Page 23 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Seven

Ilose myself in her. When all I want is to watch her fall over the edge again, it takes restraint to stop. Clara needs a break. Her body might be responsive, but she’s never been with a man like me. I can tell by how her teeth sink into her lower lip with every thrust, how her eyes roll back with every touch—she didn’t know it could feel this good. I aim to show her exactly how much she’s been missing, but there’s no need to rush. My self-control slips as she rolls out of bed, stretching against the wall like she’s just finished a rigorous work-out session. But she arches her back a bit too much, putting her perfect, round ass on display. I want her again—the desire tears through me and escapes with a growl. She’s turning me into a goddamn caveman. When I spot the sly grin flash across her face, I realize she’s enjoying it.

I consider lunging for her and dragging her back between the sheets.

“I’m going to take a shower if you care to join me,” she says, her eyes sliding to the undershirt.

It’s a nice tactic, but I’m well-versed in strategic maneuvers. Still… “Tempting, but I’m going to order room service. Any requests?”

“I’m not picky.” She pauses, and I wonder what’s going on in that sexy brain of hers. “Actually, get some champagne.”

“Your wish is my command.” Jumping up, I mean to head toward the phone, but her eyes linger on me. No doubt she appreciates that I don’t bother with pants. But I’m nothing compared to her, even if her gaze continues to follow me as I cross the room.

Not that I mind the admiration. I just want to return it.

She doesn’t look like a woman; she looks like a goddess with her glowing skin and her soft hair cascading over her shoulders. The makeup she’d so carefully applied is now smudged but somehow even sexier. She looks well-fucked, and I like it. If only every afternoon could be spent seeing to her sinful body, life might be worth living. As it is, our time is limited. I intend to make the most of it. Holding out a hand, she takes it with some apprehension. But all I want is to kiss her—to feel her against me—if only to remind me that she’s here and for now, she’s mine. My lips meet hers, and somehow it’s easier to ignore the primal urge to take her again. It doesn’t make sense. My cock isn’t usually so well-behaved. Instead, the taste of her kiss sends my heart racing. It seems my body is getting confused, so I pull back and avoid looking at her, instead smacking her bare ass.

It’s all about perspective. We have an arrangement. “What would you say if I suggested you only wore that around me?”

“I’m not wearing anything.” She sounds almost grateful for the redirection, and I catch myself wondering if she feels it, too.

So much for perspective.

I slip into the role I’m used to playing. Smirking, I charm her by being exactly what we need me to be.

The playboy prince.

The bad boy.

Exactly what they say I am. What I’ll never escape.

“Exactly,” I say. I really wouldn’t mind if she was nude all the time. I’d rather prefer it.

“You’re a bit of a fiend, aren’t you?” She laughs, and now my cock takes notice.

“I’ll show you just how much,” I reach for her. If she runs, it will give us space. If we wind up in bed, I’ll fuck her until I’m too numb to do whatever this is. It’s a win-win.

She sidesteps me and backs toward the loo. “You promised me food and champagne.”

It’s the right move to put space between us, but the less enjoyable one. Clara is smart. She’s not taking me for a ride. Well, not like other women I’ve known. She doesn’t want to play mind games or try to make me fall in love. She’s here for the sex. It’s refreshing.

At least, it should be.

“Food and champagne.” I focus on the task at hand, but I can’t help but drink her in one last time. “But then I’m going to have my way with you.”

“Promise?” The question is hopeful, small, uncertain. I want to give her my answer now. No talk necessary.

“I promise that you’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon screaming my name,” I tell her what she wants to hear.

A momentary haze seems to descend over her, and she trips over her own feet. I catch her, and now she’s back in my arms, exactly where I want her. “You’re testing my resolve, poppet.”

She stares up at me, blinking rapidly as if she’s processing this. Or trying too, at least. It only makes her more beguiling. Staring into her wide, gray eyes, I’m temporarily lost, drifting at sea. I force myself to take a beat.

“Standing there, biting your lip, with your hair down. I give you ten seconds to get out of here, or I’m taking you back to bed.”

Her squeal tests my resolve, and when the bathroom door shuts behind her, I consider following her. I would take off my shirt and lift her against the tiled wall, make love to her under the water, and screw these feelings out of my system. If she let me after she saw the truth—saw what I really am—what I hide beneath my clothes and beneath my skin. I let the wrong woman see once—a proud, angry, fearless woman. And when her eyes filled with pity, I became her nightmare.

Clara would pity me, too. It’s her nature.