Chapter 403
Dallas was back in his wheelchair, a glass of water in one hand, swallowing a handful of pills. He looked up, startled, as Eliza entered.
“You forgot something?” he asked, his voice weary.
Eliza didn’t answer. She walked toward him, her heels clicking on the polished floor. She didn’t stop until she was standing between his knees.
“Eliza, what are you doing?” He frowned, setting the glass down.
“You said you wanted me back,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “You said you wanted me to beg.”
She reached for the zipper of her coat and pulled it down. She let the coat fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a thin silk blouse.
𝗥eа𝘥 𝗐i𝘁ho𝘂𝗍 𝘪𝗇𝗍еrr𝘂𝘱𝘁𝘪оոѕ o𝘯 g𝗮𝘭ոо𝘷𝗲𝘭𝗌.co𝘮
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m begging. Take me. And let Damon go.”
Dallas stared at her. His eyes widened, a flash of pain crossing his face. “You would do this — for him?”
“Isn’t this what you want?” she asked. “To own me?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She stepped forward and straddled his lap. Dallas went rigid.
“Eliza, get off.”
“No,” she whispered. She framed his face with her hands. His skin was burning hot. “You want this. I know you do.” She leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn’t a kiss of love. It was desperation, a bargain pressed against his lips. She forced them open. She moved her hips against him, trying to ignite the fire that used to consume them both.
Dallas groaned — a sound of pure torture. His hands came up to her waist and gripped her. For a moment, he kissed her back. His tongue met hers, hungry and desperate.
Eliza deepened the kiss, her hands moving to his chest, working at the buttons of his shirt. She needed him to want her. She needed him to lose control.
But as the seconds ticked by, nothing happened.
She moved against him harder. She ran her hands down his torso.
He was soft.
Completely, utterly soft.
Eliza pulled back, breathless and confused. She looked down at him.
Dallas was panting, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. But his body was dead. The medication. The heart failure. The sheer physical exhaustion. He was impotent.
The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. It wasn’t a rejection of her — it was a catastrophic failure of his failing body.
Dallas saw the look in her eyes. The confusion. The pity. He stared at her, his eyes burning with a love so fierce it hurt, while his body remained a tomb. The heart failure medication, the beta-blockers — they had stripped him of everything that made him feel like a man. He wanted to scream. He wanted to take her. But he was trapped inside a failing shell.
He shoved her.
It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was enough to knock Eliza off balance. She stumbled back, landing on her feet.
Dallas adjusted his clothes, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He wouldn’t look at her. His face was a mask of absolute humiliation.
“Enough,” he rasped. His voice was hollow, dead.
“Dallas—” Eliza reached out.
.
.