Chapter 39 #2
“Clementine.” He finally drops down, light as air. “Did you not just spend an hour watching me cross a glacier with these legs?”
He’s right. Objectively, painfully right. But still.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I say.
“Go on, then.”
Challenge accepted.
My toes flex against the rug before I stand, rolling through my spine the way I’ve done in warm-ups a thousand times. Only this time it’s not for an audience, it’s for him.
One step forward, and I’m close enough to feel his body heat. I lift my hand, press it flat against the opposite doorjamb, steadying myself. My palm squeaks faintly against the paint, my wrist bending back, every line of me elongating as if I’m about to start a variation.
I let my weight tip, hips canting just so, and drag one leg upward. My thigh brushes the frame, pajama shorts sliding higher with each inch of skin revealed.
Higher.
His eyes follow the climb, every muscle in his body locked tight. But his eyes drink me in like he’s starving.
Higher.
My hamstring protests, the stretch sweet and biting, but I keep pushing because I can. Because I know what this looks like.
My heel arcs up until it points skyward, calf tight, toes like a compass needle stabbing the ceiling. My free hand smooths down my thigh, as if to show off how far I’ve gotten, how easy I make it look.
I glance down at him through the split, upside down, my chest heaving. His eyes are black, unreadable, but the hunger in them makes my stomach flip.
“Ta-da!” I raise a mocking brow at him.
His hand comes up, his knuckles skimming my shin as if he’s testing how high I’ve taken it. Then his palm slides up along the inside of my stretched thigh. Calluses catch faintly against my skin, rough dragging over soft.
He doesn’t rush. No. Alec doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
He lingers, thumb pressing just enough to remind me how little my pajama shorts still cover.
“Fuck.” It falls from his mouth like he hadn’t meant to let it out. I’m pinned in the most vulnerable position I know, part dancer’s pose and part offering.
“Now say it,” I coo.
His thumb strokes the bare edge of skin by my upper thigh. “Say what?”
“That you were wrong. That you should’ve been impressed.”
“I was wrong.”
He presses closer, chest brushing mine, and I feel him.
All of him. Hard, thick, and impossible to ignore as he drags himself along my thigh through the barrier of his cargos.
The grind is punishing, like he wants me to know exactly what I’m not getting.
My knees tremble in the stretch, not from the pose but from the sheer pressure of him.
He looks at me like he’s one second from sinking his teeth into my throat.
“Uh-uh, mister. Your turn.”
A dark laugh rumbles from his chest. “Really? Now?”
“I take competition very seriously. Trained by the best.”
Reluctantly, he peels back, then lowers himself into a perfect split, smug as sin. “You gonna try to top that?”
“Easy.” I push higher into the wall split, toes brushing the doorframe, and, just to show off, I pivot out of it. My hand slides up for balance as I swing my right leg wide and lift it vertically into a standing split. My heel points toward the ceiling, my body split in half.
The shorts rise higher with every breath, leaving me stretched and very exposed. My chest heaves as I lock into the pose, grinning even as sweat beads at my temple.
Alec’s eyes go black. “Jesus Christ.”
“Impressed?”
“More than impressed.” He smiles. “Can’t help but think about what we could do with your flexibility and my strength.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you do anything,” I shoot back.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He prowls closer, shadows stretching long across the wall. “You’re already pinned.”
My eyes flick to the heavy outline straining his pants. “I’d say I’m the one who’s got you pinned.”
His laugh is guttural. “Yeah, maybe you do.”
His hands go to his drawstring. His sweats hit the floor, and then his boxers follow.
I suck in a breath. His cock is hard and already dripping at the tip. Just raw want, right there in front of me.
“See that?”
I swallow. “Yeah. Confirms it—I’ve got you under my control.”
“What are you gonna do about it?”
I don’t get a chance to answer. My right leg is in the air, stretched to the limit, when Alec moves.
One arm grabs under my thigh, locking me open against the doorframe.
His other hand slams to the wall beside my head, pinning me there.
I gasp as his thumb drags over my clit before his fingers slide lower, into the wet mess he’s already made of me.
I’m utterly exposed to him, braced only by his strength and the wall at my back. Who would have thought a month ago, when he walked in on me doing the wall split, that we’d be here…except now he’s the wall.
“You just gonna hold me here until I tap out?” I pant.
“Not planning on letting you tap out.”
“That’s cheating.”
“That smart mouth of yours isn’t gonna negotiate you out of this now, Fox.”
He shifts his stance, sliding my right leg onto his shoulder.
My left is still firmly on the ground. I gasp as his hips pin my back harder into the wall.
He yanks my shorts to the side, his other hand wrapped around my right thigh.
He’s a perfect height, so he only has to slightly bend his knees to press the tip of his cock right at my entrance.
“Going straight for it?” I manage.
“You wanted proof that I don’t play fair. Nothing about you standing like this is fair, Clementine.”
My head tips back against the wood. “God, you’re insane.”
“Take this fucking cock, Clemetine, and shut the fuck up already.”
The kiss that follows is teeth and heat, his strength holding me suspended as he thrusts into me hard enough to rattle the doorframe. My nails claw into his shoulders, his body scorches against mine. Every slam of his hips sends sparks ricocheting through me, pleasure so intense it’s nearly pain.
“Oh my god—” The cry claws its way out of my throat, and he hushes me with his mouth against my cheek.
“Shhh.”
I can’t seem to manage it.
My nails claw into his shoulders, his shirt riding up as he drives into me, each thrust slamming me against the frame. My legs lock tighter around him, spreading wider, giving him leverage. The scrape of the wall against my back, the creak of the doorframe, the ragged sound of our breathing.
He grabs my jaw, thumb and fingers framing my face, pulling me so close I can taste his breath.
“Quiet, Clementine,” he growls.
“I can’t,” I gasp.
His mouth twists, feral. “Then I’ll make you.”
“You wish,” I shoot back, biting his lip, dragging my tongue along the sting.
His thrusts drive deeper, harder, knocking moans out of me I can’t hold back. He slaps his palm over my mouth, pushing in brutally until my cry is swallowed against his skin.
“You like this, don’t you? Acting up just to make me put you in your place. My pretty little brat.”
“Please—” I sob into his hand. “Please, Alec. Don’t stop.”
“That’s better,” he moans, forehead pressed to mine, sweat dripping between us. His hips grind deeper, relentlessly, like he’s set on breaking me wide open. “Beg me right, and I’ll ruin you. Beg me right, and I’ll fuck you so full you’ll be dripping me tomorrow.”
“Alec—” My cry cracks. Pleasure burns heavy through me, and the sting of an orgasm trembles my veins.
“Come on, sweetheart. Say it again. Beg for it. Beg for me like you mean it.”
“Please,” I choke out, my body shuddering against his. “Please, Alec—harder, don’t stop—please—”
“Say it again.” His voice is guttural, his hips bruising deep. “Say my name when you come. Let everyone know who’s got you.”
“Alec,” I cry. White heat tears through me without a warning. Every nerve flares as I clamp around him, crying into his hand. I feel myself gush, slick running down my thighs, and he groans like the feeling is dragging him under too.
“Jesus, Clem—fuck—” He slams into me once, twice, then shudders hard. His cock pulses deep inside, heat filling me, his groan rough in my ear. His grip tightens on my hip, grounding me through the aftershocks as I convulse around him.
We cling to each other, breath ragged, bodies trembling against the wall. He finally pulls out, slow enough that I feel every inch drag, and I whimper at the loss. His cum spills hot down my thighs, and before I can even think about being embarrassed, he murmurs, “Stay put,” like it’s an order.
My legs are jelly anyway, so I sag against the wall as he tugs his boxers back on, then crouches to grab a clean dish towel off the counter. He wets it quickly under the tap, wrings it out, and comes back to me.
“Lift,” he says gently, sliding his arm under me to pick me up against his chest. I don’t even try to argue. My head falls to his shoulder as he carries me to the bed.
On the edge of the mattress, he sets me down with care, one big hand braced at the back of my head like he’s afraid I might break. Then he kneels in front of me, spreads my legs softly over his thighs, and runs the warm cloth between them.
I shiver at the sensation. “Alec…”
“Shh,” he mutters, focused. “Just cleaning you up.”
The casual way he says it nearly undoes me more than the sex did. His brows furrow in concentration, knuckles grazing my skin as he wipes me carefully until I’m clean. Then he presses a kiss to the inside of my knee, as if he’s sealing the gesture.
When he finally climbs into bed, it’s with his chest pressed to my back, one arm banded around my waist, the other tugging the blanket high. His lips graze my temple. “You did so fucking good,” he whispers, raw and quiet, meant only for me.
I smile into the pillow, body sore, heart full. There’s nothing left in me but warmth, and when his fingers find mine under the covers, lacing tight, I let myself drift, held completely.