Clinging to his last shred of self-restraint, Elijah murmured, “Grandma… she added something to it.”
Even in her haze, Elizabeth pieced it together. Her gaze shifted to the empty porcelain bowl on the table, disbelief flashing across her face.
Of course. Someone like her—untouched by intimacy—wouldn’t suddenly be consumed by such longing without a reason.
The realization soothed some of her embarrassment. She pressed her palms against Elijah’s chest and murmured, “I have an idea.”
Elijah’s brow furrowed, but he stepped back, allowing her space.
He sighed, his thoughts spinning. Grandma wouldn’t harm them—he knew that much. Whatever she’d added was likely meant to bring them closer, perhaps even… but it wasn’t dangerous.
Awkwardness settled over him. Was this what it had come to? Relying on a spiked drink just to bridge the gap with his own wife?
Without another word, Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the bathroom.
Under his confused stare, she twisted the shower knob, releasing a stream of icy water that poured down instantly.
The water hit them both, soaking them in seconds.
Elijah shivered as the cold water drenched him, his teeth clenched. “This is your idea of a solution?”
Unbothered, Elizabeth moved to the tub, her fingers twisting the faucet to let cold water spill in.
“This is what they do in dramas,” she said matter-of-factly. “Cold water fixes everything. Trust me, I’m a screenwriter. I’ve researched this,” she added with a slight smirk.
Water soaked through her dress, the fabric clinging to her body and outlining every curve with startling clarity.
As she bent over to adjust the faucet, her back to him, the elegant curve of her hips caught his attention, leaving him momentarily breathless.
The sight, combined with the intoxicating pull of the drug still coursing through him, unraveled the last thread of his self-control.
Elijah’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling as he stepped closer to her.
His long fingers found her waist, his touch deliberate yet hesitant as they brushed against the damp fabric of her dress, the heat of his hand searing through the wet material.
Leaning closer, his breath warm against her ear, he whispered in a low, gravelly voice, “Elizabeth… I want you.”
