Chapter 3
ALARIC DIDN’T BELIEVE in impulse. He believed in sequences—cause leading to effect, pressure finding the fracture point, desire revealing itself as data before he ever acknowledged it as need.
Standing in the secure office of his home with Sera Carrington in his arms, her body fitting against his like it had always known where to go, he recognized that every defense he’d built had just been breached.
The room still hummed with the quiet presence of locked-down systems. No wireless signals.
No external connections. Just hard lines and the rapid cadence of her breathing against his chest. They’d spent hours shoulder to shoulder, tracing the intrusion, sealing the exploit, their shared focus compressed into something sharp and singular.
And now this.
Her palms flattened against his chest, not pushing away. Testing. Feeling his heart hammer beneath the fabric of his shirt. The adrenaline from solving the breach hadn’t faded—it had redirected, transformed into something more dangerous.
“Alaric.” His name on her lips sounded different than it had all night. Softer. Questioning.
He tilted her chin up with one hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her dark eyes were wide, pupils blown, but steady. No fear. No hesitation. Just awareness of what crossing this line would mean.
“What do you want, Sera?”
Her breath hitched. Color bloomed high on her cheeks. For a heartbeat, she simply looked at him, and he watched her make the choice. Watched logic war with want and lose.
“I’ve been careful for months,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be careful anymore.”
Something in him snapped.
He kissed her hard, tasting the sharp edge of her gasp, the sweetness underneath.
She opened for him immediately, tongue meeting his with a boldness that made heat slam down his spine.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he obliged, angling her head with his other hand so he could take the kiss deeper, make it filthier.
God, she tasted good. Like coffee and something uniquely her, something he wanted to catalog, memorize, consume.
He couldn’t get enough. His tongue stroked against hers, learning the shape of her mouth, the way she responded when he sucked on her bottom lip, the small gasp she made when his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh.
His hand slid from her back down to her hip, then lower, gripping her ass and pulling her flush against him. She could feel exactly what she did to him now—his cock hard and aching, pressed against her stomach. When she rolled her hips, grinding against him, he groaned into her mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed against her lips, barely pulling back. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispered, breathless. Her hands shifted against his chest, fingers splaying wide like she needed to touch as much of him as possible. “Because I’ve wanted it just as long.”
That confession—raw and honest—broke something loose in him.
He kissed her again, deeper, more demanding, until they were both panting and desperate.
His hand found the hem of her blouse and slipped beneath it, palm flattening against the warm, bare skin of her lower back.
She arched into the touch with a small sound of pleasure that made his blood burn.
He traced his fingers up the elegant line of her spine, absorbing her shiver, then back down to the waistband of her skirt. Every inch of her skin was softer than he’d imagined, warmer, more responsive. When he scraped his nails lightly across her lower back, she gasped and pressed closer.
“Alaric,” she breathed against his mouth. “Please.”
“Please what?” He needed to hear her say it. Needed her voice telling him exactly what she wanted.
“Bedroom. Now. Before I lose my mind.”
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, her lips were swollen and slick.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid from her back to her hip, fingers pressing possessively into soft curves. “Tell me now, Sera, or I’m taking you to my bedroom and I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then stop talking and take me.”
Control snapped.
He lifted her in one motion, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the mansion.
She kissed his neck, teeth scraping his pulse point, and he nearly stumbled.
Nearly forgot the mechanics of walking when her tongue traced the shell of his ear and she whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long. ”
The confession hit him like a fist. How many nights had he lain awake thinking about her? How many times had he watched her work and imagined those competent hands on his skin instead of a keyboard?
He kicked open the bedroom door and deposited her on the bed.
Moonlight painted her in silver and shadow, turning her into something ethereal and utterly profane.
She sat up on her elbows, hair spilling around her shoulders, and watched him with dark eyes that held challenge and invitation in equal measure.
“Clothes off,” he ordered, already stripping his shirt over his head. The cool air hit his chest, but all he felt was heat—the burn of her gaze tracking over his body, lingering on his shoulders, his abs, the V of muscle disappearing into his waistband. “Now.”
She obeyed with maddening slowness, fingers working the buttons of her blouse one by one while holding his gaze. Tease. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. Each button revealed another inch of pale skin, the shadow between her breasts, the black lace of her bra.
“Faster,” he growled.
Her lips curved into a smile—slow, knowing, devastating. “Make me.”
Challenge accepted. He closed the distance between them in two strides, hands covering hers, and together they made quick work of the remaining buttons. When the silk finally slid from her shoulders, revealing pale skin and black lace that barely contained her breasts, his breath caught.
“Christ,” he muttered, unable to look away. The swell of her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath, the delicate lace doing nothing to hide her tightened nipples. His hands itched to touch, to claim. “You’re perfect.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks at the compliment, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she stood and reached for the zipper at her hip, lowering it slowly while he watched like a man hypnotized.
The skirt slithered down her legs in a whisper of fabric, and then she was standing before him in nothing but black lace and heels.
His gaze traveled the length of her—long legs, the curve of her hips, the shadow between her thighs visible through sheer fabric, up the plane of her stomach to her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in the sight of her. The swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. He cataloged every curve, every plane, committing it all to memory. His analytical mind wanted to map every inch, but the man in him just wanted to devour.
He reached out, fingers hooking in the front clasp of her bra. “This comes off now.”
She nodded, breathless, and he flicked the clasp open. The lace fell away, baring her completely to his gaze, and his mouth went dry. Her breasts were perfect—full and soft, nipples dusky pink and tight. He cupped them reverently, thumbs circling the peaks, watching her eyelids flutter.
“Alaric,” she breathed, swaying toward him.
“Not yet.” He dropped to his knees before her, hands settling on her hips. Looking up at her from this angle—flushed and trembling, lips parted, eyes dark with need—did something to him. Made him simultaneously powerful and utterly undone.
He pressed a kiss to her stomach, just above her navel, and her muscles jumped. Then lower, to the edge of black lace. His fingers traced the waistband, teasing, before he slowly—torturously slowly—began to peel the fabric down.
“Step out,” he ordered when the lace pooled at her feet.
She obeyed, and then she was completely naked before him except for those heels. He wanted her in the heels. Wanted them digging into his shoulders when he buried his face between her thighs.
But first, he needed to touch. His palms smoothed up the outside of her thighs, over the curve of her hips, the indentation of her waist. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm, and when he leaned in to press his mouth to her inner thigh, she gasped.
“Say my name again,” he commanded, rising to take her nipple between his lips. He sucked gently at first, then harder when her fingers threaded through his hair and held him there. Her taste flooded his senses—clean skin, arousal, everything he’d been denying himself.
“Alaric,” she moaned, and the sound went straight to his cock.
He switched to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while his hand slid down her stomach to the apex of her thighs. He could feel her heat, how ready she was. He stroked her, slow and intentionally, watching her face transform with pleasure.
“You’re so wet already,” he observed, voice thick. “Did you think about this while we were working? About me stripping you down and making you come?”
“Yes,” she admitted, shameless. Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more pressure. “Every time you leaned close, every time you touched my hand—God, yes, I thought about it.”
The confession shredded what remained of his restraint. She was exquisite—flushed and trembling, slick with arousal, looking at him like he held every answer she’d ever needed.
“On the bed,” he said, voice dark with need. “I want you spread out for me.”
She obeyed, and the sight of her—thighs parted, core glistening—nearly brought him to his knees.
He shed the rest of his clothes and climbed over her, settling between her legs.
His cock pressed against her thigh, hard and aching, and when she wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, he groaned.
“Sera,” he warned. “If you keep that up, this will be over before it starts.”