When he breaks the kiss for a moment, our gazes lock. A resigned understanding passes between us—an acknowledgment of weakness.
We both know we must resist this longing, because it’s a wildfire that would leave only scorched earth behind. And yet, we’re powerless to stop it.
The desire blazing in his eyes makes me crave him so badly I nearly yowl. I’m a cat in heat, shameless and insatiable. Fisting his shirt, I yank him back to me. As our lips meet again, a rush of desire floods my senses, drowning out everything else. We kiss and kiss. I cling to him, lost in the intensity, panting and wanting.
I break the kiss long enough to draw a breath. Seconds later, his mouth is on mine again. And I let go. I kiss him back withyears of stifled desire thrumming under my skin. I can’t lie to myself anymore. I’ve wanted this man for a long time.
His fingers tangle in my hair.
I flinch instinctively, bracing for pain. Geoffroy used to do the same, always as a foretaste of domination.
But Alex doesn’t pull. Nor does he tighten his grip. He just keeps kissing me like a man possessed.
My shoulders relax as I realize there won’t be pain. That isn’t his intention. My hair’s a mess from all the tossing and turning, and his fingers are just caught in the knots. That’s all it is. He was never going to yank. No control play, no games. Just impatient hands in wild hair.
I’m not with Geoffroy now.Alex may look like his older half brother, but he isn’t Geoffroy.
We kiss again. His hands roam my back, my neck, my jawline, and my cheeks. They slip under the lapels of my bathrobe and caress my shoulders. My fingers curl into his shirt to feel his skin, his hard muscles.
His breath mingles with mine, creating a heady mix of desire and need. Every nerve in my body is on fire. I yearn for more of him, more of what he’s doing to me.
And then he pushes my wrists against the wall behind me. The restraint isn’t rough—just firm enough to hold them there.
The kiss dies on my lips. My mind races, plunging into a panicked frenzy.
Is this still passion? Normal male assertiveness?
Or is it a sick, twisted need for total control?
Alex leans back, eyes scanning mine. “What’s wrong?”
I look at his hands pinning mine above my head. They’re not tight. Not bruising. But I can’t stop that old, deep-rooted shiver scraping up my spine.
“Do you…” I rack my brain for the right words. “Do you enjoy hurting people?”
He blinks. “Is this about Rohinn again? Because if it is, I already told you?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Not about the duchy. Not the inheritance.”
He falls silent, watching me.
“I mean during sex,” I finally say.
A deep crease appears between his eyebrows. His grip loosens entirely.
He steps back, giving me space. “You’re asking if I’m into S and M?”
I nod once.
“No,” he says firmly.
My arousal pushes me to believe him, but I’ve been burned too badly by Geoffroy. “Are you certain you’re not into… deviant proclivities?” I ask.
“Not unless making sure my partner comes more than once counts as deviant.”
There’s no hesitation in his voice. No dark flicker in his eyes. He’s just confused and perhaps a little offended, but not defensive.
And so, I make a choice—the same one I made when I left my parents’ house, the same one I made when I married a man I barely knew.
