God help me, I can’t tell the difference anymore.
“Even when I went off to Stanford,” he murmurs, his lips dragging down my throat. “Even when I’m traveling the world. When I could have anyone.” His teeth graze my collarbone. “I only want you.”
His hands slip under the thin straps of my dress. His fingers brush my bare skin, and I swear I can feel his smirk against my throat when I shiver.
“You keep me grounded, Gemma,” he murmurs.
His lips find the hollow of my collarbone, his tongue skimming slow, deliberate.
“I could remind you of home too,” he whispers, voice so soft, so lethal.
His hands lower the straps, his mouth tracing the newly exposed skin.
“Hell,” he breathes, dragging his lips lower. “I could build you a home, Gemma. A castle, if you want.”
A promise.
A trap.
I exhale sharply. “So you can lock me away in a tower?”
His lips curve against my skin. “So I can save you.”
I should walk away. I should tell him to fuck off, to take his money, his power, his promises and go straight to hell.
But the thing is—he’s right. About all of it.
If I let him, he could fix everything.
He could save me.
He could buy me security, stability. A life without struggle.
Would it be so bad to trade my pride for peace?
Alder’s fingers tilt my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. He waits. Just long enough for me to catch my breath. Just long enough for me to pretend I have a choice.
Then, he crashes his mouth into mine. His lips part, and his tongue sweeps in, claiming every inch of my mouth as a groan escapes from my throat. I can’t stop the whimper that follows, my hands fisting in his shirt.
“Let me save you, Gemma.”
My body answers for me. And I let it.
Because tonight, I don’t want to fight. Tonight, I want to be taken care of. Tonight, I want to be his.
Alder’s hands are everywhere, mapping me, memorizing me like he hasn’t already spent years doing it. His fingers slide lower, finding the hem of my dress, pushing it higher, inch by agonizing inch.
Cool night air skims over my heated skin, and I shiver. Not from the cold—from him. From the way he’s looking at me like I belong to him. Like I always have.
His strong hands grip my thighs, lifting me againsthim. He squats, lowering us both until my butt hits the dock. Then he eases me back, guiding me down with those strong hands until I’m lying flat and breathless beneath him. And fuck, there it is. The thickness of his cock pressing right where I need him.
I whimper, instinctively rolling my hips, chasing the friction.
Alder chuckles—low, rough, and entirely too satisfied. “There she is.”
His fingers skim higher, teasing the edge of my panties.
I shift against him, hips tilting in silent demand.
