27. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 27
Magnolia Steel
The door clicks shut with a finality that echoes through the apartment. I press my forehead against the cool wood for half a second before turning back to the man still sitting bloodied on my floor.
Alex leans back against the couch, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. He keeps his hands braced on his thighs, fists still clenched. His knuckles are raw, his lip split, and there’s a deep, angry cut just above his eye.
I go to him, lowering myself to the floor. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on us. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we haven’t said.
“I was afraid you were going to kill him.”
Alex drops his head back against the couch. “Can’t say I wasn’t afraid of that myself. I’m still thinking about it.”
Who could blame him?
I lift his hand, running my thumb along his knuckles. He watches me, saying nothing, but his body tenses at my touch. His hands look rough—split skin, smeared blood, swelling already forming.
“You need to be cleaned up.” I push to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”
And for the first time since he walked back through my door tonight, I feel like I can take care of him. Make him feel better.
I return with antiseptic and cotton balls, kneeling before him without a word. Antiseptic seeps into the raw cuts across his knuckles, turning the deep scrapes an angry red. Not a flinch. Not a single sound. Just the steady weight of his gaze locked onto my face.
The silence stretches as I clean the wounds and wrap his knuckles. He lets me. No protests, no stubborn remarks.
The cut above his brow is bad. Blood trickles from the deep gash, trailing toward his temple. I reach for another cotton ball, dabbing at it with a softer touch.
“This one’s deep. I think it needs stitches.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“With all due respect, you’re not the one looking at it right now.” I press the gauze and hold pressure to stop the bloody ooze. “It’ll scar if you don’t get it stitched.”
The corner of his mouth twitches—almost amused. “I like scars.”
A quiet sigh slips from my lips, but I don’t argue. “At least let me cover it with something that’ll keep the cut pulled together. It’s bleeding everywhere.”
He nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”
I pull the broken skin together and apply adhesive strips. “ Happy is a stretch, but it’ll help to put me at ease.”
Something flickers in his expression—something softer. “Do what you need to do.”
And I do. Because it’s the only thing I can control right now.
My hands rest on my thighs as I kneel before him, searching his face, hoping for something—anything—that tells me we can get through this.
“Please don’t hate me.”
His head snaps up, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. “I could never hate you.” His jaw tightens, the muscle in it starting to tic. “But what that fucker said––”
Ty said a lot. But tasting me —that’s the one that sent Alex into a blind rage, the one tearing him apart.
That part wasn’t untrue, but it was misleading. I’m sure Alex must be thinking the worst.
My insides are unraveling. “I will tell you everything, and I won’t lie to sugarcoat it. I don’t want you to ever have to wonder.”
“Never thought you would.” He exhales, his nostrils flaring. “This is something I have to hear. I just don’t want to.”
Understandable. It would gut me to hear details about his sexual encounter with another woman.
“Whenever you’re ready––”
He interrupts. “I need this to be over with. Tell me what happened, but with as few details as possible.”
“All right.”
I clear my throat, summoning the courage to say the words before I lose my nerve. “The first incident… there was some touching––his hands on my legs. He kissed my thigh, just the one kiss though, and offered to go down on me. That was it.”
He blows a deep breath between pursed lips. “Okay.”
This next one is going to sound a lot worse.
“The second—and final—incident involved kissing and touching.” I swallow hard, the shame burning my throat. “How much do you want to hear?”
“The fucker said he tasted you. I need that explained in as few words as possible.”
“He didn’t go down on me. He tasted me on his fingers… after touching me.”
“The thought of his hands on you––” His fists press into his eyes like he’s trying to scrub the images from his mind. “Did he make you come?”
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding. “Yes, one time.”
“Fuck.”
His head drops back. “You can’t imagine how much I hate hearing that.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex.”
His fingers flex against his thighs. “Did you make him come?”
No hesitation. “No.”
His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. “You didn’t fuck him or suck his cock or give him a hand job? He kissed you and got you off once with his hand and that’s it?”
“Correct.”
Something in his face eases—just a fraction—but the torment is still there.
Reaching for his hands, I thread my fingers through his. “He was wrong. I was never falling in love with him, Alex. I love you. Only you.”
His chest rises with a deep breath, his grip tightening on mine. “I understand why he fell in love with you. You’re so damn easy to love.”
His gaze flickers to mine, heavy with exhaustion, pain, and something else—something that looks an awful lot like hope, no matter how fragile.
“Where do we go from here?” His voice is raw, edged with uncertainty.
“I don’t know.” Fear wraps around my throat like a python that refuses to let go. “What do you want?”
A quiet, bitter laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head. “I want to get in a fucking time machine and go back to six months ago so I can change everything that happened.”
If only––
He reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek. My eyes flutter shut as I lean into his palm, letting him cup my face, savoring his touch.
“I’m lost without you.” His voice breaks, rough with emotion. “I love you. I never stopped. Not for a single second.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “I love you too. Every second, every breath, it has always been you.”
“We have a lot to figure out.”
I nod, because he’s right. We have battles ahead of us. “I know.”
There are still so many questions, and so many wounds to be healed.
I cup his face, my thumbs tracing over the rough stubble along his jaw. Even with the cuts, bruises, and dried blood, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I lean in, pressing the lightest kiss to the cut on his face, then another along his cheekbone. A silent apology. A quiet promise.
When my lips brush his swollen mouth, he exhales and pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes stormy and conflicted. “There’s a lot going on in my head. It’s… overwhelming.”
I nod, understanding. “You need to scream… but not with your voice?”
His throat works as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He doesn’t answer right away, but his eyes darken, heat flickering behind them. “That would be a start.”
I slide my hands down to his chest, feeling the steady, heavy rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms. “We both know what you need. It’s what I need too.”
I clutch his hand, giving a small tug after I rise to my feet. He follows, his grip firm, like he’s afraid to let go. Without a word, I guide him through my apartment, past the wreckage of the fight.
In my bedroom, I turn to him, searching his face. His jaw is still tight, his shoulders rigid with the pain of everything still unspoken.
My voice is steady despite the pounding of my heart. “I’m yours, Alex… if you still want me.”
“Of course I want you.” His fingers tighten around mine. “I’ve always wanted you. I always will.”
I reach for the hem of my top, dragging it over my head before slipping out of my yoga pants, leaving myself bare beneath his gaze. His eyes rake over me, dark and consuming, but he doesn’t move.
“Let your hair down,” he says, voice low, controlled.
I pull the tie and pins from my bun, shaking my hair loose so it falls over my shoulders.
“So bloody beautiful.”
I step closer. “I want you to channel all of it––the anger, the hurt, the hate. Get it out of your system. Like you did in the back of the limo.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Anger, yes. Hurt, yes. Hate, no. Never hate, Magnolia. I love you with all of my heart.”
Heart hammering, I square my jaw and lift my chin. “I know you love me, but I also know you’re angry. And maybe you’ll never admit it, but there’s a small part of you that hates me a little for what happened with Ty.”
“Stop calling him Ty.”
“Okay. Fair.”
“It’s true that I hate what happened, but that’s different from hating you.”
I place my hands over the steady, erratic beat of his heart. “Say whatever you need to say, do whatever you need to do. And when it’s over, it’ll be out in the open and we’ll move forward. We’ll never speak of it again.”
His hands grip my hips, rough and desperate.
“Give me the punishment fuck that you know you want to give me.”
He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t want to punish you.”
“Yes, you do.” I press closer, tilting my head until our lips are a breath apart. “And it’s what I want too.”
I sink to my knees without him having to tell me.
The moment my hands find his zipper, the tension coils even tighter between us. I work it down slowly, seeing his cock strain against the fabric. His breath hitches—a low, broken sound.
I push his pants down his hips, the fabric sliding over muscular thighs, until they hit the floor. My hands glide up, slipping beneath the waistband of his briefs, relishing his taut muscles quivering beneath my touch. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, and my mouth waters at the sight of him.
“Open your mouth.” His voice is low and husky.
I do as he says, trembling with a mixture of anticipation and desperation. He guides himself to my mouth, running the blunt head across my lips, teasing me, punishing me with how slowly he gives me what we both want.
I lick the tip, tasting him, and a ragged sound tears from his throat. His hand tightens in my hair—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who’s in charge here—and then he pushes deeper, sliding into my mouth with a low curse.
“Eyes up here, babe,” he says, voice rough as gravel.
I meet his gaze, hollowed out by guilt and yearning. He rocks into my mouth, slow at first, letting me adjust, letting me take him deeper. His free hand cups my jaw, holding me steady as he sets the pace—demanding, desperate, a rhythm that speaks of all the anger and longing buried inside him.
Tears prick my eyes, but I take it—I take all of him, hollowing my cheeks, letting him use my mouth like he needs to.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking my hair. “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me.”
My nails dig into the backs of his thighs, holding on as he thrusts into my mouth, more ragged now, more broken, his body shuddering with the effort it takes to hold himself back.
“Your mouth is sweet, but it’s not where I want to come.”
He hauls me to my feet so fast the room spins. His mouth crashes to mine—rough, bruising, desperate. His hands are everywhere—fisting in my hair, yanking me closer, dragging me against the hard lines of his body. I kiss him back with everything I have—the guilt, the regret, the fierce, endless love I carry for him.
He turns me around, pressing me against the wall. His mouth finds the side of my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Hands slide over my body, worshipping and punishing at the same time—palming my breasts, squeezing my hips, fingers digging into my skin like he can imprint himself onto me.
His voice is a growl against my skin. “You are mine, Magnolia. No one else touches you. No one else hears you come. Ever.”
I whimper, arching back against him, needing more, needing him to erase every mistake, every memory that doesn’t include him.
He yanks me back by the hair just enough to whisper in my ear, “You’re going to take everything I give you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes… sir.”
He growls against my ear. “You know how much I like hearing that.”
His hand slides between my thighs, rough and claiming, stroking once, twice.
“Already so fucking wet for me,” he says, sinking two fingers inside me without warning. “Your pussy never disappoints.”
I cry out, my hands flying to brace myself against the wall as he fucks me with his hand, deep and punishing, building me up so fast I’m already on the edge.
“You wanted it rough. You asked for this, favorite. Don’t you dare run from it now.”
I don’t. I can’t.
He twists his fingers inside me, hitting that spot that makes me shatter, pushing me over the edge with ruthless precision.
But he doesn’t stop.
He turns me to face him, scooping me up into his arms, carrying me toward the bed with a savage tenderness. He lays me down like I’m something precious, like he’s staking his claim.
His body hovers over mine, big and powerful, pinning me down without even needing to touch me. His hands skim up my sides, slow, firm, claiming every inch of skin like it belongs to him.
Because it does. It always has.
“Spread your legs for me.”
I obey, baring myself for him, trembling with need. His mouth curves into something dark and devastating—not a smile, not exactly. Something more like possession.
He grips my thighs, dragging me to the edge of the bed, lining himself up with my body.
No teasing this time. No slow burn.
Just Alex and…
Raw. Ruthless. Rapture.
The first thrust knocks the air from my lungs. I cry out, arching into him, but he doesn’t let up. He drives into me hard, deep, again and again.
“That’s it. Take all of me.”
I do.
God, I do.
He pounds into me with single-minded focus—like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else, every doubt, every fucking mistake.
My hands fist the sheets, clutching with desperation, but it’s not enough. I need to hold him. Need him closer.
“Alex—” I say, reaching for him.
He grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand, his other gripping my chin and forcing my gaze up to his. “Eyes on me. No looking away. I want you to know who you belong to.”
“I’m yours,” I say, the words ripped from some place deep inside me.
His face twists, wrecked and beautiful and so full of love it makes my chest ache.
“You’re mine.” Each thrust punctuates his words. “Always have been, always will be.”
My body clenches around him, spiraling closer to the edge with every brutal, perfect thrust. I’m so close I can sense it vibrating through every nerve ending.
He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t soften. He gives me everything. All the anger, all the heartbreak, all the love he’s been holding inside.
“I fucking missed you,” he says, his voice cracking on the words.
A broken sob rips from my lips. “I missed you too.”
He pulls almost all the way out—then slams back inside me so deep I shatter around him, my orgasm ripping through me like a tidal wave, hot and violent, stealing my breath.
Alex curses under his breath, losing the last thread of control, pounding into me as he chases his own release. His body tenses above me, every muscle locked tight—and then he breaks, groaning my name like a prayer as he comes hard, spilling inside me with a shudder that makes it seem like it’ll never end.
We stay like that, tangled together, gasping for air, his forehead pressed against mine.
He kisses me—not rough, not punishing— but slow and aching and reverent.
“I love you, favorite,” he says against my mouth. “I’ll never stop loving you.”