Chapter 11
Alexander’s mouth tastes like coffee and mint—clean, familiar, dangerously addictive.
And I shouldn’t be doing this. I spent half the morning talking myself into coming back and setting some hard boundaries before my heart gets too entangled.
But now that same heart is hurting, and my pride is bruised.
Chase, that bastard. Of all the cruel things he could have done, for him to actually—
Alexander pulls back slightly, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m the only one you should be concerned with right now, Olivia. When I’ve got my hands on you, you shouldn’t be thinking of anyone else.”
Before I can respond, before I can even process his words, his mouth is on mine again. This time it’s not gentle. It’s consuming, possessive, like he’s trying to brand himself into my memory and erase everyone who came before.
His hands slide under my sweater, palms hot against my ribs, and I gasp against his lips.
The alcohol has made everything feel sharper somehow—every touch electric, every sensation magnified.
But I’m sobering up fast, clarity rushing back with each thundering beat of my heart, and I don’t want it to stop. God, I don’t want it to stop.
“Alexander,” I breathe against his mouth, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a growl, and suddenly I’m being lifted. The world tilts, and then I’m sitting on his lap at the edge of the bed, straddling him, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks.
I hope they do.
His lips move to my neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin, and I arch into him with a gasp. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs against my throat, even as his hands slide higher beneath my sweater.
“I want this,” I say immediately, my voice breathy but certain. His hands are rough against my skin, and it makes me suck in a breath. My hands clutch at his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his sweater. “I want you.”
That seems to snap something in him. His hands grip the hem of my sweater, and he pulls it up and over my head in one smooth motion. The cold air hits my skin, making me shiver, but then his eyes drop to my chest and freeze.
“Well,” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he takes in the wine red lace barely covering my breasts. “Is this for me?”
Heat floods my face. “I—It’s just—I wasn’t—”
His finger traces the edge of the lace, following the curve of my breast with agonizing slowness. “Because I’ve read that women wear bold colors to seduce their lovers.” His eyes meet mine, dark with desire and amusement. “Were you planning to seduce me, Olivia?”
“It’s just underwear,” I manage, though my voice is breathless.
“It’s dark red lace.” His thumb brushes over my nipple through the fabric, making me gasp. “You always get me gifts of this color. My ties, my pocket squares, that scarf you gave me last Christmas.” His smile turns wicked. “And now you’re wearing it. For me.”
Oh, god. He’s right. I’ve been buying him things in this shade for years, always telling myself it was just because it looked good on him, never admitting—
“Does this mean you’re my Christmas gift?” he murmurs against my ear, his teeth catching my earlobe gently. “Because if so, I want to unwrap you very, very slowly.”
“You’re not supposed to say things like that,” I protest weakly.
He chuckles, the sound low and intimate, his breath hot against my ear. “But I enjoy making you blush.” His hands slide around to my back, fingers finding the clasp. “It’s almost addicting.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“And you’re blushing.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “It’s adorable.” He pulls the bra away slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Then his gaze drops, and his playful expression shifts into something darker, hungrier. “And you’re beautiful.”
Before I can respond, his mouth finds my breast, tongue circling my nipple, and whatever response I might have had dissolves into a moan. His other hand cups my other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, and I rock against him instinctively.
“God,” I gasp, my head falling back. My hands are in his hair, holding him to me, and I can feel him hard beneath me, pressing against exactly where I need him. I can feel my panties growing damp.
He lifts his head, his gray eyes heavy-lidded and intense as they meet mine. “Once you do this, there’s no going back.”
My brain struggles to process his words through the haze of desire.
His eyes are on mine, intense and unwavering.
Right now, if he told me anything, I’d agree to it.
He’s got me in an impossible situation, his hands all over me, his cock pressing against my pussy.
This is the same man who sits behind his desk, his eyes cold and assessing.
My icicle of a boss. And now he has me on his lap in my childhood bedroom, half naked, saying things in a low voice that has me willing to do anything for him.
My lips part, but before I can say anything, his mouth is on my breast again, teeth grazing, and I arch into him with a whimper.
His hands slide down to my jeans, fingers working the button free. “I’m going to mark you,” he says against my skin, his voice a low promise that sends heat pooling low in my belly. “I’m going to make sure that every time you look in the mirror, you remember me.”
“Alexander,” I start to protest, but he lifts me easily, laying me back on the bed with surprising gentleness despite the hunger in his eyes. My jeans come off, then my underwear—matching red lace that makes his eyes darken even further.
“Definitely my Christmas gift,” he murmurs, and I’m too far gone to argue.
Suddenly I’m bare before him while he’s still fully clothed. It should make me self-conscious. Should make me want to cover myself. But the way he’s looking at me—like I’m something precious and profane all at once—makes me feel powerful instead.
“Touch me,” I demand, my voice stronger than I feel.
His smile is dangerous. “I intend to.” He strips off his sweater in one fluid motion, and I drink in the sight of his bare chest, the defined muscles, the dusting of dark hair.
Then his hands grab my hips, and he pulls me so that my ass is hanging off the edge of the bed.
He’s moving down my body, lips and teeth leaving a trail of marks across my stomach, my hips.
His hands come to settle on my thighs, and I lift myself slightly to see him kneeling before me. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, his hands are forcing my thighs apart and shock fills me. “Wait, what are you—”
His mouth finds my pussy, and I lose all coherent thought. His tongue flicks over my clit, and I whimper. But he doesn’t pause. I can feel his breath on the most intimate part of me, and my head falls back as he licks along my slit. I’ve never—Chase never wanted to do this—Oh, god!
Alexander’s tongue pierces me, and I cry out, my hands fisting in the comforter. His tongue is wicked, knowing exactly where to touch, how much pressure to use. One of his hands slides up to palm my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers while his mouth works magic between my thighs.
He’s licking and sucking without a care in the world, and the pleasure is intense. I never knew I could be this sensitive. I never knew this could feel so good. I’m whimpering, writhing on the bed. Desperate, I roll my hips against his mouth, needing more.
“Alexander,” I beg, my breathing ragged, my hips lifting off the bed. “Please.”
He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. “Tell me what you want.”
“What?” My brain is foggy with pleasure, barely able to think.
His fingers replace his mouth, sliding inside me with a confidence that makes my back arch. “Tell me, Olivia. Tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers? Do you want my cock inside me?”
“I—” His fingers curl inside me, and I cry out brokenly, my mind hazy. “Your cock. Please. I want—”
“You beg so prettily.” His mouth returns, and the combination of his tongue and his fingers pushes me over the edge. I come apart with a cry, my body trembling, his name on my lips.
But he doesn’t stop. He continues his ministrations, drawing out my pleasure until I’m boneless and gasping. Then he’s moving back up my body, pressing kisses to each mark he left on my skin.
“Roll over,” he murmurs against my ear, his teeth catching my earlobe gently before releasing it, his voice rough with barely controlled desire.
I obey on shaky limbs, turning onto my stomach. I hear the sound of his zipper, feel the bed dip as he positions himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips and pulling them up slightly.
His hands tighten on my hips, and then he leans over me, his chest against my back.
When he pushes inside me, my lips tremble.
He’s so thick, forcing me to feel every inch of his cock as he feeds it to me.
My head falls forward, but his fingers wind in my hair, and he bunches it up before yanking my head back.
His lips are against my ear. “Tell me who’s inside you, Olivia. Say my name.”
“Alexander,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“Alexander,” I sob out. I’m dripping on the bed now. I need him to move. I need him.
“Good girl.” His whisper is rough, and it does something to me when he says it like that. I immediately tighten around his cock, and he laughs, strained and low. “You like hearing that, do you?”
I can’t answer. I’m too busy panting and writhing as he pulls out slightly.
“I want an answer, Olivia.” He bites down on my earlobe, and I let out a stuttering gasp.
“Yes!”
He slams back into me, and I claw at the sheets. He’s so thick that I’m full to the brim. I groan when his hand tightens in my hair, his mouth on my neck. His teeth graze my skin as he pulls out again. He’s taking his sweet time while I go crazy here.