Your legs were trembling—barely holding you up, knees threatening to give out at any second. You were already wrecked, your voice hoarse from the gasps, the pleas.

“Hn!—” You choked out a strained groan, one hand gripping the wall, the other clutching the last shred of your dignity. “Elias, please… stop… My legs are shaking…”

He looked at you, eyes glowing with that same mischievous fire, that demonic glint of amusement he always wore when you were on the edge of collapse.

“Not so fast, darling,” he said smoothly, licking his bottom lip like a predator savoring the final bite. “My parents raised me right. And they taught me…” He leaned in, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“…never leave the table until I’ve finished my food.”

His grin widened. That same grin that always meant trouble. That always meant you.

And this? This was the fifth round.

And he still wasn’t done.