I let out a shaky breath.
For a few seconds, I just stand there, hands gripping the edge of the sink, trying to slow the frantic beat of my heart. What the hell just happened?
Alex kissed me. I wanted to be kissed by him.
I exhale hard, rubbing my temples. I don’t get any of this. I don’t understand how he does this to me, how he makes me feel things I shouldn’t. Things I never thought I’d want.
Still shaken, I strip off my wet clothes and take off my hearing aid, then step under the warm water.
The second it hits my skin, I finally exhale.
I let my head rest against the cool tile, closing my eyes. The sound of the water drowns out my thoughts, but not completely.Not enough. I can still feel his hands on me, the warmth of his breath against my neck, the way his tongue—
I shudder and stop that train of thought immediately. I don’t know how long I stood there, trying to push everything out of my head. But eventually, I force myself to finish, stepping out of the shower and drying off before slipping into the shirt and sweatpants. The fabric is soft, enveloping me in warmth, and carries the familiar scent of Alex. I swallow, my fingers curling slightly at the hem.
Shaking my head, I walk back into the bedroom, grateful he is not back yet, and marvel at how massive it is. It feels like a luxury suite in a five-star hotel. Modern with floor-to-ceiling windows, but it has a warm feel to it. The bed looks huge and inviting, but I know my place, so I walk to the sitting area across from it. I sit on one of the curved sofas, which is surprisingly soft.
I sigh, rubbing my temple. I feel exhausted.
Everything about tonight—the kiss, the tension, Alex… It’s too much, all at once.
Before I realize it, my body gives in. I shift, lying down against the sofa. The scent of him lingers clean, dark, and entirely his. I close my eyes, just for a second.
Then, without meaning to, I fall asleep.
SIXTEEN
ALEXANDER
I can still taste him. The memory of his lips lingers like a slow, burning ache at the back of my throat. I press my tongue against my teeth, jaw tight as I push past the urge to go back upstairs and feel him again. Hear him moan my name again.
fuck.
I’ve been fighting this for weeks. Ever since that night in the alley, when he passed me with those wide, wary eyes, I’ve been drawn to him. At first, I told myself it was curiosity—he had seen me at my worst, and yet, he hadn’t run. But it became more than that. A slow, creeping obsession that’s only grown worse every time I see him. Every time I get too close.
And today… Today, I lost control.
Lucas always smells good, faintly masculine and sweet, like warm vanilla and something spicy. But tonight, it was unbearable. Stronger. Seductive. Maybe it was the heat of his skin, or the way his scent mixed with the water that dripped down his body. It filled my lungs, seeped into my bloodstream, and made every nerve in my body tighten.
And then there was him. Soaked and shivering slightly, his golden curls plastered against his forehead. His white shirt clung to his skin, nearly see-through, molding to the sharp dip of his collarbones and the curve of his waist. His lips were full from theway he had been biting them, and his eyes. Fuck, his eyes, big, dazed, like he had no idea how goddamn tempting he looked.
I should have resisted. I should have kept my distance.
But the second I had him close, fingers gripping my shirt, breath hitching as I tilted his chin up, every ounce of restraint I had shattered. I’ve kissed women and men before, had my fair share of meaningless hookups, but this? This was different. Lucas didn’t just kiss back—he melted into it. He let me take. Let me own him in that moment.
And I liked it, more than I should.
With a deep exhale, I take the huge sushi platter and head upstairs, but as I step into my room, he’s already asleep, curled up on one of the sofas, my clothes drowning his lean frame, the collar of the oversized shirt slipping just enough to expose his pale collarbone. The hickey on his neck a deep red. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, damp curls slightly messy against the cushions.
I watch him for a moment, admiring just how beautiful he looks right now, then I step forward, slinging an arm beneath his legs and another around his back. He’s warm, his body slack as I lift him effortlessly. He stirs, a murmur escaping his lips, but he doesn’t wake.
I lower him onto the bed, adjusting the blanket over him before brushing a few damp curls from his forehead. I let my fingers linger in his hair longer than I should, watching the way his body shifts slightly into the touch.
For weeks, I’ve been careful. But he keeps breaking that control, unraveling it thread by thread. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I could have him if I wanted to.
But, something keeps holding me back. I feel that if I push too hard on him, he would go back to his shell and not want anything with me again. I still remember how he had reacted when I grabbed him at the exhibition.
Something about him—the way he flinches sometimes, the way he hesitates before touching, before letting himself be close, makes me hold back.
