57

ALINA

His gaze felt like fire on my skin.

I should’ve moved. Said something. Demanded he stop looking at me like he wanted to consume me. Like I wasn’t the same girl who’d flinched at the blood on his hands just days ago.

But my body wasn’t listening to reason. It never did around him.

Alexander stood at the door, unmoving. Watching me.

No. Not watching.

Stalking.

“I asked you a question,” he said, stepping closer. “Where did we stop?”

My throat worked around a reply. I didn’t have one. Not really. My chest was tight and my mind was louder than ever, screaming at me to remember the blood on his knuckles. The bodies. The rogues. Even the way he said get out with enough force to have Jane practically tripping over her own feet.

He was a monster. A murderer.

He was also the only one who made my skin feel too tight, my heart beat in places it shouldn’t, and my knees betray me.

He was chaos wrapped in silk. A storm in a tailored suit.

And I hated that I was falling for it.

I looked away, but it was too late. He already knew. Something in my expression must’ve cracked, because the edge of his mouth curved into something between a smirk and something darker.

He moved closer. Each step is deliberate and predatory..

When he finally stood in front of me, I didn’t flinch. I should’ve, but I didn’t. Because I was angry.

Not at him.

At myself.

“I don’t want you,” I said quietly.

He leaned in. “Liar.”

The word was a whisper, but it slammed into my chest like a punch.

My breath stuttered. My pulse betrayed me again, quickening with every inch he closed between us. He didn’t touch me, but I felt him everywhere, like his presence was woven into the air.

“I hate what you are,” I whispered. “What you’ve done.”

His jaw ticked. His voice dropped. “Good.”

My eyes snapped to his.

“You should hate me,” he said, brushing his fingers down my arm until I shivered. “You should. But you don’t. Not enough.”

“I do.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Then why are you trembling?”

Because I couldn’t lie to myself. Not anymore.

I was trembling because I wanted him. And no amount of logic could smother that need. Not the memory of blood. Not the knowledge of who he was. Not even the way he looked at me like he could break me in half and still expect me to thank him for it.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he murmured. “You’re mine.”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to ask him why he didn’t kill me if he was so good at it. If I was just another interest until he found someone new..

But instead, when his mouth found my collarbone, I twisted my head to make more room for him. When he kissed all over my chest, I arched my back to get closer to him. Every place he touched made me ache deeper. The way he touched me made me feel like I was being worshipped, like every breath I took mattered.

I should have said no, even if he wouldn't listen. I would say I tried. But I didn’t stop him.

I reached for his shirt.

My hands were unsteady, my breath uneven. But when I slid my fingers over the buttons, he didn’t stop me. He watched with sharp eyes, letting me have control for once, if only to make me admit I wanted it too.

Before I could push the shirt off his shoulders, he closed the distance again.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing and laid me on the bed.

I hated how fast my skin burned for him. How my back arched on instinct the moment his mouth found the base of my neck. I hated how his hands knew exactly where to touch to make me forget my name.

I should’ve remembered the blood on his hands. The lives he’d ended. The way his enemies died screaming.

But he kissed me like I was something sacred. And when his fingers tangled in my hair and his voice rasped my name like a curse and a prayer at once, I forgot every reason I ever had to stay away.

My nails dug into his back. I pulled him closer even as the voice in my head said I would be one of his victims. He would destroy me.

He was doing that right now.

And I let him.

God, I let him.

His mouth was fire. His hands were chains. And still, I melted for him.

I don’t know when my clothes were taken off or how his lips found every place that made me forget the rest of the world existed. I just knew that when he sank into me, everything stopped. All the noise. All the doubts.

There was only him.

Only this.

A gasp tore from my lips, and he caught it with his mouth, swallowing every broken sound I gave him.

His pace wasn’t gentle. It was fast, hard and desperate.

Like he needed this as much as I did.

And I hated that too. That I wanted to believe that maybe I wasn’t the only one spiraling. That maybe I wasn’t crazy for needing this, needing him, even when I shouldn’t.

"You hate me?" He whispered, his lips brushing my jaw as he moved inside me.

I nodded, even though I didn't mean it. "Yes."

His hand curled around my throat. It was light and I knew his intent was not to hurt, just to hold. To claim.

"You're lying again." That was followed by a torturously slow roll of his lips as he sank back into me. I screamed, my legs tightening against him.

His thrusts grew even more violent.

“Do you always scream for men you hate?”

I whimpered. His teeth scraped the line of my neck, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Mine.” He growled, hitting that spot in me that made me see stars.

I screamed, my thighs trembling as I came around him.

He rolled off me so he was on his back, and I was pressed against his chest. I could feel his release dripping from me as he softened against my thigh.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, entangled in something I couldn’t name. Time bled away. So did my sense of right and wrong.

And when I shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, my mind finally went quiet.

He collapsed beside me, our chests heaving in sync. His arm curled around my waist, pulling me close. I should’ve pulled away. Should’ve gotten up. Should’ve said something.

But I didn’t.

I just lay there, trying to figure out when everything got so complicated.

And why being with him, even if just for a moment, felt more like home than anywhere else I’d ever been.