Chapter 21 Bella #2
He growls, deep and Russian and feral, and thrusts into me in one long, hard stroke.
My back arches, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he fills me, stretching me open.
The desk creaks beneath us, papers and pens scattering to the floor, but I don’t care about the noise, or the fact that anyone could walk in—I just want more.
He sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against mine, cock driving deep.
Every stroke hits something electric inside me, making me gasp and claw at his back, nails leaving red lines in his skin.
Aleksander’s hand finds my throat, not squeezing, just holding, grounding me in the sensation—his rough thumb pressing under my jaw, making me look up at him, making me feel everything.
“Look at me,” he commands, voice all gravel and heat.
I do. Our eyes lock, and it’s like something raw and wild pulses between us.
I tighten my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him even deeper.
The edge of the desk bites into my hips but I don’t care—I want to feel every inch of him, to be ruined and marked and split open by this man.
He fucks me hard, relentless, his body pinning mine down, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room.
His free hand slides under my shirt, shoving my bra up, fingers pinching and twisting my nipples until I cry out, body jerking under his touch.
I can feel him everywhere—inside me, over me, under my skin.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, thrusts getting rougher, deeper. His hips stutter and I know he’s close, but I want to come first, want to feel myself clench around him, to pull him over the edge with me.
I reach down, rubbing my clit in tight, desperate circles, chasing the heat that’s building. Aleksander watches, eyes burning, groaning as he sees me touch myself. “Good girl,” he mutters, voice ragged, hips never slowing.
It’s too much—his cock pounding into me, his hand at my throat, the desk digging into my back, my own fingers on my clit.
The orgasm rips through me hard and fast, a shock of pleasure that makes me shudder and cry out, my whole body going tight and wet and shaking.
I clamp down around him, milking him, and he loses it, surging forward with a broken gasp, hips grinding as he spills inside me.
We stay tangled like that, breathless, both of us shaking. His forehead presses to mine, sweat slick between us, and for a moment we just hold each other—his cock still pulsing inside me, my legs locked around his waist, hearts pounding together.
He stays between my legs longer than he needs to, longer than makes sense, his weight anchoring me to the desk.
His breathing slows, but his hands don’t leave me.
One palm rests at my hip, thumb brushing the skin there like he’s memorizing it.
The other slides up my side, not sexual now, just…
present. It makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t expect.
Aleksander presses his forehead to mine again. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just there.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
I can feel him thinking. I can feel it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his breath changes, the way his thumb stills like he’s caught himself doing something dangerous.
“You know,” he says finally, low and careful, “this is not how things usually go for me.”
I let out a soft breath, my fingers drifting over his shoulder, tracing the muscle there. “No?” I ask, teasing lightly, even though my heart is starting to pound again, slower now, heavier.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “No.” His eyes flick over my face, like he’s searching for something. “Usually, it’s simpler.”
Something about the word makes my stomach dip. Simpler.
I tilt my head. “And this isn’t?”
His thumb presses into my hip unconsciously. “No,” he says again. Firmer this time.
The silence stretches. It’s thick. Charged in a way that has nothing to do with sex anymore. I can feel it hovering there, something unspoken, something too big to touch without consequences.
He swallows. I watch his throat move.
“You get under my skin,” he says instead of whatever he almost said. His voice is rough, stripped down. “You don’t listen when you’re supposed to. You look at me like you see more than I show.” A pause. “That’s dangerous.”
My chest tightens. I smile softly to cover it. “You don’t seem very scared.”
His eyes lift to mine instantly.
“I am,” he says, just as quickly. Then, like he’s caught himself again, he shakes his head, a sharp exhale. “Not of you.”
His hand slides from my hip to my lower back, pulling me in, not crushing, just close enough that our bodies still line up, skin to skin. His voice drops, quieter now, meant only for me.
“There are things—” he starts, then stops. His jaw clenches. “Things I don’t mix with…this.” His fingers flex against my back. “With you.”
My heart kicks hard at that. I don’t push. I don’t ask him to finish. I just hold his gaze, letting him feel that I’m still here, still steady.
For a moment, it looks like he might say it. Whatever it is. His eyes soften, just barely, like the edge of something dangerous giving way. His thumb lifts, brushing my cheekbone, slow and reverent, nothing like the way he touched me before.
“You matter,” he says instead. The words are quiet, almost torn out of him. Then, immediately, like he regrets letting even that much slip, he pulls back a fraction, clearing his throat. “More than you should.”
I feel it then. The almost-confession. The thing sitting right behind his teeth that he refuses to let out.
I smile, softer now, real. “That’s okay,” I say gently. “I don’t need promises.”
His eyes narrow slightly, searching my face. “You should,” he mutters.
I lean in and kiss him before he can retreat further. It’s not frantic. Not desperate. Just slow and sure, my lips fitting against his like they belong there. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against his again.
“I like you like this,” I say. “Honest. Even when you don’t say everything.”
For a long second, he doesn’t move. Then his hand slides into my hair, gripping just enough to remind me who he is, what he holds back.
“Careful, Bella,” he murmurs. “If I start saying everything, I won’t know how to stop.”
My pulse stutters. I smile anyway.
“Then don’t,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
He exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and restraint, and pulls me into his chest, holding me there longer than necessary, longer than is safe.
Aleksander’s lips find mine again—gentle now, lingering, almost an apology for everything raw between us.
For a moment, I just melt into him, letting myself feel his strength, his warmth, the way his hands slide into my hair and hold me like I’m something fragile.
He kisses me slow, then softer still, before finally pulling away.
I slide off the desk, tugging my jeans back up and searching for my shirt, cheeks flushed and legs still trembling as I get dressed. Aleksander’s watching me, a shadow of a smile on his lips, but there’s a new tension in his jaw now, something that tells me we’re not quite back to ordinary.
“I need a shower,” I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair, and he just nods, letting me slip past him out the door.
The house is quiet as I make my way to the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes and stepping under the spray.
I close my eyes, letting the hot water wash away the sweat, the mess, the memory of his hands still lingering on my skin.
But even as the water runs over me, I can’t quiet the prickle of worry in the back of my mind. Lily. I haven’t checked on her since she went down for her nap. Guilt tightens my chest, and as soon as I’m out and dressed in fresh clothes, I pad barefoot down the hall toward the guest room.
When I step inside, the air feels thick. Lily’s face is flushed, her hair damp with sweat, tiny fists clutching at the sheets. I touch her forehead and panic flares in my chest—she’s burning up, hotter than before.
“Lily?” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair off her face, but she just whimpers, eyes barely opening.
I don’t hesitate. “Aleksander!” I call out.
He’s there in seconds, all that hard-edged confidence wiped away, replaced by real fear.
He takes one look at Lily, checking her temperature, the way she’s breathing. I start to speak, my voice shaking. “You said no hospital, but—”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No. That’s nonnegotiable when it comes to her. We’re going. Now.”
His eyes are steel, but there’s a tenderness there too, something fierce and protective that makes me trust him without question. He scoops Lily up with surprising gentleness, cradling her small body against his chest, and I throw on a jacket, fussing over her as we hurry to the car.
“It’s okay, baby, you’re going to be okay,” I murmur, smoothing her hair, pressing cool fingers to her cheek as Aleksander drives, fast but steady. My hands shake as I check her pulse, her breath, doing everything I can to comfort her, to soothe her, but I can’t hide the fear in my voice.
Aleksander glances at me in the rearview, jaw set. “We’ll be there soon,” he says, and I nod, still fussing, whispering soft words to Lily as the city blurs past, each minute stretching painfully long.
We pull up to the hospital, and before the car has even stopped, Aleksander is out, opening the back door. “Give her to me,” he says, voice urgent but gentle. I cradle Lily and hand her over, my hands shaking. She’s burning up in his arms, her eyelids fluttering.
Inside the hospital, the receptionist glances at us—at the panic in my face and the way Aleksander holds Lily tight.
“My daughter has a high fever—she’s barely responsive,” Aleksander says, voice calm but commanding.
“Name?”
“Lily Thomas,” I say.