7. Alice
Chapter 7
Alice
Gordy guides me to his Mini Cooper, which suddenly feels like a sanctuary compared to the house I no longer recognize.
“Drive,” I manage to say, my voice a mere whisper.
He doesn’t ask where. He just starts the engine and takes off.
His hand finds mine again, and I cling to it like a lifeline as we navigate the dark streets. The drive to my apartment is silent except for our intertwined fingers speaking volumes.
My thoughts are a tangled mess as we pull up outside my building. Gordy and I exit the car and walk through the dimly lit hallway to my apartment door. The silence feels heavy, but his presence is a balm that soothes the raw edges of my emotions.
I put the kettle on, feeling his gaze follow my every move as I pop tea bags into two mugs. Every nerve ending seems to hum with awareness of him. He’s close behind me when I turn around, so close that the heat radiates off his body and into mine.
“Al,” he murmurs, his shortened version of my name holding more weight than any speech.
“Yeah?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Are you okay?” It’s a simple question, but his concern wraps around me like a warm blanket.
“Define okay.” I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
“Fair point.” He steps even closer, and I’m caught in the hypnotic pull of his green eyes, which seem to shimmer with something I can’t quite define. He catches my wrist gently, stalling my movements. “Al.” His voice is low, careful.
I drop my gaze to the floor because I know if I don’t, I’ ll break.
“Talk to me,” he says.
I let out ashakybreath. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Gordy squeezes my hand. “Then let me help.”
And just like that, my walls crack.
I don’t cry—not exactly. But my shoulders shake, and before I know it,Gordy pulls me into his chest.
I bury my face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of old books and something uniquely him.
His arms aresolid, grounding, one hand smoothing down my hair while his other rests against my back, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Whatever this is, you’re not dealing with it alone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You sure you’re ready for that?”
Gordytilts my chin up, making me meet his gaze briefly. His green eyes areserious, unwavering. “More than ready.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my emotions still a whirlwind.
“Always, Al,” Gordy says, his green eyes full of empathy before they dart away again.
“Even when I’m a big ole witchy problem?”
“Especially then,” he replies with a half-smile that makes something deep inside me flutter.
I lean into his comfort, grateful for the peace he brings amidst the chaos. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just… need…” I trail off, unable to articulate the chaos inside me.
Instead, I reach for him, drawing him down to meet my lips.
Gordy doesn’t hesitate. The moment our mouths touch, something inside me ignites—a slow-burning fire that quickly builds into an inferno. His lips are soft but insistent, a careful blend of restraint and barely leashed desire. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones, reverent, almost hesitant, as though he’s afraid I might slip through his fingers.
But I’m not going anywhere .
“Al…” His voice is strained, and I realize this is more than comfort; it’s a need, raw and urgent.
I press closer, desperate to erase the space between us, and he groans low in his throat as I mold myself against him. His body is solid, heat radiating from him like a furnace, and the moment I slide my fingers up to his head—his snakesreact.
A shudder runs through him as the serpents shift. Some retreat beneath his cap, others cautiously flick their tongues against my fingertips. It should be strange, but it only makes the kiss more intense, morereal.
Gordy’s lips move hungrily against mine, the earlier caution melting away. His hands leave my face, skimming down my sides, gripping my waist with enough pressure to make my breath hitch. We stumble, my backhitting the wallwith a soft thud, and his body follows,caging me in.
I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine in a way that leaves me dizzy. He tastes like mint and something inherentlyhim, something I already know I’ll crave. His fingers press into my hips, dragging me closer until there’s nothing between us but heat and fabric and the rapidly fraying threads of self-control.
A soft, warning hiss comes from above, but Gordy doesn’t pull away. If anything, itspurs him on, his lips trailing from my mouth to my jaw, to the sensitive spot below my ear where his breath sendsshivers racing down my spine.
“Gordy,” I gasp, my fingers fisting in his shirt as I arch toward him.
His name on my lips makes him exhale sharply. He presses his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged. “Al,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint and something darker, more dangerous. “I?—”
“Please don’t stop,” I whisper, emboldened by desire and the need to forget everything else.
But he does. His hands tighten on my waist, then abruptly release me as he steps back.
The loss of his warmth is like a bucket of ice water poured over my skin, leaving me breathless andaching for more .
His green eyes—glowing faintly in the dim light—flick to my lips, then lower, to where my nipples press against my shirt as my chest rises and falls in uneven bursts.
“I have to stop,” he says, voice rough like the words physically hurt. His jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides as if fighting the urge to grab me again. “Because if I don’t…”
My pulse pounds, my body still singing with need. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask, trying to hide the hurt in my voice. “Is it because I’m a witch?”
“Gods, no, Al.” He touches my cheek with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “It’s not you. It’s me. I can’t. Not yet. I need to be sure I can control it. That I cankeep you safe.” His voice is quieter now, like it’s a battle he’s still fighting.
“Okay,” I sigh, even though it’s not. I want him, and I want him now. The heat of our embrace still lingers on my skin, and every cell in my body screams for him to continue where we left off.
But I recognize the conflict he can’t vocalize, the fear.
“It’s just… there’s a lot at stake,” he continues, struggling with the words. “What if I lose control? What if I turn you to stone? I couldn’t bear it.”
The words are meant to reassure me, but they only make me want tobreak the rules he’s so desperate to follow.
I lift a hand, pressing it against his chest, relishing the rapid thrum of his heart beneath my palm. “I trust you.” Tears sting my eyes, and I drop my gaze to the floor.
“Look at me, Al,” Gordy insists, his voice a soft command that sends shivers down my spine.
I lift my gaze to his hypnotic green eyes, emerald pools that could spell my doom if he ever lost control. After a few seconds, his gaze flicks away, always careful not to maintain eye contact for too long.
“I can’t walk away from you, Alice. Your laugh, your spirit, they’ve become essential to me. But if I turned you to stone and couldn’t change you back”—his voice cracks, betraying his usual calm demeanor—“it would destroy me.” He cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and I lean into his touch. “I’m terrified of what could happen if we let this go any further.”
His meaning is clear, anda thrill shudders through meat the raw honesty in his voice. Hewants this. Wants me.But I need to respect his wishes. For now.
I nod, even though my body screams in protest. “Okay,” I murmur again, licking my lips, watching the way his gazedarkens at the movement. “But to be clear, I’m not going anywhere. So when you’re ready?” I smile, letting my fingers traceone last lingering touchalong his jaw. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you,” he breathes, relief and torment intermingling in his gaze.
“Good. That’s settled,” I say brightly as I step back. “Kettle’s boiled.”
My hands shake slightly as I make the tea, the warmth of the mug doing little to chase away the chill now that Gordy is no longer pressed against me.
Behind me, I hear him exhale a deep, shuddering breath like he’s trying to ground himself. His presence is a force in my small apartment, but it’s different now. There’s an ache in the air, a tension that hasn’t dissipated, only shifted into something heavier. Something unspoken.
I hand him his mug, our fingers barely brushing, but it’s enough. The simple touch feels like a spark against my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from reaching for him again.
Gordy watches me for a long moment, his green eyes shadowed with something unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he sets his tea down without taking a sip. “I should go,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I swallow hard, nodding even though every part of me wants to ask him to stay.
“Yeah. Of course.” I force a small smile. “It’s late.”
But neither of us moves.
Gordy stares at me like he wants to say something else, something that might change things. Instead, he adjusts the knit cap over his snakes as though it’s his shield against temptation. Against me.
His hands linger there for a second before he turns toward the door .
I follow, my stomach twisting as he reaches for the handle. His back is to me, his shoulders tense, and I swear if I breathed wrong, it might be enough to tip the balance of his control.
He hesitates.
Turns his head slightly.
“Al…” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want this.”
I inhale sharply, my grip tightening around my mug. “I know.”
He nods once, a subtle confirmation, before he finally opens the door. A gust of cool air sweeps in, and I shiver, though it has nothing to do with the temperature.
Gordy steps over the threshold, lingering for a moment like he’s fighting some last internal war. Then, before I can say anything, before I can reach out and make a terrible, wonderful mistake, he’s gone—disappearing into the night like a shadow.
The door clicks shut behind him, the sound far too final.
I exhale, sagging against the wall, inhaling a deep breath to calm my racing heart and douse the heat lingering on my skin. But it doesn’t work.
Because Gordy is everywhere. In my pulse. In the memory of his hands. In the ghost of his kiss that refuses to fade.
I sink onto the couch, hugging a cushion to my chest. My mind races, replaying the confrontation with my parents and their reluctant confession about my hidden abilities. Witches. Powers. It’s all too surreal, like a page ripped from one of the mythology books Gordy loves so much.
“Great,” I mutter to the empty room, “Now I’m a witch with boyfriend troubles. Typical.”