Page 110 of Controlled Burn
But tonight, something cracked. Something stopped asking for space—and started demanding it back.
She was tired of flinching. Tired of letting silence masquerade as consent. She didn’t want permission.
She wanted control.
No—she didn’t just want control. She wanted to unmake the rules. To burn them and brand her name in their place.
“You good?” Elijah asked softly.
She stepped from the shadows, boots echoing like a countdown.
“You think I’m good?”
He shrugged. No smirk. No edge. Just an honest concern.
“I think you’ve got five layers of armor on.”
A crooked smile twisted her mouth. She moved closer, slow and deliberate, like she was approaching a live wire with bare hands.
“You ever wonder what’s underneath?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Just held her gaze—calm, still, solid.
“Wanna find out?” she murmured.
A beat. Then a nod.
Clean. Certain. No hesitation.
That was all she needed.
She grabbed his collar, dragging him down onto the steel bench beside the rig. He didn’t resist.
She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t want softness.
She spread her stance. Hiked her hoodie, revealing the curve of her thighs. Then she hooked her fingers into the bottom of her shorts, dragging them up and to the side—pulling her panties aside to bare her shaved pussy completely.
An invitation. A threat.
“Put your hands behind your back,” she ordered.
Elijah blinked. “Talia—”
“Now.”
He obeyed. His breath hitched.
She climbed onto his lap, one thigh braced across his shoulder. The steel was cold beneath her knee, biting through the fabric. His mouth was hot and open, breath damp against her inner thigh.
She was soaked—slick and throbbing, her body betraying just how long it had been starved for power, for pleasure, for a tongue that obeyed.
The first flick of his tongue made her hiss through her teeth. Not soft. Not tender. Wet, electric. She yanked his hair, grinding down on his face, her slickness smearing his mouth.
“Start slow,” she whispered. “Just your tongue.”
He listened. Mouth open. Tongue flicking, tasting—reverent.
She exhaled—shaky, guttural—fingers tangling in his hair and guiding him. Grinding against him. Claiming.
