He looks massive in this room. Like he’s too much presence for the space, and just too much everything. And somehow, I’m only really seeing it now. I’ve known what he is since I met him, and what he carries. But here, like this, he doesn’t just take up space.
He commands it.
Alder turns to face me, and his gaze drags slowly down my body.
“Fucking perfect,” he says.
My brows draw together, and I don’t realize I’m doing it until his expression mirrors mine. So I quickly slip the mask back in place, smoothing the creases and adopting the look of indifference I’ve perfected that hides the truth.
But he saw the crack.
He takes a step towards me, his dark gaze locked on mine, as he tries to read what that flicker of hesitation and doubt meant.
But he doesn’t get to look past the surface, at the weight that creeps in when the noise dies down, and the black static that settles behind my ribs, reminding me I’ll never be worth a fucking thing. I keep that locked up and buried deep in the bottom of a bottle before the cracks spread wide enough for anyone to see it. Even me.
Nothing about that is fucking perfect.
Alder stops a few paces in front of me, standing at the edge of the bed as he watches me. I meet his stare and give him nothing in return.
Then he jerks his chin as his eyes drop to my belt. “Pants down.”
I hold his gaze a moment longer as my jaw tightens and pressure builds in my chest. He also doesn’t get to drag me out of work and tell me what to do. He doesn’t get to control me.
But… who am I kidding?
I came here on my own.
The pull I felt earlier is now stronger under the weight of his gaze, and my fingers move to my belt, even as thoughts press in telling me I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have left campus in the middle of the conference. I shouldn’t be listening to the VP of the Basin Kings telling me to strip in a cabin in the woods. And I shouldn’t be letting him look at me like he is… like he’s going to chew me up and spit me back out, then make me say thank you.
But I want to do it all anyway.
I push my pants and boxers down over my hips, then move to grab the hem of my sweater. But before I can lift it, Alder’s gaze snaps to mine.
“Did I say you could take that off?”
I pause, arching a brow at him.
“That stays on,” Alder says in a low voice as his eyes drag back down my body and his hands move to his belt. He slowly unbuckles it, pulls his cock free, and wraps his hand around it to stroke himself. The ink on his fingers shifts with the movement, the colourful symbols on his knuckles covering the geometric black and grey that runs the length of him.
My own hand finds my hard cock without thought as the sight of him alone pulls me in. I can’t look away from the way his tattooed fingers move over himself, the contrast between thebold, bright colour on his hand and the darker patterns on his cock creating something hypnotic… like a design in motion.
“Hm,” Alder hums deep in his chest, with a slight approving nod as his eyes land on my hand. “Faster.”
I do exactly what he says, because the fight that was in me earlier has now vanished. In its place is something much different, although I’m not sure what it is. The desperation that’s been building since last night finally finds somewhere to land, and under the weight of his stare, something in me opens and reaches for whatever it is he’s offering.
As if he can read me, Alder steps forward and grips the back of my neck, pulling me in until his mouth claims mine. His tongue pushes past my lips, and a heavy breath leaves me as my whole body loosens, and a knot somewhere deep in my chest comes undone.
Everything about this is so wrong, it feels right. This is the last place I should be, and he’s someone I have no business being involved with in any way… but I don’t care. It’s like my body acts on its own around him, taking over and giving my mind a break as I lean into everything I’ve secretly been craving.
Chaos, danger, power, and control.
I let him bat my hand away so he can take both of our cocks in his grip, while his other hand remains firmly around the back of my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me. And as he strokes us together, sliding his tongue along mine, the moan that escapes me doesn’t even sound like it belongs to me.
Heat is quickly building inside me as my hands slip under his shirt, pushing it up. He pulls back just enough to drag the shirt over his head, then immediately wraps his hand around both of us again, stroking harder.
I look down and lift the hem of my sweater to watch, my heart racing at the sight. Against him, I look almost bare, with pale skin untouched by ink, all clean lines and empty space,where his tattoos are on full display as bold lines, dark patterns, and bursts of colour mark every part of him.
