Twice Taken: 2. The Dinner She Never Gave Her Husband

Elena's POV

I stared at the closet like it was a battlefield. What to wear? Red? Too obvious. Black? Too somber. White? Too bridal.

Then I saw it: silk, emerald green, hugging my curves, low at the back, teasing at the front—just enough to tempt a second glance. Max hated it. He felt it was too clingy and exposed lots of flesh. Perfect. Julian would get it.

Heels added height, hair pinned up with strands framing my collarbone. The slit whispered promises up my thigh.

The doorbell rang at exactly eight.

I didn’t rush. I didn’t smile. I didn’t hesitate.

Julian leaned against the frame, a bottle of wine dangling from two fingers. His eyes roamed me. “You wore it,” he said, voice thick.

“You asked,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

He brushed my arm as he passed. Heat radiated off him. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, veins taut along his forearms. I swallowed.

He paused by the table—candles lit, pasta fresh from scratch, soft jazz filling the room. “Someone pulled out the stops,” he said, smirking. “Hoping to impress me?”

“I’m hoping to survive you,” I replied honestly.

Then he closed the distance, bracing his hands on the counter beside me. His face was inches from mine.

“Let me ruin you a little,” he said. “Just enough to make you never forget me.”

“What if I want to be ruined?” I whispered. I couldn't believe that I actually said that out loud. But it was the truth. I was ready to throw caution to the wind for once in my life. 

“Then dinner can wait", he said, huskily. 

His mouth claimed mine. Rough, consuming, insatiable. He lifted me onto the counter, my legs wrapping around him. He groaned at my heat.

“Elena,” he growled. “God, you’re already wet.”

“For you,” I moaned.

He slid between my legs, teasing, stroking. My hips pressed against him, desperate.

“Dinner,” he finally muttered, pulling back. “You cooked. I’m not completely savage. And the food cannot be allowed to go to waste.”

I slid off the counter, legs trembling. “You’re evil.”

“Only for you,” he replied, eyes dark.

Dinner was a blur. Every bite, every glance, every brush of our knees under the table—foreplay.

He undressed me with his eyes. I imagined his lips on mine as he coupes the food into his mouth. I imagined them on my breasts as he drank from the wine and to make it more devastatingly unbearable, his eyes never left mine. 

My eyes followed the movement of the food down his throat, his tongue as he locked his lips and I kicked mine as well, because it suddenly felt dry. His eyes snapped back to my lips and his eyes darkened as he looked back at me. I could feel the tension of his body as he practised restraint. 

I was not going to be the only one suffering this loss of control, so, I dipped my hand into my glass of wine and deliberately, slowly inserted it into my mouth, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. 

As I sucked my finger and get it out again, making a flop sound, he gasped and I smiled inwardly with satisfaction. If he wanted to play this game, then I was going to oblige him. Two can play the game. 

"I missed you so much, it was unbearable", he croajed, his eyes now very dark with lust. 

"You can't imagine the torture it was for me. You had things to distract you but I didn't. Not really", I confessed. 

“You married the wrong brother,” he murmured.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I only nodded. “I know.”

His hand traced my thigh under the table. Desire coiled tight in my stomach.

“Upstairs,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

I followed without thought. To the guest room, the door clicked shut behind us, and we were tearing at each other. He backed me against the door, his mouth hit against mine, searing me, as though leaving his mark on me. I knew I was not going to be the same after tonight. His mouth left molten trail of fire as he kissed my throat, my neck, my shoulder...

Oh it was heavenly when his mouth git to my cleavage and I thrust my chest into his face, arching forward, even closer to him, my nipples were already painfully hard, straining against the silk fabric of my dress, waiting impatiently for him to take them into his mouth. My hand combed his hair burning themselves inside his hair, pulling his head further down. 

He started tearing of my clothes with an urgency I could relate with. I reciprocated and soon we were both stark naked. I pushed him into the bed and climbed into the bed, straddling him. He looked at me with shock at first, then with expectancy. I kissed him firlercely. He broke the kiss and flipped me over, so he was now atop of me, his knee nudging my legs open his cock long and hard and thrubbing . 

"I want to bury myself deep inside you", he murmured huskily. 

"I want to feel you moving inside me", I moaned. He thrust into me then, stretching me and I gasped with pleasure as everything I had restrained for years ignited in a storm of need, claiming, fire, and surrender.

His thrusts were controlled, showing me that he was in control of the whole operation. How could he still keep his cool while I was here Unraveling beyond control?

In my dazed mind, I could see his contiryed face and it showed me he was not really in control as I thought. He was barely holding up his restraint. 

Soon he was thrusting faster and I could feel the pressure build up. It was like my whole body had become a monten ball of desire. I felt inflated but knew that I was going to pop any moment. I was no longer me and couldn't think. Then he gave a deep thrust inside me and I toppled, falling down the cliff with a scream of the name of my tormentir on my lips. He followed not long afterwards, holding me tight as he cane, as though he never wanted to let me go.