Page 64

Chapter Forty-Eight

Alex

The coffee pot beeps loudly, breaking the tension.

Jordan’s gaze softens as I stroke his jaw, and then I let go. I clear my throat, get up and head to the kitchen.

“So, uh…” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling more exposed than when I was bearing my fucking soul to him five minutes ago. “Coffee?” I ask, not sure what to say.

I look at him sitting there on my plush couch. He looks strangely small against the giant cushions, which is a feat. But he looks perfect.

So fucking perfect.

“Sure,” he says as he gets up from the couch. I set about grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

He approaches me slowly, which I don’t know how to feel about. When he reaches the island, I notice the way he’s looking around my space, and it dawns on me that I’ve never had a guest over here.

The only person who’s been in this house, other than me, is Britt, and that’s because she helped me renovate it.

“It’s ostentatious, I know,” I say nonchalantly. “I went overboard.”

I pour the coffee into the mugs. I push his towards him, and he looks from my chandelier to the counter, to me.

“No, it’s pretty fucking amazing,” he says in awe. “Where did you find something like this?” He slides his hands across the black druzy crack.

“I made it.” I shrug, taking a sip from my mug. I wrinkle my nose. It’s bitter as all hell. Thank God I bought some sweet cream creamer. I practically run to the fridge to get it.

“You made this?” he asks in shock.

“I made most of the shit in this house, aside from the furniture. But I did make the bookshelves.” I chew my lip, feeling the strangest sense of pride and an overwhelming desire to keep talking.

“How long did it take you?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“The whole house took about two years. I was…” My throat gets tight, but I fight the urge to run away. The worst is already out and I feel the dam is just… open .

Maybe it’s because no one’s ever been here before. Maybe it’s because I’ve never let anyone in before. To my house. To my heart.

I grip my mug, letting out my breath as I watch him walk around my kitchen, up to the giant window that spans the entire wall alongside the fireplace.

My mother would have a coronary if she saw my giant black shiny fireplace in the stark white dining room.

“Do you, uh… want the tour?” I ask, feeling strangely on the spot.

He turns to me, smiling. “Absolutely.”

I nod for him to follow me. There’s plenty we need to talk about, but right now, we could both use a distraction.

He said he wanted to talk about what happened. He said he broke up with her. My heart wants to skip a beat, hope pushing all my buttons as that voice inside my head touts, “ You . He picked you. ”

But I also know that this—us—is a whole other game.

I might have just bared my broken, shattered soul to the man, but that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

This is new territory for both of us. We crossed a line we’ve never crossed before.

But I push those thoughts aside as I lead him down the hall.

“Bedrooms two and three, and bathroom number one— ”

He pokes his head into the oversized bathroom which is all dark green and black with slivers and cracks of gold throughout the decor. The oversized shower and tub have never been used. I sip my coffee as I head down the hall, and he follows me.

“Bathroom number two, the study, gym, laundry room, and—” I stop in front of the shut door. The one I can’t open. I have the faintest desire to open it, but I shove the thought down.

No. Absolutely not.

I walk past it, but his voice stops me.

“What’s this one?”

“Storage,” I lie. “Nothing to see there.”

He meets my gaze and I think he’s going to call my bluff. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he meets me in the doorway of my bedroom. He looks down at me with a steady gaze. I lean against the closed door.

“What’s this?” he asks with a small smile, even though I’m pretty sure he knows.

“My bedroom,” I say softly.

Suddenly, the reality hits me along with a heavy dose of anxiety and nerves.

No one’s ever been in this room but me.

I’ve never taken dates or hook-ups to my house. I swallow nervously, but my voice betrays no hint of how nervous I actually am .

“Do you… want to see it?” I ask.

I feel like things are weird. Delicate. Not just because he assaulted my asshole ex, defending my non-existent honor—which was hotter than it should have been, and I’m sure that’s just another thing to add to my ever-growing therapy bill—but also because Jordan fucking Mackenzie is in my house.

He regards me curiously.

“Do you want me to see your bedroom, Alex? Because we don’t have to—”“Yes,” I say too quickly.

He smirks, nodding to the door and I gently push it open, holding my breath.

Here goes nothing, I guess.

I turn on the light, staring at my messy, unmade bed. The velvet comforter is in complete disarray and my duffel is upended in the chair in the corner, but otherwise, it doesn’t look terrible. Not like I’ve been bed rotting for two fucking days or anything.

He walks into the space slowly, and I don’t miss the slight gasp as he looks around. He spins slowly, and I know he’s checking out all the cracks and shattered mirror pieces on the walls.

“It’s—”

“Chaotic, I know,” I say.

He takes two steps towards my bed, slowly looking at every crack, every star, every gold leaf accent .

And then he looks up and so do I. I see him standing there, reflected in the large broken mirror that stretches across my ceiling.

“I was going to say beautiful,” he says, staring at the mirror.

The warmth that spreads in my chest is like an overflowing volcano.

“So you like it?” I ask, feeling emotional. He takes a seat on the edge of my unmade bed, smirking as he licks his lips. Then his honey gaze meets mine where I stand.

“I fucking love it.” He grins, and I can’t help but smile back. I take two steps towards the bed. My heart is in my throat as I take my time to sit next to him.

“No one else has ever seen it,” I say, my thigh brushing his as I set my hand on his thigh.

“Are you serious?” he asks, shifting into my space. The mattress dips and I swallow my anxiety.

I nod, carefully reaching out to grasp his jaw and pull him closer. He follows me without question. And I think I’m certainly in uncharted waters.

“Only you,” I whisper against his lips before gracing them with mine.

He kisses me back with a groan, his tongue slow and soft against mine. I pull him against me as I settle into the bed, the sheets and unturned pillows meeting me, a soft landing after the fall .

“Alex,” he breathes out, his voice shaking as he settles on top of me, his weight a welcome force. As he breaks away, I stare up at him with my heart in my throat, my damn cock already twitching with anticipation. My chest feels tight and my body hot like a fire.

The words fall out without warning, breaking the last shard of ice apart from the man I have become, leaving a new body of water in its wake.

“I love you,” I say. Jordan tenses, his mouth inches from mine as he glances at me.

His hardness presses against me and my heart beats so loud I think it’s echoing in my ears.

“I love you so fucking much, Jordan.” I slide my fingers in his hair noting the slight glaze in his amber eyes.

I’m fucking terrified of what he’s going to say or do, but I have to be honest with him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper. “I just… need you to know.”

He doesn’t respond with words, only a deep, slow kiss that makes my cock twitch and my heart flutter.

I hear his answer in that kiss, even if he doesn’t say it. I feel the truth in his hands that are traveling underneath my shirt, sliding over my flushed skin. I see the words he can’t speak when he sits back on his calves and looks at me while removing his shirt.

And maybe right now, that’s enough.

My gaze travels over his large frame. On the way his jeans pull taut against his thick thighs .

As he looks at me, I think he might say it. But instead, he says something so much better.

“How do you want me?” he asks, his voice dark, deep. Smooth.

“Uh…” I blink, not really sure how to answer. I’m not used to being asked what I want. I open my mouth, but no words come out.

“Alex.” His smooth voice pulls me, and I slide my hand over my aching cock, if only because him in my bed and asking me what I want…

I’ve fantasized about this for ages.

And now it’s really happening.

“Tell me how you want me. ”

I don’t miss the heat of his gaze or the way he adjusts his cock.

I’ve never demanded anything from anyone. I told myself I was fine being the guy who gives and doesn’t take. That I enjoyed pleasing others and being what they wanted.

He holds my gaze steadily.

The words that come out of my mouth have been uttered to me a hundred times over the course of my life, but I’ve never spoken them to anyone.

He’ll be the first and only person to hear them.

“On your knees.” I swallow, holding his gaze in challenge. “With my cock down your throat. ”

I clear my throat and add in a “please,” for good measure. I’m not a complete asshole.

I watch his gaze darken, and he shifts his position. For a moment, I think I reconsider. Shit, what if he’s not comfortable with that? What if—

“Unless, of course, you don’t want to, then you can just do whatever you want to me—”

He grabs me by the ankle, and within seconds, has my sweatpants off.

“Holy fuck,” I whisper. His amber gaze holds mine as he leans forward. I watch the way his shoulders tense, the muscles moving as he bends over me. “You’re the boss,” I say, feeling sweat form on my skin.

I have been in a lot of situations, good and bad, but I’ve never felt so nervous before in all my life the way I do now.

“No, Alex,” he whispers. “You’re the boss.”