Page 59

Alaric picks that moment as the opportune time to stretch his hand to the space I was lying on a few minutes back. Like he misses me. Like he’s surprised I’d be gone after we shared a night of intense passion.

I recoil at the thought of it, my back meeting the window frame as I try to hold in my tears.

He opens his eyes slightly, his gaze honed in on me. I’m not going to lie and say he doesn’t look handsome right now.

But handsome or not, he’s engaged.

Handsome or not, he still called me a gold digger. He still didn’t believe me six years ago.

And I haven’t forgotten that. I haven’t forgiven him for that. My walls might be faltering, but they’re still up.

“Lila,” his voice is rough and still thick with sleep, but here’s something careful threaded through it. “You don’t have to stand all the way over there. Come back to bed…if you want.”

It’s not a command. It’s a request.

Uttered so gentlyand softly like he knows one wrong move will send me running again.

And Goddess help me,it almost works.

“I shouldn’t have let last night happen,” I say, my voice even, all professional like I’m discussing office files, not the fact that he ruined me with his mouth and cock last night. “It was a lapse in judgment, Mr. Hells. It won’t happen again.”

Calling him “Mr. Hells”is like hitting him over the head, because his eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but before I can brace myself for his retort, he starts moving toward me.

The sheets slide off him in a smooth caress, and in an instant, he’s standing up, naked, his body unapologetically revealed to my eyes.

My breath catches in my throat without even meaning to. The sight of him, tall and muscular, grabs my attention with a force I can’t fight, even as I try to tear my gaze away.

I blink rapidly, my chest tightening as the heat between my thighs stirs again.

How is it that I’m still so drawn to him?

My thoughts jumble and twist, but my eyes are locked on his body because I’m unable to look away at him, at…all of him.

Goddess, the way he had touched me like he was starved, like my body was the only thing that could quench him. Every kiss had been a wildfire. Every thrust a sin. He’d pinned my wrists over my head, looked me in the eye, and made me beg for more.

And I had.

I’d begged him.

Because I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe without him on me, in me.

He’d worshipped me like I was sacred, then ruined me in the next breath, whispering filthy things in my ear while his mouth did unspeakable things to my skin. I could still feel his tongue between my thighs, his growl when I came undone on his mouth.

And the way he filled me after, stretching me so wide I thought I’d break. How his hand held the back of my neck as he moved deeper, slower, like he wanted to memorize how I shattered for him. Over and over.

The memory alone nearly unravels me, but his next words bring me back to earth.

“You were drugged. That wasn’t supposed to happen. What Julian did—”

“This isn’t about Julian.” My voice comes out harsh, maybe because he completely ignored my second statement, and he’s choosing to act stupid.

“You know this isn’t about Julian. What we did—”

“What we did?” There's a chuckle in his voice, but there’s no humor in it. There’s no sleep in his eyes either because it’s been replaced with subtle anger. “We made love, Lila. Call it what it is.”

I stop him before he can give me that nonsense.

“Love? There was no making love because I wasn’t in my right senses.”