Chapter 22
Xander
There’s a fire burning inside me as I grip her waist, desperately pulling her closer to me.
I couldn’t wait back in that corridor. Not anymore.
But that one kiss. That one single taste of her. Touching her…
That was my undoing.
I can’t get enough of her.
I miss the sound of her voice even when she’s right next to me but not speaking. I fear every time I let her out of my sight, she’ll disappear.
It’s ignited the flame that’s been slowly burning brighter since the moment I laid eyes on her.
I held myself back from fully touching her—in hopes that just the sound of her sweet moans and watching as she came apart in my arms would tame the monster that was threatening to break the chains inside me.
But no.
It wasn’t enough.
And I fear that it will never be enough.
She’s pushing away from me. I don’t like it.
And maybe it’s my own fault for spouting my thoughts out loud about her not belonging here. But it’s the truth.
She belongs with me.
She’s scared of something. But it’s not me.
And I’m going to find out what. I will burn anything that stands in the way of me and this woman with green eyes who has woven her silken web around me.
She’s completely oblivious to my obsession with her. And against all my urges, I have to act like this is all entirely fucking normal.
Like the little things she does aren’t feeding into my obsession. The way she flips her hair over her shoulder after a performance like it’s a habit. The way her nose scrunches ever so slightly when she sees me. How her fingers always tinker around the lace of her stockings.
Like the shadows lurking around the edges of my brain weren’t waiting for that green light from her to pounce.
She has no idea about the turmoil in my head at just the mere thought of her. At the thought of all these men staring at her every night.
Whatever it is she needs, I will give it to her.
I think if I have to endure any more nights of pretending I enjoy her putting on a show for anyone that isn’t me, I might have to lock her in my house.
And fuck, she looked good when she came back wearing my clothes. Better than good. It’s like she belonged in them.
She tangles her fingers in my hair as mine explore her body beneath my t-shirt with trembling hands.
My entire body is ablaze with her intoxicating vanilla scent and the feel of her soft skin beneath my palms. I’ve waited so fucking long to have her like this, and now that she’s finally here, I don’t want to let her go. I want to stay just like this.
Her legs wrap around me as I pick her up and sit her on my lap, as if it’s the most natural thing. She kisses me with the same fervour, like she needs this just as much as I do. But I know this is different to her than it is to me.
Her core presses against my already solid cock, making it twitch in its confines. A moan forms deep in her throat as I grab her ass. As if we weren’t already close enough.
She grips my shoulders, her manicured nails digging into my muscles.
“Stop, please,” she moans as my mouth drops to her jawline, kissing down to her neck.
“You don’t sound like you want me to stop, Angel,” I reply between kisses.
Her sexy pants fill my ear, sending shivers into my system as I continue kissing back up towards her plump lips.
“Xander,” she moans, and a groan pulls from my lungs.
“Keep saying my name like that and I’ll bend you over this bar.”
I trail down to the crook of her neck, digging my teeth into the sensitive area.
“Xander,” she exhales, but this time, she pushes gently on my shoulders, and I immediately pull away from her.
I meet her hooded gaze, her lips swollen from our kiss. I search her face, but she gives nothing away.
“Stop running from me,” I murmur, running my hands up the length of her toned back. She shivers beneath me, spine slacking as she drops her head backwards and blows out a breath, a stray strand of hair flying out of the way of her face.
My face softens, breaths becoming more even, as realisation dawns on me.
“You’re not scared of me,” I state. If I keep telling myself that enough times, maybe it’ll sink in.
She snaps her head back to me, eyebrows in a frown now.
She slides her leg off me, followed by the other, and my hands withdraw from beneath her top as she slinks back into her seat.
My skin ices over at the loss of contact, but I steel my spine and ignore the burn.
Ignore the impulse to pull her right back into me.
I watch as she moves, just as graceful as when she dances.
Her finger taps on the marble next to her glass. I don’t want to break the silence. She’s thinking. And I want to give her that space to think, as much as it kills me not to say something—do something—to convince her that this is right. We are right.
The tapping stops. She averts her gaze. My fists clench.
“I’m scared of what I feel when I’m around you.”
I swear my heart stops beating in my chest.
Out of everything I expected her to say…
That I’m too much.
That I’m not good enough for her.
This was the last thing that I expected her to say.
Thunder rumbles in the background as she looks to me, green irises bouncing between mine.
For once in my life, I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say.
So I just stare.
She stands from her chair. “I’m tired.”
“Okay,” I reply, voice strained.
Abandoning our drinks and snacks, I lead her up the stairs to my bedroom.
The white, carpeted halls are lit with the same red LED lights as the main corridors. I pull a key out of my pocket and unlock the bedroom door.
The smell of fresh, untouched linen hits us as I guide Camila into the dark bedroom. Stand By Me by Ben E. King quietly plays through the speaker. I must have forgotten to stop the radio the last time I was here.
“I love this song,” she whispers as she tentatively walks up to the floor-to-ceiling windows which showcase the city. Water droplets cover the windows, and the only noises in the room are the sound of rain, wind howling, and the deep tune of the song.
City lights illuminate the bedroom, though it’s hard to see outside. I watch her small silhouette as she wraps her arms around herself.
I amble up next to her. She doesn’t move.
Okay… That’s a good sign.
Every shade of the city colours her angelic face as she stares out into the skyline blankly.
Every instinct in me is telling me to reach out to comfort her, but after her confession, something in my brain switched.
I’m even more cautious of scaring her away, but I can’t quite place the feeling.
It’s quite the metaphor with the current storm.
It’s… quiet in my head, for once, since I laid eyes on her. Like a calm before the storm.
But it can’t be.
She looks around the room, slowly walking towards the bed perched on a small, polished wood platform on the right side of the room.
“There’s only one bed?” she audibly swallows.
“I can sleep on the floor,” I say. Not that I’ll be doing much sleeping. And especially not with her here, in my bed, and not being able to sleep beside her.
My fists clench at that thought.
“No, that’s okay. I can sleep on the floor. This is your bedroom.”
She seems resigned. Her movements are slow, her arms folded around her like a protective shield.
I scoff. “Like hell am I letting you sleep on the floor.”
She spins, giving me a small smile. “Okay.”
My mind races through the possibilities of what might have caused her sudden mood switch. My stomach tightens. Was it something I said? Something I did?
“So, do you stay here often?” Her voice cuts through my trailing thoughts. She tentatively sits on the edge of the bed.
“No. Jacques has his own bedroom too, but he doesn’t stay here either. Only if…” I pause for a moment, thinking of the right words to use. “Business desperately needs sorting out.”
“You mean like killing people?” she asks without hesitation.
I nod, padding over to the small, glossy-black wardrobe next to the bed. I pull out a fresh set of sheets and start assembling them on the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the floor?” she asks.
I step up onto the platform, kneeling in front of her small frame, settling between her legs.
“I would sooner let you use me as a bed than let you sleep on the floor.”
She studies me, her mouth quirking up on the side. Her eyes rove down my torso painfully slowly, causing blood to shoot right to my dick for the thirteenth time tonight.
I summon every higher power known to man right now to keep my fucking body under control.
She glances over to the speaker. “Can you play that song again?”
Without another thought, I unlock my phone, bringing up the song and connecting it to the speaker, pressing repeat.
“Thank you,” she whispers, face sombre as she gives me one more once-over, biting her swollen lip. “Goodnight, Xander.” She uses her arms to pull herself further up the bed and under the covers.
I rest my elbows on the bed, watching as she makes herself comfortable.
“Goodnight, Angel,” I mumble, slinking under my makeshift bed on the floor.
Silence falls, and the sounds of the storm and the hushed hum of the music are all that’s left.
I can still feel the phantom touch of her hands on my chest as I stare at the empty area on the left side of the room.
The feel of her lips on mine. I didn’t need much here when we renovated, but now it seems like something else would fit perfectly in here.
I shuffle on the floor, the sheet rustling in the quiet, facing the bed. I can’t see her from the floor, but the very knowledge that she’s right here next to me calms something in me.
“Xander?” she whispers into the dark, and a smile forms on my face.
“Yeah?”
She sighs before speaking again. “I want to open my own dance studio.”
My body wakes up at the sudden confession. “Is that why you work here?”
“Yeah.”
That’s an easy fix. She doesn’t have to. I can easily pay for a studio. Ten, if she wanted them.