His Private Hell - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The air in the room didn’t just shift—it smoldered.
Eella didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Not with Garrison Wolfe standing so close, his fingertips grazing the edge of her jaw like a threat dressed as a caress. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or destroy her, and she hated how badly she wanted either one.
“You should leave,” he said, low and rough.
“Then why did you bring me here?” Her voice came out steady, but it was a lie. Everything inside her was trembling. Not in fear. In something hotter. Rawer.
His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
She exhaled slowly, her skin tingling where he’d touched her. “That sounds like a warning.”
“It is.”
“And if I ignore it?”
He took another step toward her, close enough that her back brushed against the edge of the piano. His scent wrapped around her—warm spice and something darker, like smoke soaked in memory. She should have moved. Should have said something to break the moment.
Instead, she tilted her chin, refusing to look away.
Something flickered in his gaze. Not amusement. Not approval.
Possession.
He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted against her ear. “Then don’t complain when you get burned.”
Her heart pounded in her throat. “Maybe I’m fireproof.”
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it—just heat. His mouth hovered just beside hers, not touching. Teasing. Testing. His hand slid along her waist, slow and deliberate, settling on her hip. Not forceful. Not innocent either.
“I don’t do soft,” he murmured.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
That did it.
He kissed her like he meant to punish her for existing. There was no hesitation, no searching. Just a hard, deep pull of his mouth over hers, stealing her breath, her balance, maybe even her sense of right and wrong. She gasped against him, and he used the sound to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding past her lips with sinful precision.
Her hands found the sharp edge of his shoulders, fingers curling in the expensive fabric of his jacket. He was solid heat beneath her touch, all muscle and restraint barely holding together.
His hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him—and God, he was hard. That fast. That completely.
And it made her ache.
He broke the kiss with a low, guttural sound and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with, Eella.”
“Then show me.”
His grip tightened. “Don’t tempt me.”
She swallowed hard. “Too late.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with lust and something more dangerous—need with nowhere safe to land. He stepped back suddenly, jaw tense, eyes dark. A man at war with himself.
“We’re done for today,” he said, voice clipped.
Eella didn’t argue. She smoothed her shirt, ignoring the way her body still hummed like a live wire.
But as she walked to the door, she didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her—low, lingering, full of promises he hadn’t made out loud.
And hadn’t denied, either.
⸻
She couldn’t sleep.
Her body buzzed with adrenaline and unspoken tension, her lips still swollen from the kiss, her thighs pressed tightly together beneath her thin sheets. She could still feel his hands on her, his mouth devouring hers like he wanted to undo her from the inside out.
This was a mistake.
A dangerous, stupid, reckless mistake.
But it didn’t stop her fingers from sliding beneath her waistband, didn’t stop her from chasing the memory of him in the dark. She pressed her thighs together harder, biting her lip as heat bloomed low in her belly.
She imagined his voice, low and filthy in her ear.
You asked for this.
She came fast, shuddering into her pillow, shame and satisfaction mixing like poison and honey. And even then, when she lay there gasping for air, she couldn’t decide what scared her more—that she wanted him again…
Or that she might not be able to stop.
⸻
The next morning, she wore red.
Not bright or flashy—but a deep, blood-colored blouse that dipped just enough to hint without begging. She left her hair loose and her heels high. Not because she wanted to tempt him again.
Because she already had.
And she needed to know what he’d do with that.
Garrison didn’t speak when she walked into the boardroom. He didn’t so much as glance her way. But she felt the tension cut through the air like a wire pulled taut.
She was seated across from him during the executive review. The other men in the room were talking too much, overcompensating for how little they actually knew. Eella watched Garrison instead, watched the slight movement of his hand as he toyed with the edge of his watchband, the subtle clench of his jaw when she crossed her legs slowly, deliberately.
He didn’t look at her.
But he saw everything.
Halfway through the meeting, he spoke without warning. “Hart. Stay.”
The room froze. Then chairs scraped, pages shuffled, and the room emptied until it was just the two of them again.
She didn’t speak.
He stood, walking slowly to where she sat, stopping just behind her. Close. Too close.
“I told you to walk away.”
“And I didn’t.”
His hand ghosted down the back of her chair, not touching her—but close enough that her skin broke into chills.
“You wore that for me,” he said.
“I wore it for me,” she lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze. “Then what do you want to do about it?”
For a second, he just stared at her. Then he leaned down, placing one hand on either side of her chair, caging her in.
“I want to ruin you a little,” he said. “I want to see what you look like when you stop pretending you’re in control.”
Her breath hitched.
“Say something,” he said softly.
“What do you want me to say?”
He didn’t answer. Just bent down and brushed his lips across her collarbone, hot breath teasing skin that suddenly felt too tight for her own body. Her pulse thundered as his mouth ghosted up her throat to her ear.
“I want you to beg,” he whispered.
Eella swallowed hard. “I don’t beg.”
“We’ll see.”
And then—he was gone.
He didn’t touch her again. Didn’t look back. Just walked out of the room like he hadn’t just shattered every rule between them with five whispered words.
She sat there for a long moment, breathing hard, thighs clenched, body buzzing with the maddening anticipation of something that had already begun.
And she knew something now.
He wasn’t just fire.
He was the flame that made you forget pain ever existed.
And she was already burning.
Eella didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Not with Garrison Wolfe standing so close, his fingertips grazing the edge of her jaw like a threat dressed as a caress. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or destroy her, and she hated how badly she wanted either one.
“You should leave,” he said, low and rough.
“Then why did you bring me here?” Her voice came out steady, but it was a lie. Everything inside her was trembling. Not in fear. In something hotter. Rawer.
His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
She exhaled slowly, her skin tingling where he’d touched her. “That sounds like a warning.”
“It is.”
“And if I ignore it?”
He took another step toward her, close enough that her back brushed against the edge of the piano. His scent wrapped around her—warm spice and something darker, like smoke soaked in memory. She should have moved. Should have said something to break the moment.
Instead, she tilted her chin, refusing to look away.
Something flickered in his gaze. Not amusement. Not approval.
Possession.
He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted against her ear. “Then don’t complain when you get burned.”
Her heart pounded in her throat. “Maybe I’m fireproof.”
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it—just heat. His mouth hovered just beside hers, not touching. Teasing. Testing. His hand slid along her waist, slow and deliberate, settling on her hip. Not forceful. Not innocent either.
“I don’t do soft,” he murmured.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
That did it.
He kissed her like he meant to punish her for existing. There was no hesitation, no searching. Just a hard, deep pull of his mouth over hers, stealing her breath, her balance, maybe even her sense of right and wrong. She gasped against him, and he used the sound to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding past her lips with sinful precision.
Her hands found the sharp edge of his shoulders, fingers curling in the expensive fabric of his jacket. He was solid heat beneath her touch, all muscle and restraint barely holding together.
His hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him—and God, he was hard. That fast. That completely.
And it made her ache.
He broke the kiss with a low, guttural sound and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with, Eella.”
“Then show me.”
His grip tightened. “Don’t tempt me.”
She swallowed hard. “Too late.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with lust and something more dangerous—need with nowhere safe to land. He stepped back suddenly, jaw tense, eyes dark. A man at war with himself.
“We’re done for today,” he said, voice clipped.
Eella didn’t argue. She smoothed her shirt, ignoring the way her body still hummed like a live wire.
But as she walked to the door, she didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her—low, lingering, full of promises he hadn’t made out loud.
And hadn’t denied, either.
⸻
She couldn’t sleep.
Her body buzzed with adrenaline and unspoken tension, her lips still swollen from the kiss, her thighs pressed tightly together beneath her thin sheets. She could still feel his hands on her, his mouth devouring hers like he wanted to undo her from the inside out.
This was a mistake.
A dangerous, stupid, reckless mistake.
But it didn’t stop her fingers from sliding beneath her waistband, didn’t stop her from chasing the memory of him in the dark. She pressed her thighs together harder, biting her lip as heat bloomed low in her belly.
She imagined his voice, low and filthy in her ear.
You asked for this.
She came fast, shuddering into her pillow, shame and satisfaction mixing like poison and honey. And even then, when she lay there gasping for air, she couldn’t decide what scared her more—that she wanted him again…
Or that she might not be able to stop.
⸻
The next morning, she wore red.
Not bright or flashy—but a deep, blood-colored blouse that dipped just enough to hint without begging. She left her hair loose and her heels high. Not because she wanted to tempt him again.
Because she already had.
And she needed to know what he’d do with that.
Garrison didn’t speak when she walked into the boardroom. He didn’t so much as glance her way. But she felt the tension cut through the air like a wire pulled taut.
She was seated across from him during the executive review. The other men in the room were talking too much, overcompensating for how little they actually knew. Eella watched Garrison instead, watched the slight movement of his hand as he toyed with the edge of his watchband, the subtle clench of his jaw when she crossed her legs slowly, deliberately.
He didn’t look at her.
But he saw everything.
Halfway through the meeting, he spoke without warning. “Hart. Stay.”
The room froze. Then chairs scraped, pages shuffled, and the room emptied until it was just the two of them again.
She didn’t speak.
He stood, walking slowly to where she sat, stopping just behind her. Close. Too close.
“I told you to walk away.”
“And I didn’t.”
His hand ghosted down the back of her chair, not touching her—but close enough that her skin broke into chills.
“You wore that for me,” he said.
“I wore it for me,” she lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze. “Then what do you want to do about it?”
For a second, he just stared at her. Then he leaned down, placing one hand on either side of her chair, caging her in.
“I want to ruin you a little,” he said. “I want to see what you look like when you stop pretending you’re in control.”
Her breath hitched.
“Say something,” he said softly.
“What do you want me to say?”
He didn’t answer. Just bent down and brushed his lips across her collarbone, hot breath teasing skin that suddenly felt too tight for her own body. Her pulse thundered as his mouth ghosted up her throat to her ear.
“I want you to beg,” he whispered.
Eella swallowed hard. “I don’t beg.”
“We’ll see.”
And then—he was gone.
He didn’t touch her again. Didn’t look back. Just walked out of the room like he hadn’t just shattered every rule between them with five whispered words.
She sat there for a long moment, breathing hard, thighs clenched, body buzzing with the maddening anticipation of something that had already begun.
And she knew something now.
He wasn’t just fire.
He was the flame that made you forget pain ever existed.
And she was already burning.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to His Private Hell book page.