn't tell him to. The contact somehow felt… right.

The chairs were close enough now that our bodies were practically touching. His shoulder brushed against mine, making my body tense up slightly. It wasn't a forceful touch, but it was intimate, unexpected. He was breathing subtly on my neck.

The room seemed to fade away, the chaos and commotion receding into the background. All that remained was the electric charge coursing between us, the undeniable proximity of his body against mine. I could smell him now, that intoxicating blend of omega musk and something uniquely Elliot, filling my lungs with each breath.

He stiffened, his eyes widening as he realized the situation we were in. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking pale and vulnerable. He was clearly mortified by our closeness, even though there was nothing wrong with it from my point of view.

"Oh," he gasped, his voice barely audible above the ongoing commotion. "I… I'm sorry."

I was surprised he said he was sorry. I thought it was something he would never say to me.

He reached out to release my arm, but I didn't let go. I held on just a little longer, savoring the brief connection. It was a subtle rebellion, a silent assertion of dominance.

As Elliot's hand gripped my arm, I took full advantage of the opportunity before him. I leaned in closer, letting my nose graze the soft skin just below his ear. His scent enveloped me. It was intoxicating, and I couldn't help but draw in a deeper breath, wanting more of it. I wanted all of him, actually.

His body tensed at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, giving me better access to his neck. It was a subtle invitation, one I couldn't resist.

"Damon?" He whispered, uncertainty coloring his melodic omega voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" I murmured back, my lips brushing against his earlobe. I felt him shiver, heard his quick intake of breath.

"I… I don't know," he stammered, struggling to maintain control over his emotions and his desire.

"You seem to be sniffing me like a predator," he continued, trying to keep his tone light despite the rapid beating of his heart.

"And if I am?" I asked, allowing my tongue to flicker out, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He gasped, his grip on my arm tightening.

"It's… improper," he managed to utter.

"Propriety is overrated," I replied, my teeth gently nipping at his earlobe. He let out a low moan, his body pressing back against mine.

"If anyone sees…" he began, only to trail off as my free hand slid around his waist, pulling him flush against me.

Someone was already probably seeing this, actually.

"I don't care who sees," I growled softly, my erection pressed firmly against his hip. There was no hiding it now, not with how close we were. And besides, I wanted him to feel exactly what he did to me.

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