“Elias, go home. It’s not good for you to keep calling me again and again. I already le—”
His fist slammed against the door.
Bang.
“Open the damn door, Amara,” he snapped, finally losing patience.
A frustrated breath came from inside.
Then the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the apartment, storming toward the entrance.
The door suddenly flew open. Amara appeared in front of him, glaring.
Her hair was slightly messy, as if she had been running her fingers through it in frustration. She was dressed in a soft silk camisole in a muted ivory shade paired with loose black lounge pants that sat comfortably on her hips. A light cardigan hung off one shoulder, slipping slightly as she moved.
“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
But before she could say another word, Elias suddenly stumbled forward.
Amara’s eyes widened in shock when his head dropped onto her shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
He held her like he was afraid she would disappear.
“Elias—”
She instinctively stepped back, but he followed with her, completely glued to her body.
The door slipped from her hand and slammed shut behind them.
Amara frowned in confusion and placed her hand against his cheek, trying to tilt his face up to look at him.
“Are you drunk?”
Elias didn’t answer.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers. Something in that look made her breath catch.
Before she could react, he closed the distance between them. His hand slid to her waist and pulled her forward in one sharp motion.
And then he kissed her.
Hard.
Rough.
Amara froze completely as his mouth pressed against hers, the force of it stealing the words right out of her mind. For a second, she didn’t even move—like her body had forgotten how to respond.
Elias made a low sound against her lips, something raw and broken, and his grip on her waist tightened as if he was afraid she would disappear if he let go.
“Mm— Elias—”
She jolted, pushing against his chest with both hands.
“Stop—”
But he didn’t.
Instead, one of his hands moved up to the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, holding her in place—not letting her turn away, not giving her space to break it.