Page 34 of Atone

Alex’s expression doesn’t crack, but there’s a question in his eyes. He tells me more with those golden flecks than most people say in a lifetime.

“I talked to Marco tonight.”

His jaw ticks, and his shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t like me talking to Marco for whatever reason.

“Marco said something happened to Oxy, and that I should be careful who I trust. He made it sound like he was talking about you. But that doesn’t make sense because you’ve been locked in here, right?”

I don’t expect Alex to answer, but it hangs between us either way.

My doubt bleeds with what I don’t want to admit to myself. After all, I’ve seen the monster who lives inside Alex. The one who held a pencil to a man’s throat without a flicker of hesitation.

“You couldn’t have done it.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

I try to take another step back, but Alex stops me this time. He snags my hand with a tug, and the sudden movement pulls me to his chest. Hard enough that we stumble into the foggy bathroom behind him.

My palms grip his sides as I balance myself, and my heart dulls all other noise. I meet his stare, terrified.

For wanting him.

For seeing him. Who he really is.

For not fearing his violence.

My fingers twitch, and it snaps him out of his thoughts, like he didn’t realize I was holding onto him until that second. Alex spins me around, pinning my hips to the counter. My hands catch on either side of the sink, with his palms planted over them.

Was it my touch that set him off?

Through the foggy mirror, he’s nothing more than a shadow of a reflection behind me, holding me in place. Every hard plane of his body is tight against mine. Without moving, he offers a clear warning without words.

Alex buries so much in his silence.

The truth.

His intentions.

But when I look close enough, I see it. Darkness that lives and breathes. It begs to get out.

It holds me hostage now. And I realize in this moment that I don’t care. I want it. I wanthim.

Daring to hold stares with the shadow in the foggy mirror, I flip my hands over on the cool countertop, bringing us palm-to-palm. Ever so slowly, I curl my hands, raking my nails along the underside of his fingertips. He shivers as I test the boundary. And when his fingers splay wider, I allow mine to twine with his.

I tease the limit, brushing my thumbs over him. Smooth skin on one hand. Scars on the other. Two sides to a man who has me addicted.

Our hands lace, and I wish I could make him understand what his company means to me. My words tonight might have felt like accusations, but I don’t fear him. I need him. The same way I sense he needs me when he leans closer to breathe me in. When his hips rock, and I feel the thickness of his erection press against my ass.

I’m going to break.

I’vealreadybroken for this man. If only he’d let down his guard and pick up the pieces.

“Alex.” His name is a moan.

A need.

A question I wish he’d answer.

Can we have this?

I unlace our fingers and roll my hands so it’s mine holding his to the counter now. The grumble in his chest has my back arching—my skin humming.