Page 50 of Xander

With the acceptance of the truth came the emotional tears. I could sense the seeds of panic taking root, spreading like venomous little flowers. My eyes burned, blurring. It felt like I’d rubbed them with acid.

“No,” I moaned softly, the word squeaking as I ran out of air, my chest constricting.

His face softened. “Hey, breathe. Everything will be okay, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.” I pronounced the offending word like it was a curse. What was wrong with him? How could he be so callous? The tears were slipping out in earnest now, and I turned my head to the side.

“Jordan,” he said in a patient tone. “Look at me.”

I shook my head. “Please tell me it was all a dream,” I begged.

Gripping my chin, he turned me to face him. “We both know it wasn’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.”

I winced.

The light in his eyes dimmed, and he looked so hurt by my reaction that I dropped my hand. Shit. I didn’t even consider how he must be processing this.

Oh God, I was the cougar, taking advantage of a twenty-two-year-old. It wasn’t his fault. I should have known better.

“I should’ve never dragged you into this.,” I whispered in dismay. “I-I was drunk and hurt last night, and you were being so sweet…” Or that was what I assumed. All I could remember was a blur of bodies and the taste of wine. I shook my head as an erotic image—half remembered—surfaced briefly before slipping back into the dark sea of my consciousness. “This should’ve never happened.”

“It was bound to happen,” he countered easily.

“I’m old enough to be—” Don’t finish that sentence.

“But you’re not,” he growled, knowing instinctively where my mind had flown. “Don’t even think like that again. I never saw you in that light, and I never will.”

I swallowed the bile rising at the back of my throat. Neither of us was willing to say the word mother out loud, let alone acknowledge it. “I’m still much older than you,” I said in a small voice.

“Age is inconsequential when it comes to us,” he declared vehemently.

“Not when it’s fifteen years.”

“Fourteen and a half,” he countered. “I’m about to turn twenty-three.”

Oh God. I didn’t know how else to make him see reason and simply announced, “This is wrong.”

“No, Jordan. Nothing about us is wrong.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I closed my eyes against them. “One day, you’ll meet the girl of your dreams, someone appropriate, someone you can start a family with. This will all become a distant memory.”

“Don’t say that.” He spoke gravely, shifting closer.

Placing my hand on his chest, I pushed him back gently. “Xander, I don’t want you to think any of this is your fault. This is on me. I’m older; I should’ve been the one to exercise better judgment⁠—”

“Enough.” He slashed a hand through the air. “We are both adults, and we made a decision… together.”

“It wasn’t a decision. I-I wasn’t thinking last night.”

“Bullshit. Stop talking like we did something wrong.”

“We did. I’m going to hell for this, but I don’t want to drag you with me. For God’s sake, Xander, I’m your father’s wife⁠—”

He grabbed my cheeks, cutting me off mid-sentence. Black rage flashed in his blown-out pupils. “Never call yourself that again.”

I didn’t know what to think or what else to say to him. My head throbbed with a migraine, and my body was in no better shape.

Something in his features shifted as he watched me, the green in his eyes darkening to a beautiful moss color. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, looking at me in a way that left me feeling hot and cold all at once. I clutched the sheet tighter. “I would walk through fucking fire to be inside that pussy again.”