Chapter 18
ALEX
The castle is quiet. Every footstep we take echoes in the stone corridor as we hurry to my room. Eva’s bedroom is too close to Millie’s, and she won’t risk her catching us together.
It took us forever to get out of the dungeon and the basement. Not because the staircases are narrow, but because we couldn’t go two meters without pausing. Her mouth on mine. My hands all over her.
I couldn’t stop touching her.
She couldn’t get enough of it.
Finally in my room, I slam the door shut and bolt the lock. When I turn around, Eva is already in my space, pressing close, fingers curled in my shirt. I grab her waist, pin her to the wall, and kiss her hard enough to feel it in my bones.
“Just for the record, this doesn’t make me your friend,” she breathes, clinging to me.
“I can handle that,” I say against her lips, “as long as you’re happy to be my lover.”
Her laugh is quick, giddy. She’s warm against me, and I’ve already established how wet, how ready she is. The thought fills me with endless satisfaction. My hands roam, down her back, over her hips. I want to feel every inch of her.
We break apart long enough for me to pull her sweater over her head. She tosses it aside. My shirt follows. Her fingers skim my chest like she’s checking if I’m real.
“Bed,” she says.
I scoop her up before she can change her mind. Her legs wrap around my waist at once.
“Good girl.” I hear my rough voice.
Did I mean to say that aloud?
Her breath is warm on my neck. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
By the time I set her on the mattress, my pulse is hammering.
We strip the rest of the way fast, clothes hitting the floor without care. I take a second—just one—to look at her. Her hair’s mussed, lips swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Yeah.”
Her mouth curves. “Then stop looking and get over here.”
I do.
Our mouths meet again, slower this time.
Desperate as I am to feel her hot, tight pussy around me, I refuse to rush it.
We have all night to explore each other, please each other.
My hands skim her sides, down over her hips, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.
She arches under me, warm and soft, and absolutely here.
I trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, across the curve of her breast. Her hands clutch my shoulders, then slide down my arms, stroking, gripping. Her hips shift beneath mine, the movement sending heat straight through my cock.
Easy, I tell myself. There’s something I want to do first.
I kiss down her breasts and stomach until I reach her thatch.
I lick her, spread the outer lips open and lave her inner folds, murmuring hot, dirty words against her slick flesh.
Her little sounds, the way her thighs tighten against my shoulders, the way she pants, tell me everything I need to know. She’s enjoying this intimacy.
A few more strokes, and I draw her clit into my mouth.
I suck, gently at first. She whimpers and rocks her hips against me, holding herself open with eager abandon.
A wave of pride washes over me, knowing I’m overwhelming her with pleasure.
Her silky softness and her intoxicating taste are my rewards.
I quicken my pace and ease a finger into her drenched pussy.
She shudders.
The sight of her unraveling up close shreds the remnants of my restraint. I kiss my way back up to her mouth and cover it with mine again. A primal need to claim her makes me push my tongue deep. She welcomes the invasion. My hand slides up her neck and cups it gently.
She goes still.
Her lips stay on mine but don’t move. Her body’s rigid under me. I pull back just enough to see her face in the low light.
“Eva?” My voice is low, careful.
Nothing.
“Hey.” I loosen my grip instantly and back off, hands up like I’m surrendering. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Talk to me,” I press. “Please.”
Finally, her gaze meets mine. She’s wary. It’s killing me.
“No, you didn’t hurt me,” she murmurs. “It’s just… Geoffroy, his idea of sex was…”
My jaw sets as I grasp what she’s trying to say. I wait silently, cursing my careless grip.
She swallows. “His idea of sex was dominance. And pain. Usually both.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Figures.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re not surprised?”
“That he was a sadistic asshole? Not at all.”
She studies me, waiting for an explanation.
I could give her one. I could tell her about the yachting weekend from hell when I was twelve and he thirty-six. Father thought it would be a “bonding experience” for his two boys who rarely saw each other. Just Geoffroy, me, Father’s yacht, and the Riviera.
But my charming half brother invited two of his equally gregarious friends.
The three of them made me their errand boy and laughed when they pressured me to drink until I threw up over the side.
Geoffroy belittled me, called me names, mocked my interests, hid my stuff, and amused his friends at my expense.
When we got back—me to my mom, and him to his wife at the time and little Julian—he told me to suck it up and be grateful for the “life lessons” he’d imparted.
Yeah, I could share that story with Eva. But not now.
This isn’t the time to air my childhood grievances. They’re just a scratch compared to what Geoffroy did to Eva. The scale isn’t even on the same planet. She doesn’t need my old stories now. She needs to know I’m not him.
I look her in the eye. She holds my gaze. The air between us feels different now, heavy with memories still sharp.
“Eva,” I say. “I don’t have that kind of shit in me.”
She surveys me for a long moment.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Did he have a tiny dick?”
Her eyes widen. “Alex!”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I push.
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. He’s Millie’s father, I get it. I don’t expect her to mock him.
But I can.
“It’s almost a biological rule,” I go on. “Men who get off on hurting women usually have microscopic or inoperative equipment. My theory is it’s nature’s way of labeling them defective.”
She lets out a choked laugh. It’s short, almost startled. But it’s there.
“Better?” I stroke her gently.
She exhales, and I can feel her body relax a bit more.
“Better,” she says.
“Good. Because I’m not him, Eva. And I never will be.”
I slide my hand along her hip, tracing its curve, exploring rather than demanding. Her skin is silky under my touch. Her gaze softens. Those beautiful eyes grow heavy lidded as her lips part, inviting me again, and her breath hitches as I lean closer.
I kiss her hard, unable to hold back.
The moment her tongue meets mine, I can taste the shift in her, the way she’s letting herself come back to me. Her fingers find the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Soon, any lingering tension is gone. There’s only heat.
I line myself up with her. “Still on the pill?”
“Stopped last week,” she says, then shrugs. “I’m not the fertile type, and I’m thirty-five… But if you’d rather grab a condom—”
“Not a chance.” I hold her gaze. “I want to feel you. Last time was—” I stop, shake my head. “I want that again.”
Her eyes blaze. “Me too.”
I push into her. She gasps—a sound of joy, relief, and raw need, all tangled together. It goes straight to my head. She’s hot and tight. She’s fucking perfect. And when she moans like that, I can barely hold myself together.
But I do my best. I start moving inside her. She clings to me, her legs wrapping around my hips like she’s trying to pull me even closer, like she’s trying to keep me there forever. Her arousal matches mine. Much more active than last time, she meets me stroke for stroke.
I’m lost in her, in the way she reacts, the way she sounds. Every shiver, every squeeze, every moan—it’s all I care about. I find a rhythm that makes her unravel, her breath catching in her throat, her nails raking down my back.
She gasps again, like she did before. I find myself dizzy with it, high on her pleasure. Addicted to it.
She’s trembling now. Her body tightens around me, and I know she’s close. I’m close, too, but I’m not ready for this to end. Not yet. I slow down until she’s begging me to go harder, her voice broken and desperate.
And then I give her exactly what she asked for.
I fuck her harder, deeper, faster. I watch her come apart, her body convulsing around me, her cries muffled against my shoulder.
I let myself go. My pent-up release hits me like a freight train.
I’m pretty sure I black out for a second, because everything goes white-hot.
When it’s over, I stay on her, panting, my skin slick with sweat.
She’s still trembling, her fingers tangled in my hair. My body must feel heavy to her, I remind myself. I should roll over. But as long as she doesn’t push me away, I can’t.