Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Mara
“You made it on time.” I open the door, and there he is. Alec Hovard rumpled from the day, eyes already softening when they meet my gaze.
“They tried to keep me later,” he says, stepping in, “but Dex and I had to go to our respective women.” He leans in, presses a kiss to the tip of my nose, then scans the space behind me. “Is she asleep?”
“Yep.” I nod and step back to let him in.
His hands find my hips just as I’m about to close the door. He pulls me in gently, his mouth brushing mine, testing. Then he deepens the kiss like he’s got time to savor it.
My breath catches as his lips part mine with slow, possessive intent.
His tongue teases—lazy at first, then deeper.
He doesn’t just kiss me—he consumes me. Like he’s been imagining the taste of my mouth all day, and now that he has it, he’s not letting go.
A soft, needy sound slips from my throat as my fingers twist into his jacket, toes curling from the ache blooming low and deep, all heat and hunger wrapped in something far too tender.
“Missed you, babe,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Missed you more,” I breathe, my fingers tightening around his collar.
Then he pulls back slightly, brows dipping. He runs his thumb under my eye. “You cried?”
I nod, lips still tingling. “I wrote a couple of letters. One to Sam and the other to Lina.”
“One shorter than the other?” he asks, stepping all the way inside.
I move aside to let him pass. “You know it.”
“Who got the fuck-you today?”
I laugh, a short huff as I close the door. “It wasn’t a fuck-you. More like a ‘I’m unhappy with you.’ That one went to Lina. Sam’s already gotten his fair share of those, ‘fuck you’ letters. Today I was able to write a long letter.”
He smirks and heads to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves to start the kettle. “How was today’s therapy session?”
“Better. The writing she suggested a couple of weeks ago helps. Maybe eventually they’ll turn sad . . . maybe even accepting.” I trail off, leaning against the counter.
“That’s good though, right?”
I shrug again. It’s complicated.
“By the way, your mom called me,” he says after a beat. “Wanted to check on Mila. Asked if you’re planning to see her soon.”
I stare at him. “I can’t believe you’re in contact with Laura.”
“She’s cool,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal to bond with my overbearing mother even when they haven’t met—or when I don’t know if I’ll ever speak to her again.
“You’re a good man, Alec Hovarth,” I whisper, crossing the space between us.
My arms slide around his waist. He turns to face me fully, his hands catching my hips, warm and familiar. I tip up to kiss him again, this time slower, letting everything simmer just beneath the surface.
His hands glide up my back, one resting at the nape of my neck as he presses closer. I part my lips, and he takes the invitation. The kiss grows hot—lazy at first, but pulsing with need. I shift against him, and he groans when my body brushes his, unmistakable heat flaring between us.
His voice is rough against my lips. “We should head upstairs.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Last thing we need is Mila catching an eyeful of us . . . unless you don’t want to. Which is totally cool. I’m here to finish organizing the vinyl collection.”
“Let’s go.” I nod, breathless, hand sliding into his. He leads me upstairs and when we reach my bedroom, he closes the door behind us with a quiet finality.
He turns to me like he’s been waiting all damn day for this—maybe forever.
I’m still in my sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair up in a loose bun. There’s nothing sexy about it, but the way Alec looks at me? Like I’m the center of every thought he’s had since sunrise. That’s what undoes me.
He steps close, slides a finger under the hem of my sweatshirt, eyes locked on mine. “This coming off?”
I lift my arms, and he peels it off slowly, revealing an old, worn T-shirt underneath. One he gave me ages ago—and beneath that, nothing. Just skin. Bare, waiting.
He breathes out a low, reverent, “Fuck.” His fingers brush the hem of the shirt. “You wore this on purpose.”
I smile. “Maybe.”
“You’re killin’ me, babe.”
Alec bends and kisses me again—this time with no patience. His tongue slips in deep, his hands greedy now, roaming. My back hits the edge of the bed, and he lifts the shirt slowly, kissing every inch of skin as he reveals it.
By the time it’s off, I’m standing in front of him, naked and trembling slightly from the anticipation.
He drops to his knees.
“Lie back,” he rasps, voice thick.
I do, crawling into the center of the bed, and he follows, kissing the inside of my knee, dragging his mouth upward—languid and torturous.
When his mouth finally reaches my pussy, I gasp, hips jerking off the bed like they’re no longer mine to control.
His tongue drags through my slick folds with slow, devastating precision, pausing to suck gently on my clit before dipping lower, tasting me from the outside in.
Every stroke is deeper, wetter, filthier than the last—tongue pressing into my entrance, lapping up everything I give him like he’s addicted to the way I melt for him.
His hands lock around my thighs, spreading me wide as he buries his face between them, tongue circling, teasing, then thrusting—again and again—until I’m writhing, moaning his name like a prayer.
My fingers twist in the sheets as he pushes me higher, tongue flicking over that aching bundle of nerves with maddening skill, just the right pressure and pace, like he knows exactly how to unravel me.
Heat coils tight in my belly, every breath catching as I teeter on the edge, one more stroke away from falling apart completely.
“Alec—” I moan, already shaking.
His mouth works me over until I’m shaking, and then he lifts his head just enough for his breath to skim my swollen, aching core.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips still wet with me. “You’re already trembling. Didn’t even touch you with my hands yet.”
I whimper, hips rolling toward his mouth on instinct.
He smiles against me, slow and sinful. “You want more, sweetheart?” His tongue gives one lazy stroke up the center of my slit.
My thighs tremble around his shoulders.
“More,” I say shakily.
He kisses the inside of my thigh . . . then the other . . . then hovers over my clit again. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“Alec . . .” My voice breaks, need curling hot and tight in my gut.
He groans like the sound of his name on my lips does something feral to him. “You sound so damn pretty like this. All open. All mine. Begging without even trying.” His thumb drags lightly over my clit, making my breath catch. “Tell me what you want me to do to this sweet pussy.”
I’m already panting, already so close it’s almost embarrassing. “I—I need—”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, teasing my entrance with the tip of his finger but not giving me anything. “Say it.”
I grab his wrist, trying to pull him where I want him. He doesn’t budge.
“Alec . . . please.”
He raises a brow, wicked and patient. “Please, what?”
My body arches. Pride dissolves. Desire wins.
“Please—use your fingers.” The words tumble out on a desperate exhale. “I need them . . . inside me. Please make me come.”
His curse is a low growl. “There she is.”
Then he gives me what I’m begging for.
He slides one thick finger inside my dripping channel, slow but deep, letting me feel every inch of it. My mouth falls open. Before I even finish the sound, he adds a second, stretching me just right, stroking me from the inside with deliberate, devastating intent.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he rasps, thrusting his fingers as his mouth seals over my clit again. “Come for me, babe. Let me feel you fall apart in my hand.”
The combination—the curl of his fingers, the rhythm of his tongue—makes my body snap tight, pleasure surging through me like a wave I can’t outrun.
“Alec—” I choke out, nails digging into the sheets as everything inside me clamps around him.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Give it to me.”
And I do—coming hard, crying out his name as he works me through every shudder, every aftershock, licking me like he plans to savor every second of it.