Giving In

Sienna

"Alex, you sure there aren't any..." I swallowed, scanning the trees. The only light came from his phone's flashlight and, of course, that wasn't much. "Deadly animals around here?"

He chuckled. "Someone's chickening out, huh? Surprising for someone so mouthy all the time," He glanced at me, unbothered. The deeper we walked, the denser the trees became — it felt almost like another world, though I'd never been to the A****n.

"I don't want to get mauled by a tiger or a bear," I shot back. Practical panic sounded worse. I should have just said— I was scared of being alone with him.

"This isn't a jungle, Sienna." He sounded amused. "It's just acres of land left to grow for decades. The most you'd find are chipmunks, maybe a fox or two — a few snakes, but not venomous."

"How can I trust you on that?"

"Look how you're clutching my arm." He paused, eyes drifting to where my hand looped around his sleeve like a lifeline — which, embarrassingly, it was. "Right now I'm the only person you trust." He turned his face toward mine, amusement softening the edges.

This man never failed to get on my nerves!

I yanked my hand back. "It was a reflex. Don't read into it."

"You're paranoid for nothing," he said, and before I could protest he took my hand again and pulled me through the woods. My objections died on the path of his grin.

Minutes later a chalet rose from the trees — lights blazing, warm and impossibly picturesque. For a second my mouth fell open. The place looked like a postcard: two stories, balconies that dipped toward the lake, every window glowing. Why in the damn hell someone build something so beautiful away from people's attention? It looked like a hideaway.

"My god, this is...pretty." I whispered. "But shit!The lights are on. We can't just—what if someone calls the police?"

"Lights are on because a worker comes by. Nobody's here now. Trust me." He kicked the door and stepped inside, as casual as if he'd been invited.

"Are you stalking the owners?" The thought was ridiculous and somehow inevitable. He'd stalked me—It wouldn't be surprising if he stalked other people as well.

He turned and shot me one of those looks. "Flower," he said, and for the first time in a while, he sounded like someone else entirely, "I am the owner."

"What the—" Before I could finish, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. We stepped inside and he flicked switches; light flooded the rooms. My jaw dropped.

This wasn't the cold, clinical place I expected from Alexander Grayson. It was homey. Open stairs led to the second floor; plush white sofas made the living room look lived-in. The kitchen was neat with a woman's touch — jars lined up, a small vase of flowers. The dining table sat four, not the huge, ostentatious set I'd imagined. On the wall above the couch hung a family portrait: two children and a couple. For a moment the faces blurred until I recognized the messy hair and a pair of blue eyes — his.

"That's you, isn't it?" I stepped closer, smiling despite myself. He looked almost adorable there, not the menace I'd come to know.

"The eyes give it away, don't they?" He stood behind me, hands in his jeans pockets, but there was something softer in his voice.

"The smile too." I tilted my head, memorizing the boy in the picture. "Always had a devilish curve."

He chuckled. "An artist's eyes. Can't fault that."

"Who's the other kid?" I asked, studying the second child. Different hair, brown eyes — a clear contrast to Alex's deep blue. "Is that your—"

"Brother. Unfortunately." He shrugged, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa before moving into the kitchen. "What do you want to eat? I'll cook."

"I've never seen you with your brother." I followed, watching him open cabinets like he belonged here. "Are you two not in touch?"

He stiffened, a small thing only I would've noticed, fingers pausing over a knife. He knew the house intimately — which suggested he'd been here a lot. Alone—the thought alone seemed too sad.

"Yes. We prefer it that way." He sighed and went to the stove. "Any other questions, detective?"

I had a hundred, but asking them felt wrong. He tried for indifference and failed — at least in front of me.

"You love this house, don't you?" I said, stepping close while he pulled a cutting board from the drawer, the knife glinting under the kitchen light. I was probably out of context but...the knife in the hands of a man like him looked both dangerous and...sexy.

"It was the one and only thing my dad left for me," he said flatly, as if putting the knife into the wound would make it smaller. "So I keep it like it was. That's all." The plainness of his words made it evident how it hurt although he didn't let a single drop of the pain be evident over his features.

I didn't press. Dad was a raw nerve for him. I'd heard the rumours — how he'd vanished overnight, how people whispered that he'd abandoned them. Since then, anyone who touched that subject got a broken nose or worse. The violence began there. Pieces of the story I'd never fitted together in college started to slot into place now.

"What are you cooking?" I hopped up onto the counter, watching him move around the kitchen. "Don't poison me, okay?"

"Since you won't answer, I decided for you — your favorite, Aglio e olio." He dropped spaghetti into the pot like he'd done it a thousand times. Alexander knew how to cook—that was the tea.

"How did you—did you know?" I asked, surprised and somehow breathless.

"I spend most days with Jacob these days, Sienna." He smiled while mincing garlic. It was strange how the kitchen held every ingredient, neat jars and a vase with two wilting stems. "And scary for you—he loves talk about his daughter—her likes and dislikes."

A short laugh escaped me. "I can't with my dad."

"You should be grateful. He'd kill for you." That smile again, easy and yet edged.

"I am," I said, settling into the counter comfortably despite the heat and proximity, he was right beside me and here we were talking and sitting side by side as if we'd been best friends from childhood, "But I'd prefer he didn't spill all my secrets."

"He doesn't need to." He laughed. "I already know everything about you."

"Excuse me? That is not a sane thing to confess."

"I don't give a fuck about being sane." He shrugged as he drained the pasta and transferred it to a bowl. He was so neat with everything—I couldn't help but notice.

"Then what do you give a fuck about? Cooking my favourite dish?" I teased.

"Unfortunately..." He let the word hang, then set the bowl aside. "I do."

Silence slid between us, easy and heavy. I watched him cook. Whatever Alex did, he did with a focus that bordered on possession. Right now that focus was ruining my carefully maintained calm.

I bit the inside of my cheek, tamping down the question that wanted to tear out of me: What do you want from me? He couldn't possibly be serious — I was only another conquest, a story he'd laugh about later. Yet here he was, cooking my favourite pasta, making the effort, and I couldn't force myself to believe he'd toss me away after.

Warmth from the stove crept through the room. I gathered my hair into a messy bun, a soft sound leaving me as I wrestled the strands up. A few pieces escaped and hung in my face. I didn't notice his eyes darken.

He rinsed his hands, turned off the tap, then the stove — everything mechanical and mundane — and the look in his face changed.

Predatory. Intent.

He moved like a shadow and I watched, doe eyed as he ended up stepping between my knees.

"What? Are you...are you done with the—" I froze as his hips slid against mine and the contact sent a tremor through me. A small, involuntary moan slipped out. My skin prickled; his heat seeped into me.

"You're a fucking tease, Sienna," he breathed, voice low. One hand slipped beneath my crop top effortlessly, fingers exploring until they covered my breast and teased my nipple.

"I just..." My protest dissolved before it formed. The urge to push him away evaporated; instead I wanted to pull him closer. "I just tied my hair up." My voice sounded small, ridiculous.

His hand tightened, making me arch. His other hand found my ass and squeezed; I was tiny against him and, humiliatingly, it excited me.

"Shouldn't have." He murmured into my ear. His lips drifted to my neck and the soft graze of them left me raw and warm. "You just..." His mouth moved lower, kissing a trail down my throat that made my breath hitch. "Awakened the monster." Then his lips crashed against mine.

For a moment I couldn't move. His mouth — the press of it, the stroke of his tongue — was a map I followed instinctively. I fell into him like a slow surrender, lips opening, hands threading into his hair as his body pressed insistently against mine. His bulge ground into me and heat seared along my spine. My breath sped; desire tightened like a fist in my chest.

It felt wrong. It felt inevitable. It felt, impossibly, right.

Alex's fingers moved with deliberate precision as always — unbuttoning my pants, tugging the zipper down, and slipping beneath the thin lace of my panties. When his hand finally touched me, bare and wet, I gasped into his mouth. His fingers found that aching spot with cruel accuracy, circling, pressing, making me break the kiss with a desperate moan. My head fell back as his lips claimed my throat, kissing, biting, dragging me further under his spell.

I clutched his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair, as two of his fingers slid inside me — slow, stretching, devastating. He knew all my spots...how—I still didn't know.

"Alex..." My voice cracked, needy, as I bit down on my bottom lip.

"Say the word and I'll stop, Flower," he growled against my skin, his breath hot and ragged, though his hand never slowed. "But if you don't... I won't stop. Not anytime soon."

The warning burned through me. I understood perfectly.

But I didn't want him to stop. Not even for a second.

My hand slid up to his cheek, forcing his gaze to mine. His eyes burned with hunger, so raw it raised goosebumps across my skin. "I don't want to stop," I whispered. "But... what about the dish?"

His smirk was wicked, slow, dangerous. His hands gripped my waist as my legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and he lifted me as if I weighed nothing. His mouth brushed mine when he answered, voice dark, eyes darker.

"I'm a selfish man, Sienna. I'll have my meal first... then you can have yours."

And with that, he carried me upstairs.