His Touch, My Undoing

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Wren,” he repeated.

The plates slipped off from my fingers and shattered on the floor, porcelain shards were scattered everywhere.

 Alaric didn't even flinch, He just stepped closer, the broken pieces sticking under his well polished shoes.

He was close until I felt the heat of his body more than the warm kitchen lights. 

I opened my mouth to say something. But no sound came out.

His eyes went to my lips, it lingered there for sometime then returned to my eyes.

“I said you shouldn't be here,” he repeated, this time more softer and tender. “But here you are.”

Behind us, we heard laughter from the balcony. Elias’s voice was the loudest and more bright. It was louder than everyone else's voice there.

Alaric clamped his jaw together. He walked past me to set the stack of plates on the counter.

His arm brushed my waist, it was a deliberate act, a slow drag that made my breath hitch.

“I can explain….” I started.

“No.” He held my wrist, his thumb pressing the exact place where Elias's grip had left a faint bruise last week.

His touch was light and apologetic. Like he was feeling sorry for me. “Don't. Not yet.”

Then his fingers moved upwards, tracing the sleeve of my blue dress until it touched my bare skin.

I felt goosebumps. He then turned my palm studying the lifeline like it had answers to whatever was going his mind.

“Does he hurt you often?”

The question was so gentle that I felt open before him.

Tears pricked my eyes, it was sudden and humiliating.

I shook my head probably too fast. “It's not….”

“Isola.” He said my name warningly but it had this lullaby sound in it. “Look at me.”

I did. His eyes were molten, he looked shy. He lifted my hand, and pressed a kiss on my wrist.

It was warm, lingering, and right over the fading yellow mark. My knees gave way.

“Careful,” he murmured, “I have got you.” 

Footsteps approached. It was a female footstep cause I can hear heels clicking on the hard floor.

Alaric released me instantly, stepping back as Mariel came in with an empty bottle of wine.

My best friend's gaze moved from the broken plate to Alaric's unreadable face and then to my flushed cheeks.

“Is everything okay here?” Mariel asked, arching her brow.

“Clumsy guest,” Alaric said smoothly, already crouching to gather the shards.

His voice gave away nothing, but when he stood up, he slipped a piece of porcelain into my hand.

It was small, sharp and warm from his skin. A secret.

Mariel snorted. “I’ll get the broom.” She disappeared.

The second she was gone, Alaric leaned in, his breath fanning my ear.

 “Follow-up appointment. Monday. Three o’clock. Don’t reschedule.” 

Then, louder he said for the benefit of anyone listening: “Watch the glass, Miss Wren.”

He walked away, his shoulders squared, leaving me clutching the shard like a love note.

The rest of the evening went on. Elias moved me from group to group, his fingers holding my back possessively.

Every time I looked up, Alaric was watching quietly. He is a lighthouse in the storm of small talk.

 Once, our eyes met across the room and he lifted his glass in a tiny salute. My heart stuttered.

At midnight, Elias kissed my temple. “Stay over.”

“I have an early call,” I lied. He pouted but let me go, distracted by an investor's handshake.

In the elevator down, I opened my fist. The porcelain piece had cut a thin line across my palm, tiny beads of blood were on my palm. I smiled, absurdly happy.

Monday, 2:57 p.m.

I sat in the same exam room, my heart beating fast. The gown felt thinner today or I think maybe I was burning from the inside.

When the door opened, Alaric stepped inside.

“Miss Wren.” He closed the door, locked it. The click echoed.

He didn’t speak again until he was close enough for me to count the silver threads in his hair. 

“Labs are perfect,” he said, voice hushed. “But you’re not sleeping.”

“How did you…..”

“Your eyes.” He cupped my face, his thumbs stroking beneath my lashes. “Let me take care of you.”

And then just like it happens in the movie, he kissed me. It was slow, sweet, like he had all the time in the world. His mouth tasted like coffee. 

I melted into him, my hands fisting on his coat. When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

“I can’t do this here,” he whispered, but his hands slid to my waist, lifting me onto the table.

 Paper tore beneath us. “God help me, I can’t stop.”

His lips found my throat, he gave me those open-mouthed kisses that made me arch. I felt him hard against my thigh and whimpered.

 He soothed the sound with another kiss, gentler and apologetic.

“Monday nights,” he said against my collarbone. “My place. No charts. No gowns. Just you.”

I nodded, dizzy. “Yes.”

He helped me down, steadying me when my legs shook. 

At the door, he pressed the porcelain shard which was now wrapped in gauze into my palm. 

“Hold on to this. A reminder that some things break so better ones can fit.”

I left the hospital.

That night when I got home, Elias cooked, it was rare, and romantic.

He set  candlelight too, his hands gentle for once on me.

I smiled, laughed, and let him feed me strawberries. But every bite tasted like Alaric’s kiss.

Later, in bed, Elias traced the tiny cut on my palm. “What’s this?”

“Paper cut,” I lied.

He kissed it, oblivious. I stared at the ceiling, counting hours until Monday.

The week crawled on. On time  Alaric texted once, from a private number:

Thinking of you. Be safe.

I saved it, reread it in the shower, my  fingers slipping between my legs to the rhythm of his typed words.

It was finally Monday, 6:00 p.m. I went to his apartment.

His apartment was all dark wood and city lights, a single lamp glowing. He opened the door in jeans and a soft sweater, barefoot. 

The sight of him undone nearly buckled me.

“Hi,” he said, shy suddenly.

“Hi.”

He took my coat, fingers lingering on my body. 

Then he kissed me slowly like the first time but it was  deeper this time.

 We made it to the couch before removing each other's clothes.

His mouth mapped every inch of me, worshipful.

 When he slid inside me, it was with a groan that sounded more like a surrender.

He made love to me in the most sweet sensual way, I haven't felt this way with Elias.

His thrust was slow at first then he quickened the pace. Driving into me intensively.

I whimpered, surrendering to him. Letting him take control. This is so good, I thought.

Afterwards, he held me against his chest, tracing lazy circles on my back. “Stay,” he whispered.

“I can’t.”

“I know.”

We dressed in silence. At the door, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Wednesday. The clinic closes early. I’ll leave the side door unlocked for you.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

On that Wednesday, by 4:15 p.m.

The clinic hallway was dim, empty. I slipped in through the unmarked door. 

Alaric waited in an on-call room with a narrow bed.

Without wasting time, he pulled me inside, and kissed me breathless.

We had twenty minutes. He took nineteen, hands were gentle, his mouth reverent. 

When I came, he swallowed my cry with a kiss.

Afterwards, he smoothed my skirt, then fixed my hair. “You’re glowing,” he said, awed.

I laughed, shaky. “You’re trouble.”

“Only for you.”

On Thursday night, Elias proposed a weekend getaway. “Just us. No distractions.”

My stomach dropped. “I have a work thing…..”

“It can wait.” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been distant.”

I promised to reschedule. I lied again to him.

On Friday, I texted Alaric:

I can’t make it on Monday. Sorry.

His reply came instantly:

Whatever you need. I’m here.

That night, Elias packed for both of us. I watched him fold my clothes, the ones he picked out himself, he was controlling.

On Saturday morning, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, it had a photo.

A photo of the porcelain shard, now set in a delicate silver pendant on a thin chain. 

Beneath it was a written note in Alaric’s handwriting:

Wear this under the blue dress. So you remember who sees you.

I slipped it on, the cool metal settling between my breasts.

Elias knocked. “Car’s here.”

I smiled, my heart racing. “I’m coming.”

As we stepped into the elevator, my phone vibrated again. It was Alaric:

If you need me, text 911. I’ll come.

 I pressed the pendant to my skin, counting heartbeats.

On Sunday night, I was in a hotel suite overlooking the ocean,  as Elias poured champagne. “To us,” he toasted.

I clinked glasses, as we drank the champagne. The pendant was hidden beneath my dress.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, it was an unknown number. I knew it was Alaric.

I turned it over. I couldn’t risk it.

Elias kissed me, hands roaming all over my body. I closed my eyes, savouring into the moment, pretending it was Monday.

Later, when he slept. I tiptoed to the bathroom, locked the door, and opened the text.

It was a video message. Alaric in his clinic, his white coat unbuttoned, with a low voice:

“I miss you. Come home to me.”

The screen went black. Another text followed:

Check the balcony.

My body was already trembling as I crept outside. A tiny envelope was taped to the railing. I took it and opened it.

Inside it was a keycard and a note.

Room 412. Midnight. If you want out, use it.

I stared at the ocean, wind whipping my hair. Elias’s snores drifted through the open door.

The pendant on my skin.

Midnight was just three hours away.

I was playing a risky game.