21. Alex
Chapter 21
Alex
I grabbed his shirt, yanking him toward me with a fierceness I didn’t even know I had.
His growl vibrated through me, but it only made me want him more.
I kissed him harder, my own need flaring, the fire between us igniting into something reckless, something dangerous.
His other hand moved, sliding to my waist, and he pressed me closer, his chest solid against mine, every inch of him calling to me.
The heat between us was suffocating, but I didn’t care.
I felt his fingers brush the small of my back, and then, without breaking the kiss, he reached around me, fumbling for the door.
His breath was ragged against my lips, and I could barely keep up with the rhythm of his movements.
He found the handle and turned it with one smooth motion, pushing the door open just enough for us to step inside.
The moment we were through, he kicked the door closed with his foot, his hands already pushing under my shirt, his lips trailing down to my neck.
I gasped, every nerve in my body alight, but I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t stop myself.
He was here, we were here, and nothing else mattered.
In the dim light of the room, I felt the weight of him pressing into me, surrounding me, making everything outside of this moment disappear.
The kiss deepened, if that was even possible, as he backed me up, walking us toward my bathroom, his body towering over mine, his hands pulling me closer, like he was trying to fuse us together.
I could feel his pulse against my fingertips as they slid up his chest, but he didn’t slow down.
He was desperate, driven by something I couldn’t name—and I didn’t want to.
Not now. Not when his hands were everywhere, and the world outside didn’t exist.
We were both lost, engulfed in the fire, and I had no intention of finding my way out.
His hand slid to the shower handle, and with one smooth motion, he twisted it on.
The sound of falling water filled the room, steam beginning to curl in the air, making the space between us even more suffocating.
But he didn’t look at me—didn’t need to.
He was already leading, already taking, and I was following, helpless to do anything else.
There was no question.
No waiting. He was in control.
He stepped into the stream first, his broad shoulders flexing as the water hit him.
His body moved with such assurance.
The heat of the water mixed with the heat between us, and it felt like every inch of him was already burned into me.
His hands roamed over me, pulling at the damp fabric clinging to my skin.
With a swift, practiced motion, he tugged my shirt over my head, leaving me exposed to the heat of the water and the weight of his gaze.
His eyes flickered over me, a hint of amusement mixed with desire.
My shirt dropped to the floor, his hands were already on my jeans.
He undid the button and pulled the zipper down with a single motion, his fingers skimming over my skin as he let the fabric fall to my ankles.
I stepped out of them, heart thundering in my chest as I tugged at his shirt.
He let me, standing still for just a moment, watching me as I pulled it over his head.
His chest was just as I imagined—strong, toned, each muscle defined in the dim light.
I could feel my breath hitch as I ran my hands over his skin, the heat of him only intensifying under the spray of the shower.
My shadow’s eyes darkened further, his hands moving to undo his pants, but not fully.
Just enough. It was a deliberate tease, slow and calculated, making me ache for more.
His lips found my neck again, nipping at the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I gasped, my fingers pressing into his chest as he guided me toward him.
Bishop’s grip tightened on my thigh, and without warning, he was lifting me up and pushing me into the cold tiles of the shower as my legs wrapped around his waist. My breath caught, the chill of the wall a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine.
The sound of water rushing over us seemed to disappear, the air thick with tension, and I could feel the roughness of him in every move he made.
His hands gripped my hips, hard, pulling me closer to him with a force that made me gasp.
I didn’t expect him to be gentle—that wasn’t who Bishop was.
He was raw, rough, and unapologetic in a way that made my pulse race, every inch of him burning with the intensity I craved.
He wasn’t here to be kind.
He wasn’t here to soften his edges.
His cock slammed into me, the force of it knocking the breath from my lungs.
The impact sent a jolt through my body, reverberating deep inside me, making my head spin.
I gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I fought to steady myself against the onslaught of sensation.
Every move he made was rough, unapologetic, demanding—just like him.
His hands moved with purpose, guiding my body, forcing me into a rhythm that matched his own, relentless and intense.
The water pounded down around us, but it did little to cool the fire between us.
Instead, it only added to the heat, the steam thick in the air as we collided with an animalistic urgency.
There was no room for gentleness, no space for hesitation.
With Bishop, everything was about the moment, the raw, unfiltered need that consumed us both.
“Stop holding back,” he growled in my ear, his voice dark and demanding, sending a shiver down my spine.
Without waiting for an answer, his hands moved to my back, pulling me closer, pressing my body hard against his.
His lips found my skin, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my breast with a sharp bite, marking me.
I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped me, my hands desperately gripping his arms, my body aching for something I couldn’t even name.
His lips hovered over my collarbone, the heat of his breath a tantalizing tease before he bit down again, harder this time, a sharp sting of pleasure that made my body jerk against his.
I gasped, feeling the bite deep inside, the sensation pulsing through me, leaving a mark that would linger long after the physical one had faded.
Bishop’s grip on me never faltered, his hands moving with a purpose, urging me closer, driving me harder into the cold tiles.
I couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming sensation of him—every inch of him, every breath he took, all of it consuming me.
The water slashed against us, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning between us.
His movements were relentless, pushing me toward something I couldn’t escape even if I tried.
I didn’t want to.
His teeth scraped against my skin as his hands shifted to my thighs, lifting me higher, forcing me to take him deeper.
I couldn’t stop the gasp that left my lips, a mix of pleasure and need spilling from me with each hard thrust. His growl against my ear, the way he gripped me, molded me to him—it was all too much, too overwhelming, too right .
Bishop pushed harder, faster, not giving me a second to breathe, to think.
There was only him. Only us .
Just as I felt myself teetering on the edge, the pressure building, the release within my grasp, Bishop pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making me gasp.
My body tensed, the frustration rising quickly in the pit of my stomach.
I was so close—too close.
He noticed, of course.
He always did, because this was exactly what he wanted.
“You think you’ve earned this?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with cocky arrogance.
“You didn’t answer me the first time I asked where you were tonight. Made me wait, force it out of you, like I’m some kind of pathetic afterthought. I’m not.”
Of course he’d do this.
Take back control. Take, take, take.
That’s all he knew, wasn’t it?
But I should’ve known better—this was Bishop, after all.
His gaze was dangerous and predatory.
“Now? You’re going to have to wait until I decide you’ve earned it.”
He leaned back, his hands resting casually above me on the shower wall, like he didn’t just have me on the brink of losing control.
Like he wasn’t the one who had orchestrated every inch of this.
I could barely breathe, my mind spinning with the want that was left unfulfilled.
As my eyes flicked to him, I noticed something I hadn’t before.
There was a red band wrapped loosely around his wrist. It was simple, but the color stood out against his skin.
I stared at it for a moment, the fabric catching my attention.
Has that always been there?
I couldn’t recall seeing it before, but now that it was in my line of sight, I couldn’t seem to look away.
Bishop just stood there, eyes dark and filled with dominant hunger, watching me like a predator.
He was enjoying this—enjoying seeing me on the edge, naked, desperate, and craving.
But he wasn’t going to give in that easily.
That wasn’t him.
With a sharp breath, I glared at him.
“Please. You think you’re the only one who can make me lose control? You’re not that special.”
“Try to get this from anyone else,” he growled, his voice thick with a possessive edge, “and see what happens.”
His words weren’t just a warning—they were a challenge, daring me to push him, to see just how far he’d go if I tested him.
I could see the tension in his body, the darkness in his eyes, as if he were daring me to call his bluff.
Expecting it.
It was almost like he wanted me to try.
Wanted me to see how far he’d take this, how crazy he could really become if I pushed him.
I didn’t flinch. If only Bishop had known what Sylvester and I had done the night of the pre-trial games—maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to play puppet master.
But I kept that little memory to myself, tucked away like a secret weapon.
Bishop gave me one last look, eyes still burning.
He didn’t bother with his shirt, just casually zipping up his pants as he turned to leave.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk still in place.
“You’re cute when you’re frustrated, Prescott,” he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
I clenched my fists, watching him leave, that maddening, too attractive expression still etched in my mind.
The bedroom door slammed behind him, and I was left standing in the shower, utterly unsatisfied and seething.
My fingers moved, frustration surging through me as I took matters into my own hands, finishing what he’d left unfinished.
It didn’t take long, but even as I let myself finally find release, his words, his presence, still lingered in my mind.
“Fuck this school. Fuck Bishop.”
The words felt bitter on my tongue, but they didn’t have the satisfaction I thought they would.
After having him, I knew I was the one who’d been truly fucked—in more ways than one.
I knew I wanted more.
And I hated myself for it.
Aubrey thrusts a coffee cup into my hands.
“Here,” she says.
“You’ve already handed me four cups today,” I protest. “At this rate, I’m going to turn into a caffeine-fueled robot.”
“A robot wouldn’t backtalk, and trust me, you could use a fifth,” she insists.
“You’re starting to develop dark circles under your eyes that could rival the undead.”
“Hey!” I object, but I take a sip of the coffee anyway.
“It’s not my fault they decided to do major renovations on my dorm building during the middle of the semester.”
And Bishop left me hanging last night, didn’t even bother to finish what we started.
I’d tossed and turned all evening, my mind still spinning.
Not only was I exhausted from lack of sleep, but I was also sexually frustrated.
My body still ached with lingering need, and every thought of him only made it worse.
Freaking asshole.
“No,” Aubrey agrees, “but if you’re going to help set up for the carnival this weekend, you might as well move into a coffee shop.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I argue, shooting her a glare over the rim of my drink.
“Yeah, only because I practically had to knock your door down to get you out of bed this morning.”
“Well, not all of us can function on two hours of sleep and a caffeine drip. Some of us still need actual rest.”
Aubrey quirks a brow.
“So you’re saying the coffee isn’t working?”
“No, it’s working.” I sip from my cup with a smirk.
It’s just doing a piss-poor job of making me forget about certain unresolved situations with a certain dark-haired, green-eyed, asshole Legacy.
She snorts, shaking her head, but I don’t have the energy to argue.
My mind was still preoccupied with this morning’s unexpected surprise.
When I opened the door to let Aubrey in, she was holding a box in her hands.
I hadn’t realized anything had been left outside my door.
Inside the box was a pair of noise-canceling earplugs.
And there was food—a sandwich, carefully wrapped, with a handwritten note: Eat, you need it.
I snorted and set it aside.
But what caught my attention was what was at the very bottom of the box—another page from my botany notebook.
I flipped it over and examined it.
No cigarette burn this time.
Instead, I found a note scrawled in the same cocky handwriting as the sandwich wrapper on the back.
“You’re welcome. The construction’s not going anywhere, and I know you’re too stubborn to admit it’s a problem. Don’t ignore the food either, Prescott.”
If the demand from the Eat me note hadn’t already been a hint, the page from my botany notebook was a dead giveaway.
If Bishop wasn’t so bossy, this would be kind of thoughtful.
But I knew better than to trust anything he did for me.
There was always a hidden agenda.
I hadn’t even taken the sandwich with me.
Aubrey had rushed me out of the dorm, and with the carnival coming up, I hadn’t had time to think about eating today.
Even if it was oddly…
sweet? That couldn’t be Bishop, could it?
“Hey, grab that end, would you?” Aubrey’s voice pulls me back to the present.
She bends down, reaching for one of the stacks of plywood scattered around us.
These pieces will soon be transformed into a stage for the Actors Guild improv performance.
I set my cup down and grab one end of a piece of plywood while Aubrey takes the other side.
Together, we carry it over to where her club members are finishing up the frame.
“You lucked out big time,” Aubrey grunts as she readjusts her grip on the long, thin sheet of wood.
I glance over at Club Bedlam’s massive tent with its bold white and black stripes.
Aubrey is right; since we were hosting and our structure was already built, Alfie and I didn’t have much to do before this weekend’s event.
I think about how Alfie had said he didn’t need help with set up, and I wasn’t going to push him on it, especially if that meant more cleaning or having to deal with my personal chore of the bathroom.
Stupid question around Alfie, because if I wasn’t careful, he’d probably turn the toilet into a fountain of confetti or worse, make it disappear entirely and have me wandering around trying to find where it went.
He always seemed to find a way to make something bizarrely inconvenient happen when I least expected it.
Honestly though, I was getting used to it—and strangely enough, I found myself laughing more than getting frustrated or annoyed anymore.
His magic was just another weird thing I’d learned to roll with at this school.
Aubrey grunts, struggling to keep her grip steady.
“I thought this was supposed to be a fun, relaxing thing to do before the games start,” she jokes.
“I thought the carnival was a fundraiser for the clubs?”
“It is, on paper, anyway. Mostly, it’s just a way to help students who are participating in this year’s games relax and have a bit of fun before, you know…”
“So, like festivities before the festivities?”
“Exactly,” Aubrey says with a sly grin.
“It’s all just one big distraction. But if it gets us a bigger budget for our club next year, I’m willing to go along with it.”
Aubrey pauses for a moment after dropping the sheet and dusting off her hands before casually asking, “So any chance you’ve changed your mind about partaking in the games this year?”
“Nope,” I say walking over to grab another piece.
She crosses her arms. “Come on, Alex. You’re ranked first this year. I mean, that’s a big deal. First place—how epic is that?”
“I really don’t see what the big deal is. It’s a bunch of ridiculous competitions for some weird bragging rights. I’m not interested.”
She takes a step, now genuinely trying to convince me.
“I think you’re looking at this from the wrong perspective. You won the pre-trial game.” I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.
“You need to really think about it before you climb up on your high horse and decide to play the ‘too good for this’ card.”
I mean, she wasn’t wrong.
“Why would I want to do that again? It’s just a bunch of random competitions.”
Aubrey leans in, lowering her voice a little, like she’s letting me in on a secret.
“Because, if you play, you get first pick of your teammates. You know how few people get that privilege, right? It’s a big deal. You’d get to stack your team of four however you want. And let’s be real, it’d be awesome to see Camden’s face when you don’t pick him.”
I shoot her a look.
“So you only want me to partake for purely selfish reasons?”
“Yeah, mostly,” Aubrey says with a playful nudge and a shrug, not bothering to deny the truth.
Her face turns serious again.
“I just want to make sure you know your options. And I don’t want you to throw away a perfect opportunity just because you’re being stubborn.”
I snort, shaking my head.
“Yeah, well, to get me to participate, there’s going to have to be some kind of catastrophic event—like, I don’t know, the entire carnival blowing up or something. Then maybe I’d consider it.”
“Sure, that sounds totally reasonable. If that happens, I’ll be sure to mark it on my calendar as the day you finally caved.” She grins, clearly not buying my sarcasm.
“But seriously, think about it, okay?”
“Oh, I’ll make sure to think about it real hard, Aubrey,” I mock.
Aubrey clicks her tongue, clearly amused but also a bit disappointed.
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah, now lift,” I say, picking up my half of another piece of plywood.
She sighs dramatically.
“Fine, be boring. But don’t come crying to me when everyone’s gloating about the Legacies’ victory in the three-legged race, or whatever ridiculous event the professors have planned this year.”
We continue working, and after a few hours, we make decent progress on the stage, forming a solid outline of what will soon be the main performance area.
“Your section’s coming along nicely,” Sutton says, stepping up beside us and giving the stage a once-over.
Aubrey thanks her, and Sutton’s curls bounce behind her headband as she hands something to me.
“Here,” she says.
I look down at the expensive-looking, black leather book bag with hesitation.
Sutton rolls her eyes, clearly impatient.
“It’s not a setup. Swear,” she adds when I still don’t make a move to grab it.
Honestly, who could blame me?
After she and the other Legacies had set me up with the whole dress and credit card fiasco, I wasn’t exactly rushing to trust her.
Sutton stands there, holding the bag out, her smile just a little too wide, her eyes sparkling like she’s trying to convince me that this isn’t some kind of trick.
I still don’t take it.
“You know, I’m actually trying to be nice here,” Sutton says, her tone softening just a bit, like she’s being genuine.
Yeah. That’s what makes me nervous.
I glance at the bag, then back at her.
“Instead of gifts,” I mutter, “you know you could just apologize.”
Sutton blinks like I’ve just asked her to speak another language.
“What?”
I lift a brow.
She scoffs lightly and laughs, brushing a curl behind her ear.
“Don’t make it weird.”
I don’t say anything.
Just keep staring.
She shifts, uncomfortable now, the moment stretching longer than she clearly wants it to.
Then, finally, with a quick sigh, she mutters, “Fine. I’m sorry. For the dress thing. And the credit card. And… the natatorium.”
There it is.
It’s short, clipped, barely more than a breath—but it’s more than anyone else has said.
I look at her for a long moment, still hesitant.
But then I notice her gold watch glinting in the dimming light.
“Fine,” I finally say, grabbing the bag from her hand.
Sutton’s smile widens immediately, the tension in her shoulders relaxing as she hands the bag over.
She’s practically glowing with relief as she scurries off, all but skipping back to her group.
Aubrey watches the exchange with raised eyebrows, clearly surprised that I actually took the bag.
I can tell she’s itching to ask, but before she can get a word out, I flash the gold watch hidden in my hand—Sutton’s watch.
Her eyes widen for a split second before her lips curl into a sly smirk.
“Nice,” she says with an approving nod.
“You really are sneaky, you know that?”
I shrug, twirling the watch around my finger.
“Hey, I figured if she was going to give me something, I might as well take something in return. Fair’s fair.”
She laughs, her eyes glinting with amusement.
“Ruthless. I like it.”
My gaze flickers back to Sutton just as she’s rejoining the others.
She glances over her shoulder and catches my eye, smiling like we were square now.
Like the apology had wiped the slate clean.
For a split second, something flickers in my chest—remorse, maybe.
Not because she didn’t deserve it, but because she’d actually said sorry.
The only one who had.
Still, that flicker dies almost as fast as it sparked.
One apology didn’t erase what they’d done.
Not yet.
As we walk over to grab the last of the supplies, I notice the cliffs in the distance.
The same ones Sylvester had taken me to before.
But now they’re packed with about a dozen students laughing and joking around.
My eyes fix on one of them as they jump off the steep edge, disappearing into the rough water below.
I watch for a few moments until their head finally pops up above the water, greeted by loud cheers from their friends still standing at the top.
Aubrey catches me staring, a grin pulling at the corners of her lips.
“That looks like fun, right?” she asks, her voice filled with excitement.
I tilt my chin, shaking my head.
“Fun? More like a death wish.”
“You just don’t think it’s a good idea because you can’t swim,” Aubrey points out, teasing.
I cross my arms. “Maybe. But, mostly…I don’t know, last time I checked, not-drowning was kind of a priority.” Plunging into the water at that height?
Yeah, it ranks somewhere between stepping on a thousand pushpins and swallowing a handful of broken glass.
Not exactly my idea of a good time.
“Where’s your sense of adventure? I bet it’s thrilling!”
“My sense of fun doesn’t extend to activities that involve potential death,” I reply, tearing my gaze away from the imposing cliffs and jagged water below.
“You’re being dramatic.”
I’m about to respond when Aubrey suddenly gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
I turn just in time to see Christopher leap off the cliff.
For a second, my stomach drops.
There’s no way he’s coming back up from that.
The water below is rough, and I can’t stop imagining the worst.
But a second later, Christopher’s head breaks the surface of the water, and he laughs, throwing his arms up with a cheerful holler.
Aubrey stares at him, eyes wide, disbelief mixing with a hint of frustration.
“You’re right. Jumping off there is stupid,” she says, her tone sharp.
I watch as she turns her back on him—not that he even noticed.