Chapter 6 #2
I kiss her harder, pouring into her everything I’ve kept bottled up—every simmering glance, every surge of jealousy, every urge to claim her. She melts against me, hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me even closer.
My mouth finds her neck, tasting the delicate skin just below her ear. I feel her shudder, her fingers twisting in my shirt, hips arching as I pin her gently with my weight. I graze her collarbone with my teeth, savoring the way her breath hitches, the soft gasp that escapes her.
I explore the lines of her body through her dress, memorizing every curve, every subtle dip.
I let my palm slide along her waist, up her rib cage, feeling the quick drumbeat of her heart beneath my touch.
She tilts her head back, eyes fluttering closed as I trail kisses lower, following the path my hands carve.
Her leg slips around mine, drawing me closer still, and I let my fingers slip up her thigh, the silk of her dress gathering in my fist. Every inch of her feels alive, every gasp and moan another invitation to lose control.
I nip at her skin, kiss her shoulders, let my hands and mouth wander, caught in a haze of longing that’s been building since the moment I first saw her.
She tugs me back up, and our mouths crash together again, desperate, unrestrained. Her hands find their way under my jacket, roaming my chest, my back, searching, pressing, needing.
I press her firmly against the stone wall, my hands greedy as I let her dress ride up, gathering the silky fabric inch by inch until my knuckles brush the bare skin of her thigh.
She gasps, low and desperate, hips shifting to meet me.
I trail my hand higher, feeling the tremor in her muscles, the tension wound tight as a bowstring.
Her mouth finds mine again, urgent and hungry, her hands pulling at my shirt, tugging me closer, until there’s nothing but heat and breath and friction.
I press kisses along her jaw, her throat, then down—over her chest, lingering where the neckline dips, my breath hot through the thin fabric.
She moans, clutching at my shoulders as I worship her with lips and tongue.
My fingers tease the edge of her panties, feeling her shudder beneath my touch.
She’s so ready, so responsive, her body arching into my hand as I push the fabric aside.
Her breath catches as I explore, slow at first, then deeper, letting my thumb tease the sensitive skin as my fingers work magic between her thighs.
Keeping her pressed against the wall, I sink to my knees.
I part her thighs and lean in, breathing her in before I touch her with my mouth.
That alone makes her shudder. I feel it in the way her legs tense, the way her weight shifts toward me without her meaning to.
It makes something feral twist in my chest.
I don’t hesitate. I bury my face against her, breathing her in like I can’t get enough air otherwise.
She makes this sound, low and unguarded, and it hits me straight in the chest. I press my mouth to her harder, hungrier, my tongue moving with intent, no patience anymore.
Whatever restraint I had seconds ago is gone.
My hands grip her thighs, fingers digging in as if I’m afraid she’ll slip away if I don’t hold on.
I keep my mouth on her, relentless, staying right where she’s most sensitive until she starts to shift, until her hips rock forward without thinking.
I adjust with her automatically, chasing that reaction, needing more of it.
I flick my tongue over her clit and feel her whole body react,
I stay there, focused, deliberate, letting my tongue work with purpose rather than haste.
The first reaction she gives me—a sharp intake of breath, a tiny hitch in her hips—lights me up more than anything else could.
I hold her steady with my hands, thumbs pressing into her skin, anchoring her exactly where I want her.
I let my mouth work steadily, insistently, until her breathing starts to fracture above me. Her hands find my hair, clutching hard enough that it almost hurts, and I welcome that too. I don’t want gentle right now. I want need.
“Oh my god, Alexander…”
The sound of my name hits me like a command. I stay right where I am, kneeling, mouth pressed to her, refusing to give her the space she doesn’t actually want. Her body tightens when she moans again, louder this time, unfiltered, echoing softly off the stone walls.
I curl my tongue and use it deliberately, focusing on what draws the strongest response from her. Each slow stroke pulls another sound out of her, broken and needy.
Her hips move without permission, chasing the pressure of my mouth.
I follow her instinctively, tongue staying engaged, never losing contact.
When I flick my attention back to her clit, her reaction is immediate.
She cries out, fingers digging into my hair, gripping hard enough that it anchors me exactly where she wants me.
“Yes—just like that,” she breathes, the words turning into another moan before she can finish the thought.
I stay relentless. My tongue moves with slow insistence, then firmer, then precise again, refusing to let her settle.
Each sound she makes fuels me further. Her breathing turns ragged, uneven, her moans slipping out unguarded and raw, and I feel almost dizzy from how intensely focused I am on her responses.
She trembles above me now, thighs tightening around my head, her voice breaking as she moans again, louder, desperate, like she’s lost all ability to hold herself back.
I keep my mouth exactly where it belongs, tongue staying busy, pressure unwavering.
I don’t ease off when she gasps. I don’t slow when she whimpers my name again.
“Alexander—oh—”
I don’t slow down. I slide one hand higher, firm and sure, keeping her exactly where I want her while my other hand joins in, touching her in a way that makes her gasp hard enough to echo off the stone.
I feel her entire body wind tight, breath catching in her chest, muscles drawing up like a held breath stretched too far.
And then she breaks.
Her cry comes out loud and unrestrained, her whole body shuddering as release hits her hard. She trembles against the stone wall, thighs tightening instinctively, breath coming out in broken gasps while I stay right there, mouth still on her, hands holding her through it.
I don’t pull away until her shaking turns soft, her breathing starts to slow, and she slackens in that way that tells me she’s completely spent. Even then, I remain on my knees, forehead pressed to her thigh, mouth lingering, hands still warm against her skin.
I’m about to drag her even closer when—
“Alexander.”
Tyler’s voice cuts through the cellar like a blade.
Mia jerks, startled, her hands flying to pull her dress down.
I turn sharply, fury tightening every muscle.
Tyler is standing in the doorway, chest rising fast, eyes dark and stormy as he takes in the scene—Mia flushed and breathless, me still braced in front of her, both of us disheveled and guilty.
His jaw works once, twice, like he’s fighting the urge to throw me against the wall.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps, voice low and dangerous.
Mia steps away from me, cheeks burning. “Tyler—I…it’s fine, really—”
“It doesn’t look fine,” he fires back, eyes flicking to me with accusation. “She’s upset, drunk on adrenaline, and you pick now to corner her in a cellar?”
He’s not mellow now. He’s furious. He steps inside, placing himself between us, shoulders squared, protective in a way that’s almost primal.
“I’ll escort you to your room,” he says to Mia, softer but still tight. “You shouldn’t be wandering around alone.”
She shakes her head, mortified. “I can find my own way.”
Tyler ignores that, his hand twitching like he wants to reach for her but forces himself not to. “I wasn’t asking,” he mutters, eyes still locked on me. “Some of us understand boundaries.”
That hits like a punch, because we both know the truth:
No boundaries existed in this cellar. Not for a single second.
Mia brushes past him, breath shaky, and Tyler follows, shooting me one last warning glare—a silent promise that this isn’t over.
And I know it isn’t.