Page 32

A side from what happened this morning, everything has been fine. I spent the day with all of my friends, watched the Flyers win another game, and even seemed to have smoothed things over with my dad and Alexander. So why can’t I breathe? Why do I feel this pressing weight atop my chest? I know Alexander has everything under control, he’s told me, I’ve seen it, but still I can’t stop myself from spiraling. Something I know hasn’t gone unnoticed by him. He has the courtesy of waiting for everyone else to retreat first of course, but as soon as Archer and Daemon head up to bed, he is there in front of me, once again trying to slay my dragons.

“What’s wrong, Aubree? What do you need?”

I think about his question, about everything he has done for me, about everything he has done since I got here, since my mom died, and with all that in mind, there is only one thing that I think can help me.

“I need to go to church,” I whisper, holding my breath a little as I prepare for his answer, but all he does is nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he replies, rising to his feet and holding out his hand for mine. Just like that. No questions, no jokes, just nothing but complete and utter faith in me and what I need.

Which is how, thirty-minutes later, we find ourselves stepping from Alexander’s car and approaching the little white church I passed the first day I arrived in town. Alexander already told me he’s joining me inside in a way that suggested I don’t argue with him, and much to my dismay, one of the security guards has followed us here too. Alexander shares a look with him as he pulls up behind us and we exit our car, but then his focus is completely on me and our surroundings.

There is a welcome sign outside the church that reads ‘The most powerful position is on your knees’ and I know when Alexander spots it, because his wicked gaze dances back to mine and he smirks. “I think I’m going to like church.”

I’d probably laugh if I wasn’t so nervous, and I’d probably pause on the threshold and talk myself out of being here if I came alone, like I have so many times over the last six months, but with Alexander’s firm touch at my elbow, we just glide right inside. My finger feels particularly bare as we push through the doors, a thousand memories hitting me all at once, but the overwhelming feeling of faith and hope I was expecting, doesn’t come.

I can still remember the first time I went to a church, the first mass I attended with my grandmother, my first Holy Communion with my mother at my side, the first time I saw Ben there, it all felt like it would be memorable, but now it just hurts. This place was once my salvation, but now it just reminds me of everything I have lost, and even worse, everything I have done wrong since. Guilt and regret churn inside of me, and my eyes land on a place I haven’t visited since the week before my mother died. Confession .

Alexander is surveying his surroundings like he is the devil himself, setting his eyes on a place like this for the first time, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees. “First time?” I ask gently, and his amused stare meets my own.

“Why, yes, love, for the first time, you are the more experienced one of the two of us,” he winks, and I roll my eyes, as I lead him to one of the pews.

“You can stay here, I won’t be long,” I tell him, hoping I’m right, but given how long it’s been since the last time I atoned for my sins, I can’t say for sure.

“Take all the time you need, Trouble, I won’t burn, don’t worry,” he winks, and I huff a laugh, as I turn on my heel and approach the front of the church.

We haven’t seen a priest anywhere yet, and I know it’s late, but I’m sure I won’t have to wait long. So I let myself into the confessional to wait, taking a seat, and try to sort out in my head all the things I need to discuss, and instead of feeling relieved to be here, I just feel sad. I gave this place my entire childhood, all the faith I had in the world, and instead of happiness and peace, I got grief and heartbreak.

I got my mom being killed by a drunk driver, I got my grandmother dying of heartbreak because she couldn’t bear to live without her only child, and I got my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend, and still somehow he manages to make me out to be the whore. I got pain and heartbreak and fucking ruin, but still I’m supposed to believe? I’m supposed to be good, have faith, and just expect everything to work out?

The tears are streaming down my face before I can stop them, because what kind of bullshit is that?

Sobs wrack my body, as the weight of my loss collides with the guilt of my sins, and I fear nothing will be able to make me feel whole again, but then he’s there. The door is opening and he is dropping to his knees at my feet, crushing me into his chest, as if the weight of his arms can keep me intact. And for the first time since I answered the door to the police all those months ago, I actually believe in something again.

Alexander holds me while I cry, as the sadness seeps out of me, and he doesn’t tell me to pray, or that everything happens for a reason, he just lets me feel what I need to feel and doesn’t judge me for it.

I think about the times I cried in Ben’s arms, about the verses he would read to me, and the reasoning he would offer. How many times did I pray he would just hold me, that he would just be my boyfriend and not my damn pastor? And what, after that, he went and fucked my best friend? Fuck him for that, fuck her for that, and fuck their fucking god.

“It’s okay, Aubree, I got you, I’m here,” Alexander soothes, stroking my hair and back, his warm hands filling my body with comfort, and it just makes me cry more. How is he so perfect? How is it that he rescued me that night in the bar and I cursed him out for it, but here in this moment, I am only now realizing just how much he has been rescuing me ever since. I pull back and his hands fly to my cheeks, holding my stare to his, searching it for a clue on what to do, and when he comes up empty, he starts to beg, “Please tell me what I can do, baby, what do you need?”

I know what he means, what he wants from me, what he’s asking, and I know deep down what I need, but I’m not sure I’m ready to admit what this is. I can’t, not when last week I was still in a three year relationship, one that didn’t even come close to the connection I now feel with the cocky goalie, who somehow sees every part of me and is still begging for more. So, instead of giving him that, I need him to take something else instead. I need to feel something that isn’t this, I need him to take control and give me his own kind of higher power, the one only he can grant me. It’s why I feel no fear or shame when I reply, because I know there is no one else in this world who sees me as clearly as he does.

“I need truth or dare,” I choke out, and his thumbs still as they wipe my tears, his intense eyes searching mine once more, and I know he sees it then. The desperate need for me to feel free, for me to break from these chains that I have allowed to restrict me for too long, and only Alexander Reign has the key to do it.

He remains silent for a moment, the two of us just breathing one another in, until he finally pulls back and slides his hand into his pocket, and I don’t have to look to know what he is getting. “Truth or Dare, Aubree?” he asks, crushing the item in his palm, and I know he needs this truth, as much as I need his dare.

“Truth,” I breathe, and he brings up his hand and flattens his palm, showcasing my gold purity ring.

“Do you want this back? Do you still need it?” he asks, more desperate for my answer than I might be for all of this, and I shake my head slowly.

The only thing I truly need is him.

He nods firmly at my answer, pocketing the ring once more, and for some reason the move feels more primal than him sucking it off my wet finger last night. “Truth or Dare, Aubree?” he asks again, the words sending a shudder down my spine, as his tone takes on a more lust-filled timbre.

“Dare,” I whisper, and the word isn’t even all the way out before he is wrapping my legs around him and lifting us, standing up completely, until he can turn and plonk himself onto the seat, with my legs spread on either side of him.

Then he leans back, pushing his hands up my skirt, the one I styled so artfully earlier with his jersey, so he can caress the outside of my thighs, looking like more of a god than I have ever seen, as he demands, “I dare you to ride me, right here in this confessional.”

His veiled command washes over me, slashing through my invisible chains, as the need to obey him, to worship him, claims me completely. My hands rest on his broad shoulders, as his own flex around my hips, toying with the lace of my panties as we stare at one another. There is no audience for this game, no boyfriends or barriers in our way, just me and him, how it was always meant to be.

I think he mistakes my silence for hesitation, because his fingers flex around my waist in anticipation. “What do you say, Aubree? Want to be my good little sinner?” he asks, and it’s only now I see it, the true persona within him, the one who has had girls dropping their panties for him in an instant.

Alexander Reign in all his player glory, except for some reason, all he wants is me.

I let myself smile in that knowledge, leaning in even closer and inhaling his deep masculine scent, the one that has brought me back from the brink of my grief for months now, and accept the fact that this is really happening. My breath ghosts along his jaw as I say, “I already am.” Which is the truth, he is beginning to own me in a way I never thought possible, and I hope it lasts a lot fucking longer than three years.

“Oh yeah?” he muses with a smile, his hands both possessive and claiming, as he tightens and strokes against my waist. “Because we haven’t even got started yet, Trouble.” His words skate across my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, and when I gasp the playboy bastard smirks, leaning in even closer until his lips skim along my throat. “Now, ride my fucking thigh, Aubree, I won’t ask again.”

I open my mouth to let him know that I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that, but my words are robbed and turned into a gasp, as he uses his grip on my hips to shift me, until his thigh is pressed between mine that are now spread wide, resting perfectly against my center. The pressure is instant, as I am transported back to last night in my room, spreading my legs and giving in to someone like I never have before. My pussy pulses in anticipation, needing what only he can give it, and my hands tighten around his neck, pushing into the hair at his nape.

“Anything for you,” I tell him, giving him his own words back to him, and the fire it sets in his eyes is like molten lava.

“I saw how you fucked that pretty pussy of yours, how you soaked your fingers, pushing them inside yourself nice and deep,” he grunts, using his hold on my hips to shift my body back and forth across his muscular thigh.

I know this is wrong, that the priest could come in here at any moment and catch us, but right now there is nothing, not even God, that could reason with me. My attraction to him was unexpected and I tried to deny it, tried to keep the only faith I had left with Ben, but it didn’t matter, because the second Alexander Reign laid eyes on me, he claimed me. I was already his, I just didn’t know it yet.

His hold on me is a heavy but welcome weight, gripping me so intensely that I know he needs this as much as I do, he’s been desperate for this as much as I have, and I can no longer deny him, deny myself. I push into him, swirling my hips in his hands and grinding against his thigh, increasing the friction where I need it most. The pressure is light but firm, and just in the spot I need it to bring me pleasure, and fuck it feels good.

“Look at you,” he groans, his intense stare consuming me, as he watches me writhe above him. “Look how fucking perfect you are,” he whispers, his mouth once again skimming my throat. His lips and hands are urgent, but still he appears in complete control. Apart from his gritted words and harsh hold on me, he seems unaffected as I grind against him. His head dips down again, bringing his lips to the pulse point in my throat, lapping his tongue against it as he taunts, “Is this how you would fuck me, Aubree, a nice slow grind until you get yourself off?” He pulls me against him even more and a moan slips out, as my head tips back and I let my eyes close.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp, but it cuts off into a choked breath, as one of his hands snatches around my throat, making my eyes flare open to meet his.

“Ah ah. Eyes on me, love. I want to watch you fall apart above me, knowing exactly who made you do it,” he demands, his eyes blown out in lust, as I feel the thick length of him pressed against my leg. He uses the grip on my throat to keep me in place, as I fuck myself against his thigh, both of us lost in the moment, as he adds, “I’m going to make you come so hard that even your precious sky daddy will hear it, and know you’ve finally found salvation.”

The hand on my throat squeezes gently, as his other slips inside my underwear, finding me completely soaked, pulling a husky groan from the back of his throat, as I gasp and press into his touch. “Oh my god,” I moan, riding him even faster and chasing my release, and I feel his grin against my mouth as he pulls me in close, his breath ghosting across my lips.

“I’m an atheist, Aubree,” he warns darkly. “If you’re going to scream a name, make it mine.” He uses the grip on my throat to keep me in place as he purrs his response against my lips, and I feel myself gush.

This shouldn't be turning me on this much, but it’s just so dangerous. The forbidden fruit, the proximity of being caught, it’s fueling me in a way I can’t describe. Our eyes lock once more, and something so intense passes between us, that I can’t help but just give myself over to it. There will be no confession tonight, no, my sins are welcome, as Alexander leads me head first into temptation.

“Alexander,” I moan, delighting in the way his stare darkens at the use of his name, his fingers flexing around my throat as his thumb brushes against my clit. “Oh fuck,” I moan, riding him even faster, losing myself to him completely.

“That’s it, good girl, chase it, own your pleasure,” he praises, and for some reason fresh tears burn at the back of my eyes.

He’s fucking perfect.

My pussy and underwear are slick against him, his cock hard and no doubt begging for attention, but his eyes are only on mine. Watching. Waiting. Completely and utterly captivated by my every breath and moan, my every move being catalogued, as if he is committing them to memory, and all I can do is give him more.

His thumb barely presses against my clit, more friction coming from his thigh than anywhere else, but just like last night, it’s enough. Everything about him is enough, and I know now that his playful arrogance is just a shield to protect his heart, one I desperately want to take for myself.

“Alexander, please,” I beg, wanting more, needing more, and not feeling any shame in asking for it, not with him.

“Oh, I always knew you’d beg so pretty, love,” he gleams, his grin so filthy that I’d give him anything he wanted if he asked. “Go on, do it some more, tell me what you need and maybe I’ll give it to you.” His teeth once again dance along the juncture of my throat, tasting, teasing, and my entire body burns with need.

“More, Alexander, I need more, please,” I gasp, and I feel his smirk against my neck, as he once again groans.

“Fuck, Aubree, what the hell are you doing to me?” he grunts beneath his breath, more to himself than to me, but still his words light me up. Then he once again grips my hips and stands, wrapping my legs around him, before slamming me into the side of the confessional, his jean-clad cock brushing right against my center. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

With a rough thrust of his hips, I am crying out. “Are you talking to God or my daddy?” I ask on a moan, but of course he just smirks, pulling another moan from the back of my throat, as he groans.

“I’m your only daddy right now,” he grits, fucking me without fucking me, and nothing in the history of the world has ever felt this good.

“Don’t stop, Alexander, please,” I cry in desperation, and he huffs a knowing laugh, as if he can feel this pleasure just as much as I do.

“I haven’t stopped since the second I laid eyes on you,” he snaps, his stare searing into mine, before it drops to my lips, and he licks his in anticipation.

I want to kiss him, but I remember what he said, what he meant. So I won’t, not here, not like this, not as part of some twisted game. Instead, I grip the back of his neck and use his hold on me to grind against him, as he ruts against me, and we move in sync as one, more connected than I have ever been with another person, my purity be damned.

“Come on, little sinner, come for me,” he demands, dry humping me into the wall, and my entire body feels like it’s going to explode.

I tighten my hands and thighs around him, welcoming every thrust of his hips, and for the first time in my life contemplating having sex.

What would it feel like if we ripped away the layers between us and he slid inside of me? What would it be like if, instead of my fingers, it was his cock? If, instead of a heated game in a confessional, it was us spread out in his bed, succumbing to our every desire?

Every thought paints an image so raw and real in my head, that my entire body begins to shake. “Mmm, that’s it, good girl,” he approves, before his fists tighten to an almost painful grip at my waist, before he picks up the pace even more. “Oh fucking hell,” he adds with a curse, and I smirk, as our bodies wring one another of our pleasure.

“You shouldn’t say hell in here,” I choke out, knowing that if anyone is close by they will know exactly what we are doing.

“I also shouldn’t dry fuck you against this wall, but that isn’t stopping me,” he snaps back, his fingers now biting into my skin beneath his jersey.

“There is nothing dry about it,” I scoff, gyrating my hips, before I throw my head back, my limbs now trembling. “Oh god yes,” I rush out, the three words being pulled from the back of my throat, and Alexander slams me harder into the wall, fucking me rougher.

“There is only one name you should be screaming, love, and it isn’t fucking God’s,” he snaps, his eyes feasting on my body as it moves against his. “You’re wearing my fucking jersey, and tonight you will be sleeping in my fucking bed, so make it my fucking name you’re screaming, especially when I am about to make you come.”

His words are all I need to hurtle off the edge of a cliff, falling blissfully into his sweet oblivion. “Alexander,” I cry in pure pleasure, coming apart at the seams, and he laps up every second of it, until he too is shuddering against me.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, rolling his hips a few more times until he stills against me, dropping his head to my shoulder and panting roughly. “You’re seriously going to be the death of me, Aubree Callows.”

Ditto, Alexander Reign.