Chapter 7 Standing In The Center #3
He made short work of the buttons on my top, the fabric falling away until I was shivering in my bra. The cool night air hit my skin for a split second before it was replaced by the scorching, damp heat of his mouth.
I felt my breath hitch as he bypassed my neck and dipped lower, his lips pressing against the lace of my bra. When his tongue flicked over the peak of my breast, I let out a broken, jagged moan that sounded like total surrender. My back arched off the wall, seeking more of that devastating friction.
My fingers found his hair, pulling him closer as he kissed the valley between my breasts, his stubble grazing my skin and leaving a trail of delicious ruin.
He reached for his own shirt, his fingers working the buttons with a frantic speed that told me he was just as far gone as I was.
I didn’t wait. I helped him, my hands trembling as I shoved the fabric off his broad shoulders, needing to feel his bare skin against mine.
My hands were all over him, tracing the hard ridges of his abs and the powerful curve of his shoulders, my nails scraping lightly.
Alexander let out a low, guttural growl against my skin, his grip on my thighs tightening until I was sure I’d have bruises in the shape of his fingers.
He was a force of nature, a storm that didn’t care about the wreckage it left behind.
I was drowning in him, my head tossed back against the wall, my breath coming in short, desperate sobs.
He moved to the clasp of my bra, his fingers deft and certain, when the silence of the cafe was violently punctured.
Brrrr-ring. Brrrr-ring.
The sharp, rhythmic vibration of my phone on the nearby bistro table sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
I froze. The sound was a bucket of ice water dumped directly over my head. My eyes snapped open, the haze of lust clearing just enough to see the Kingsley crest on the envelope sitting right next to the vibrating device.
“Sarah,” I choked out.
Alexander didn’t stop. He continued kissing my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Ignore it,” he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over miles of gravel.
Brrrr-ring. Brrrr-ring.
In an instant, reality came crashing back down , cold, sobering, and completely unforgiving. I wasn’t in a romance novel; I was in a cage. And the man currently worshiping my skin was the one who had locked the door.
“No,” I panted, my hands moving from his hair to his chest, this time pushing with everything I had left. “Alexander, stop. Stop!”
He stiffened, his body going rigid against mine. For a heartbeat, I thought he might ignore me , that the predator would take what he wanted regardless , but then he let out a long, frustrated breath and slowly lowered me to the floor.
The fog in my brain cleared with a brutal, painful snap.
I wasn’t just on the verge of making a mistake , I was seconds away from handing myself over to a man who had treated me like a negotiable asset. Hours ago, he’d threatened my mother, dissected my finances, and cornered me with calculated precision.
And there I was, almost surrendering to him in the middle of a café while his security stood guard outside.
Humiliation burned hotter than desire ever had.
I felt sick with myself.
Apparently, two years of celibacy had turned my hormones into reckless anarchists. They’d staged a full-scale coup against my common sense and nearly driven me straight off a cliff.
“Get out,” I hissed, shoving at his chest with every ounce of strength I had left.
He stepped back this time, though his eyes were still dark with heat. He looked composed. Controlled.
I felt like I’d been spun through a centrifuge.
“Isabella , ”
“Was that part of your ‘due diligence,’ Alexander?” My voice shook with fury. “You audit my bank records, threaten my family, then test how fast you can pin me against a wall to prove you own me? Or was it just a power play , to show me that no matter how much I resist, you can still make me react?”
Alexander’s expression shifted, the heat cooling into a sharp, arrogant stillness. “I didn’t force you, Isabella. Your body was an exceptionally willing participant”.
“My body is an idiot!” I snapped, grabbing my bag from the counter and shoving my phone inside. “It’s been starved of attention for two years, so excuse it for being temporarily dazzled by a sharp jawline. But my mind?” I looked him dead in the eye. “My mind knows exactly what you are.”
I reached for the vellum envelope , the gilded cage disguised as opportunity , and snatched it off the table.
“You’re a monster.”
I didn’t wait for his response.
I turned and bolted through the back door, the heavy metal slamming shut behind me with a violent clang that echoed through the alley like a verdict.
I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like lead, the biting night air finally scouring the scent of cedar and expensive sin from my skin. I didn’t stop until I reached the familiar, peeling paint of my front door, my breath coming in jagged, desperate hitches.
My heart was hammering against my ribs , not from the three-block sprint, but from the terrifying, soul-crushing realization that for a few minutes in that shop, I hadn’t wanted to run at all.
My body had been ready to surrender to the enemy, even while my heart was screaming for mercy.
I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and Alexander Kingsley wasn’t just the man pushing me, he was also the one offering to catch me.