Chapter 12
Alexander
I can’t stop replaying the way Jason looked when he threw that snowball.
Not the grin he showed the crowd. Not the fake, easy laugh. But the split second before impact, his eyes locked on Mia, full of mean, ugly satisfaction. He knew exactly what he was doing.
What a little shit.
I want to kill him.
It’s that simple. I want to take him by the collar and drag him out into the snow and show him exactly what happens when you target someone I care about.
I want to see the smugness leave his face, see fear finally flicker in his eyes.
I want him to pay for every bruise, every cut, every ounce of humiliation he’s handed out and pretended was a joke.
I catch my reflection in the dusty window—face red, jaw tight, eyes wild. Not the CEO. Not the man who smooths things over and keeps the family business from falling apart. Just a man on the edge, ready to lose it for the first time in years.
Marcus is busy checking Mia’s knees, hands steady and competent. Tyler is a warm shadow at her back, his worry soft but relentless. Mia tries to look calm, but I see how pale she is, how she flinches if anyone moves too quickly.
That bastard.
I grit my teeth, force myself to breathe. I want to storm out and find Jason right now. I want to put an end to this, make sure he never gets near Mia—or any of us—again. I want blood.
But I know what that would do. To her. To us. To the plan.
So I push it down. Barely.
Instead, I crouch next to her, keep my voice steady, and check the bandage. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
She nods, eyes flicking to me, wide and vulnerable. “Just sore.”
Tyler murmurs something comforting. Marcus tucks her hair behind her ear.
I look at both of my brothers—my co-conspirators, my oldest friends. They’re both pissed, but they’re managing it. For her.
I need to do the same. But my hands still shake with the urge to go out there and finish what Jason started.
Not because I want revenge, though I do. But because no one, ever, should get to hurt someone like Mia and walk away smiling.
Not on my watch. Not again.
Marcus’s phone rings, vibrating on the counter. He glances at the screen and his face tightens. “It’s Sarah,” he says, already answering. He listens for a moment, jaw clenched. “I have to go. Something’s happened—she needs me.” He doesn’t explain, just pockets the phone and heads for the door.
Tyler’s already half standing. “I’ll come with you—” But then he glances at Mia.
It’s a quiet pause. Half a second. But I see it. The look that passes between them is too loaded to be nothing. Too familiar for people who are supposed to be keeping their distance. Mia’s gaze catches his and holds. Tyler’s mouth tightens like he’s fighting instinct.
I know something happened between them.
I can’t prove it. But I know.
Tyler finally tears his eyes away and follows Marcus out.
The door shuts.
The medic shed feels smaller with just the two of us in it. The flickering bulb hums. The air smells like antiseptic and cold wool. Mia is still on the stool, knees wrapped, cheek flushed and swelling, her hair slightly mussed from stress and pain.
“I’ll take you back to your room,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she answers.
She pushes herself up. The moment she stands, she sways. Her injured knees protest, and her balance goes.
I step in fast and catch her at the hip.
Her body fits against mine in a way that’s dangerous—warm, soft, all her focus on me. My hand slides a little lower, fingers pressing into her hip, and suddenly I can’t think about anything except how good she feels there.
She takes a step and stumbles again. This time, I don’t just steady her—I lift her, setting her gently up on the edge of the exam table, bringing her up to my height. She looks at me, breath quickening.
I don’t know who moves first.
All I know is that my mouth is on hers before I can even think about it.
Her hands come up to my shoulders, clinging to me as I kiss her hard. I don’t bother holding back—I can’t. The day, the fear, the anger, the pure want that’s been building for so long—it all comes out in that kiss.
She opens for me, soft and desperate, and I step closer, crowding her against the table. My hands slide up her thighs, careful of her knees, gripping her hips as I pull her closer. Her breath is ragged, her fingers tangled in my shirt.
I kiss her like I’m making up for lost time, for all the things I’ve wanted to say and haven’t. She answers with equal heat, tugging me closer, kissing me back until I don’t remember anything except the feel of her, the taste of her, the sound of her soft moan against my lips.
Her back hits the table with a dull thud. The metal frame rattles, echoing softly off the walls, and that sound does something feral to me.
She gasps into my mouth, fingers gripping my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. I don’t give her time to think. I crowd closer, kiss her harder, deeper, like I’ve been holding myself back all day and finally stopped caring.
Her lips are warm, soft, needy.
I slide my hands up her sides, under her sweater, feeling bare skin beneath. She shivers.
“Alex—” she breathes, breaking the kiss for half a second before I catch her mouth again.
I push up her sweater, breaking the kiss just long enough to strip it off her. Her bra is next, tugged down to free her perfect tits.
I lean in and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, letting my tongue swirl and tease. She arches into me, her head falling back, a moan slipping from her lips. I palm her other breast, squeezing, rolling the nipple between my fingers until both are stiff and flushed.
She gasps, pulling me up for another kiss, her hands yanking my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind us. My mouth finds her chest again—kissing, biting, leaving marks. Her thighs part, wrapping around my waist, dragging me even closer.
I grind against her, hard, and she feels it—her body shivering, her hips rocking into mine.
I fumble with my jeans, shoving them down, my cock springing free, thick and aching for her.
She tugs at the waistband of her leggings, breathless, desperate, and I peel them down her legs, careful to avoid her bandaged knees.
Her panties are soaked. I rip them off, needing her bare.
I lift her higher onto the table, careful to avoid the bandaged knee. Her legs spread for me, one thigh pressed to my hip, the other draped over my arm.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” I murmur, glancing down at the scrape.
She nods quickly, breathless. “It’s fine—just don’t put pressure there.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
I grip the back of her thigh, keeping the weight off her knee completely as I push into her. She gasps, arching.
I go slow at first, feeling every inch as she stretches around me, then deeper, harder. She’s so fucking tight, so wet, her walls clutching me as I drive all the way in. She cries out, fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails leaving marks I’ll feel for days.
I thrust hard, setting a rhythm that shakes the table, the metal legs banging against the wall with each slam of my hips. She moans, loud and wild, clutching at me, begging for more.
“Fuck, Alex—don’t stop—” she pants, her voice raw.
She cries out, fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails leaving marks I’ll feel for days.
I thrust harder, setting a rhythm that shakes the table, the metal legs banging against the wall with every slam of my hips.
Wet, obscene sounds fill the small space.
The kind of sounds that would humiliate her if she weren’t so far gone, moaning, gasping, taking every inch of me like she was made for it.
“Fuck,” I growl, barely holding back. “You sound so good.”
She whimpers, clenching around me, and drags me down by the back of my neck. Our foreheads press together, breath hot and ragged between us. Her eyes lock onto mine—wild, dark, wide open—and for a second, it’s not just sex. It’s something deeper. Something dangerous.
I kiss her hard, swallowing her sounds, then pull back to watch her fall apart. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her face is flushed, and her mouth is open and gasping. I grip her thighs, pounding into her, desperate and reckless, the need to possess her burning through every muscle.
The table rocks beneath us, the noise echoing off the shed walls. I don’t care if anyone hears. I want them to. I want the whole world to know she’s mine—at least in this moment.
“Fuck,” I murmur, dragging my mouth down to her jaw, nipping it. “You feel too good. I’m trying to take it slow and I can’t.”
Mia moans, legs tightening around my hips. “Then don’t. I don’t want slow.”
I thrust deeper, and she gasps.
“I want this,” she pants, voice breaking. “Hard. Messy. Like you can’t help yourself.”
I growl into her neck. “You think I can?”
She grabs my face and pulls me back to look at her, her eyes glazed and dark. “Then show me.”
I slam into her, the table knocking against the wall again, and she cries out.
“God, yes,” she breathes. “You’re so deep, Alex—fuck, you’re perfect.”
I can barely hold on. Her words hit me harder than anything.
“You’re gonna make me lose it,” I mutter, mouth brushing her lips. “Keep talking like that and I’ll come before you even blink.”
She smirks through a gasp. “Do it. Fill me up. I want to feel it leak out of me when I walk back to my room.”
I snap.
My next thrust punches a loud moan out of her, and I groan through gritted teeth, voice low in her ear. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then ruin me,” she whispers.
And I do.
She claws at my back, her whole body tensing, and I feel her start to tremble. I drive in deep, grinding against her clit, and she moans my name like a chant.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, almost breaking. “I want to see you when you come.”
Her words wreck me.