51

ALINA

I paused for a second after Alexander asked the question, trying to read his expression. He didn’t look angry, more like a little curious.

Claude had been the one to leave the book here. And with Lisa gone all day and nothing better to do, I’d picked it up out of boredom. That’s the only reason I even started. But somewhere between the first few pages, it pulled me in. Completely. I hadn’t even realized when he walked into the room.

My head was spinning, trying to process everything I’d just read. There were scenes I couldn’t even picture properly, acts I hadn’t heard of before. And I’ve read a fair share of steamy novels. But this one? It was something else entirely.

Now, being caught with it, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. It’s not like it’s illegal. I mean, I’m twenty plus. That’s old enough, right?

I think someone mentioned that it was for twenty one plus. I’ve never picked up anything from that section, so I wouldn’t know. Maybe that’s where this one came from.

“I—I don’t know,” I said finally, not loving the answer myself. So I added, “I think Claude was the one who left it here.”

Saying it out loud unlocked the memory. That night, early after I arrived here, I’d woken up and found him sitting in the dark, flipping through the pages. Or pretending to, anyway. I didn’t know him well back then, or anyone, really. I’d barely spoken a word to most of them.

“Claude, hmm?” There was something layered in Alexander’s tone. I couldn’t place it, but it wasn’t just curiosity.

“Am I not allowed to read it?” I asked, quieter than before. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

Things between us had been…better lately. I didn’t want this stupid book to undo any of that. Even if most of it made no sense. Half the things they did in it didn’t even seem physically possible.

“You can,” he said, tone even. “I’m just wondering why Claude gave it to you.”

“No—no. He didn’t give it to me.” That came out too fast. Way too defensive. Like I had something to hide.

Great. Now I sounded guilty. Why was I sabotaging myself?

“What did he do, then?”

“He just left it one night. I don’t know, maybe he forgot.”

“Night?” His voice was still calm. But something about the way he repeated that word made my stomach twist.

I bit my lip. I really needed to shut up. To just stop talking.

“What was he doing in your room at night?”

“It was a long time ago,” I said, already regretting it. My brain scrambled for something, anything, that wouldn’t sound bad.

“He used to come to your room?”

“Just to ask stuff?” I offered, but it came out sounding like a question. Not good. The way his jaw tensed told me he didn’t like that answer.

Panic swelled inside me. One half of me screamed to drop it, let it go. But the other couldn’t bear the thought of Alexander walking away upset.

“Does this happen often?” he asked smoothly.

His calmness scared me more than anything.

“No.” I shook my head, the word barely escaping.

Before I could say anything else, he moved. In one breath, I was on my back, pressed into the bed, and he was hovering above me. Our faces were inches apart. Our lips nearly touching.

My heart thundered in my chest. My whole body lit up just from his nearness. The feelings that had stirred while reading came back in full force, and suddenly all I could think about was his mouth on mine. His body pressed into me.

Like he could hear my filthy thoughts, a low growl rumbled in his chest. He brought his hand up, fingers wrapping around my throat. I should’ve been terrified. I’ve seen what he could do. I’ve seen how easily he could rip someone’s head off.

And yet… a soft, barely there moan slipped from my mouth.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“I don’t want Claude in here again,” he said roughly, voice dark and low.

His weight pushed me deeper into the mattress. And all I could think about was how it would feel if he actually put his full weight on me. My breath caught, not because of pressure, but because he was so close. Or maybe it was the way his hand held me.

He wasn’t holding tight. His grip was light.

“I don’t want you reading his books,” he added, voice still sharp. “If you want to read, ask me, and I’ll get you one.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. It was possessive. And just hearing it turned my mind to mush. All I could do was stare at his lips, his eyes, that sharp jawline.

Even the stubble on his chin looked good.

He pulled his hand back, and my body arched instinctively, like I didn’t want him to go. I must have lost my mind.

His eyes sparked with something dark, amusement, maybe, and he let out a low chuckle.

“You’re such a dirty little girl,” he murmured with a grin. “I still can’t tell if you’re a demon wrapped in an angel’s body, or an angel disguised as a demon.”

His hand moved to my breast, fingers finding my nipple through my shirt and bra. The fabric did nothing to dull the sensation.

And I moaned, loud and shameless before I could stop myself.

“Definitely a devil,” he growled.

Before I could catch my breath, his lips were on mine, soft and slow and completely devastating. It wasn’t demanding. Soft and slow, like he wanted me to savor the moment.

It had my thighs clenching all the same.

I don’t think I could ever get used to this.