Chapter 20 #2
“You have no idea how hard I'm trying to be good right now. But every time you look at me like that, I forget why I even should.”
His eyes rake over my face, dark and unreadable, drinking me in like he's searching for something—hesitation, uncertainty. A reason to stop.
“You think you know what you want,” he says, voice thick with something that makes my stomach flip, “but you have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then stop talking and prove it.”
Something clatters to the floor. Neither of us care.
His lips find mine again, but this time, it's slower. Deeper. His tongue teases, tasting me like he has all the time in the world—like he's setting the pace, like he’s the one in control. His hips roll against mine, the friction exquisite, and a moan spills from my lips before I can catch it.
His hand slips beneath my shirt, calloused fingers skimming over my stomach, my ribs, my back, his touch setting off sparks in every nerve ending.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We can forget the other night. Pretend it never happened.”
I don’t answer. I slide my hand between us, wrap my fingers around him again, stroke once, twice. His breath shatters, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his last ounce of patience snaps.
And then there’s no space left between us at all.
“Fuck, Tara.” His voice comes out in a hiss, and he buries his face in my neck.
He trembles with the effort of holding back. My hand tangles in his hair, pulling him up so I can look into his eyes.
“I want this,” I say firmly. “I want you.”
Something snaps in Alfie then. He picks me up and carries me to the bed.
With a growl, he captures my wrist and pins it above my head.
His other hand makes quick work of my shirt, tossing it aside. Cool air hits my bare skin, making my nipples tighten. Alfie’s eyes darken as they roam over me hungrily.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering his head to trail kisses along my collarbone.
I arch into him as his mouth moves lower, gasping when he takes my nipple between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue. His free hand kneads my other breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak. Pleasure sparks through me, making me writhe beneath him.
“Alfie.” I moan, tugging at his hair. “Please...”
He releases my wrist to trail his hand down my body, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my shorts. I lift my hips, helping him slide them off along with my underwear. Then I’m bare before him, flushed and aching.
Alfie sits back on his heels, drinking me in.
His gaze is so intense it physically caresses me.
Slowly, deliberately, he removes the rest of his clothes.
My breath catches at the sight of him fully naked.
He’s all lean muscle and tanned skin, marred here and there by scars.
I want to trace each one with my tongue, learn their stories.
But Alfie doesn’t give me the chance. He’s on me again in an instant, pressing me into the mattress with the weight of his body.
His fingers find me slick and ready, circling my clit before sliding inside. I gasp, hips bucking up to meet his hand. Alfie watches my face intently as he works me, curling his fingers just right.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
I’m beyond words, reduced to breathy moans and whimpers as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he withdraws his hand. I make a sound of protest, but it turns into a long, low moan as he finally pushes inside me.
We both freeze for a moment, adjusting to the sensation. Alfie’s forehead presses against mine, his breath ragged. His muscles tighten as he holds himself still, giving me time to adjust. But I don’t want to wait. I roll my hips, taking him deeper, and we both groan at the sensation.
“More,” I say, digging my nails into his back.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, he begins to thrust. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure through my body. I match his rhythm, lifting my hips to meet him.
Alfie’s lips find mine in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides down to grip my thigh, hitching my leg higher around his waist. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, and I cry out, throwing my head back.
“God, Tara.” Alfie groans, burying his face in my neck. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
His words send a thrill through me. I’ve never heard Alfie swear like that before. It’s raw and primal and intensely arousing. I want to hear more.
“Tell me”—I rake my nails down his back—“tell me how it feels.”
Alfie lifts his head, dark eyes boring into mine as he continues to move inside me. “You’re so tight. So wet. Like you were made for me.”
His hips snap forward sharply and I gasp. “More.” I demand.
A wicked glint enters his eyes. “You want more?” Without warning, he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in. The force of it steals my breath. “How’s that?”
I gasp, my body arching off the bed. “Yes!” I cry out, digging my nails into his shoulders. He grins wickedly and repeats the motion, setting a punishing rhythm that leaves me breathless.
Pleasure builds rapidly, every thrust sending sparks through my body. I pull him deeper. Our bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, slick with sweat.
His lips trail down my neck, heat and hunger pressed into every kiss, mapping me like a discovery he never wants to forget. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, anchoring. The tension winds tight, a wire drawn to its limit, ready to snap.
And then the world fractures, pleasure crashing through me in waves so sharp they steal the breath from my lungs.
I cry out, clutching him closer as my body clenches around him, dragging him with me.
His rhythm stumbles, a low groan torn from his throat as he spills into me, shuddering, lost in the same storm.
For a while, neither of us move. Our bodies are tangled, skin slick, hearts racing in sync. His weight is a comfort, the heat of him grounding me as the tremors fade into something softer, sweeter.
Eventually, he lifts his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes—always so carefully guarded—are wide open now, stripped bare. He brushes a thumb along my cheek, tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear.
“You,” he murmurs, voice still rough, “are a masterpiece.”
A slow, breathless laugh escapes me. “Takes one to know one.”
Alfie’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. I should feel exposed, vulnerable after everything but something about the quiet way he touches me - like I’m precious but not fragile - makes me feel safe instead.
“What are you thinking about?” He presses a kiss to my temple.
“Just... how different this is.”
His hand stills on my skin. “Different how?”
I turn to face him, studying the firm set of his jaw, the softness in his dark eyes. “From what I expected. From what I’m used to.”
“Tell me?” It’s not a demand, just an invitation.
Maybe it’s the early hour making me brave, or the way his thumb still draws circles on my skin, or how he’s looking at me like whatever I say won’t change how he sees me. Whatever the reason, I talk.
“His name was Liam,” I begin. “Senior year of high school. He was everything I thought I wanted. Everything everyone else wanted for me. Smart, focused, had his whole future mapped out.”
“Sounds boring,” Alfie says, but his eyes are serious.
I laugh softly. “He was president of the debate team. Said I had so much potential, if only I could focus. Stop being so scattered.” I swallow hard.
“Stop being so me, basically. He said he was trying to help. Make me better. More driven.” I trace a pattern on Alfie’s chest, drawing invisible constellations between his freckles.
My fingers tremble slightly, and I know he notices because his hand covers mine, steadying me.
“At first it seemed sweet, you know? Like he really saw me, really wanted to help me succeed.”
I pause, memories flooding back - Liam’s smile, the way he’d correct my enthusiasm in front of our friends, how he’d squeeze my hand just a little too tight when I got ‘too excited’ about something. Warning me to calm down.
“He was so smooth about it. Would say things like ‘I just want you to reach your full potential’ or ‘You’re better than this, Tara.’ Made me feel like I was letting him down by being myself.” My voice catches. “God, I sound so stupid.”
“You don’t sound stupid,” Alfie says quietly. “You sound like someone who trusted the wrong person.”
I curl closer into his warmth, needing the anchor of his touch.
“I was so caught up in trying to be what he wanted that I didn’t see what was happening.
How he’d make these little comments about my interests being ‘cute’ but immature.
How everything I loved became something that needed fixing.
My clothes were too bright, my laugh was too loud, my interests were too scattered. ”
“Tara...”
“It was homecoming night.” I make myself breathe. “I saw them outside the gym - Grace’s hand on Liam’s arm, this... intimacy in how they were talking. I just knew. Two years of dating, and I knew everything was different from that one touch.”
Alfie’s quiet, just letting me talk. His hand traces patterns on my skin like he’s trying to ground me in the present.
“She was my best friend. But seeing them together, I was sort of relieved once the hurt had stopped. She’d always been a little mean to me, always made me feel like I was lucky for her friendship, and I felt free from him and his rules.
The worst part wasn’t even catching them together.
It was realizing how much of myself I’d erased trying to be what he wanted.
I’d stopped wearing bright colors because he said they were ‘unprofessional.’ Quit art club because he said it was ‘directionless.’ God, I even made spreadsheets tracking my interests to make sure I had enough time for him. ”
“Tara...” The way Alfie says my name makes me brave enough to continue. I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to tell Alfie. I need somebody to understand.
“Then in spring, I overheard Troy and Mom talking about Dad. About how they’d lied to me for years about where he was, what he was doing.
They decided I was too ‘delicate’ to handle the truth about him leaving.
They told me he was networking, when really he was out sleeping with other women while his wife and kids were at home.
” I laugh but it comes out bitter. “Everyone’s always trying to protect me, manage me.
Liam did it by trying to fix me, my family did it by lying to me.
When I confronted Liam, you know what he said?
That I ‘wasn’t ready’ for a serious relationship.
That he was ‘protecting me’ by not telling me about Grace earlier because I was too ‘emotionally fragile’ to handle it.
Basically, the same thing my family used about Dad leaving - too fragile, too sensitive, needing to be protected from the truth. ”
“It’s fucked up what they did, Tara,” he says.
“Yeah.”
They didn’t trust me, so now I can’t trust anyone else.
“And you’re worried I might try to next?” he asks.
I nod. I can’t fall for him. If I do, he might have sway over me, might start to change me.
I turn to face him fully. “I can’t let anyone have that kind of power over me again. The power to decide what I can handle, what’s best for me. I need to stand on my own. We need to keep this…make believe.”
“I would never try to control you, Tara.”
“I know.” My voice catches. “That’s what makes this so hard. You see me - all of me. Even the messy parts. You don’t try to change them or hide them or manage them. You just... let me be.”
“Because that’s who you are,” he says fiercely. “You’re brilliant, and passionate, and beautiful. Anyone who tries to dim that light is an idiot.”
“But?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “But I can’t promise I’ll be any good for you. I’m not the sort of person to save anybody. My world, my family... I don’t want to drag you into that darkness.”
“Maybe I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“You should be.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “But god help me, I like the mess. The chaos. All of it.”
“Yeah?”
For a moment, everything stills. His touch feels too gentle, too real - not at all like we're pretending anymore. And that terrifies me more than any darkness could.
“Yeah.” His smile is soft, private. Just for me. “It's very you.”