X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,33

loaded. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t belong in my world.” It’s obvious. I live in a world of glass crowns and pretty cages. No beautiful creature belongs there. “It’s better to keep her away from all this.”

“But it’s part of who you are.” Norris watches me as I continue to pace, his eyes sweeping along with me while the rest of him remains still.

“Why would that matter? She doesn’t belong here.” She doesn’t belong in the ugliness surrounding me. I can only imagine what she’d think. I’d made the mistake of showing her a glimpse of my darkness, and she’d run. “If she knew the truth about my family, she’d disappear forever.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Norris says. “Show her. Lose her.”

He’s calling my bluff. I know because this has already occurred to me. All I have to do to lose Clara is allow her closer. She’ll see the truth. She’ll run.

Chapter Eleven

I’ve always favored control. That seems more important now than ever before. If only I’d employed such restraint last night. Jonathan hadn’t succeeded in sending me home with anyone, but he had managed to get me totally pissed. I have the headache to prove it.

Rolling over, I spot a glass of orange juice and a few pills. Apparently, my debauchery had not gone unnoticed. I ignore a flash of memory that involves me and a bottle of Scotch and one of the palace’s many reception rooms. Who knows who saw me? I take the medicine gratefully, ignoring how much I might pay for them later.

My cock is stiff, painfully hard, and heavy. I stroke it absently, even though I know nothing will come of it. I have no desire to jack off, but that doesn’t mean I’m not horny. I’ve never wanted to fuck so badly in my life.

The issue is there’s only one person I’m interested in fucking, and I’ve promised to stay away. I did it in her best interests. Now I’m wondering if I’ve thought enough about my own interests.

I’m interested in the freckles that dust her shoulders and flutter down to her breasts. Breasts I need in my mouth. I recall how her body writhed, how she’d fallen undone over and over.

“Fuck,” I groan as my climax covers my palm. But the pleasure is dulled like it’s been filtered through a sieve. All the good bits are absent, what’s left is weak and unwanted.

For one startling moment, my eyes still blurry from sleep, my head still pounding from my hangover, I wonder if I’ll ever get off again properly. I’d told myself before that I’d screw her out of my system. I hadn’t gotten the chance to do that.

But what if Clara Bishop is a woman you can never have enough of? That’s the trouble. I can’t risk more. I won’t put her through this. I’m not about to lead an innocent into hell just to get my rocks off.

Then again, it is our secret. We’d agreed to that. If no one knows I’m still seeing her, then I can ride this out—ride her—until I’m finally sated.

I sit up, determined to find her, and clutch my head immediately. I need breakfast first. That will give me time to come up with a plan. Clara fears me. I need her to see she shouldn’t. I can be different for her. I can need less if that’s what it takes to have her.

When I finally exit my apartment, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, I find the cleaning staff patiently waiting to access it. I shoot them an apologetic smile before heading towards the kitchens. I’d opted for a casual look, banking on my ability to blend in with the crowd more easily.

Edward catches me before I’m past our family wing.

“He’s on a rampage,” he warns me, shoving a stack of tabloids into my arms. “Hit the stands an hour ago.”

“What did I do now?” No doubt someone took a picture of me at the club, stumbling drunkenly out, and sold it to pay for a few pints of their own.

My body constricts when I spot the first headline, each muscle tightening as though if I stand still long enough, the rage seeping through me will evaporate.

It doesn’t.

Scanning the report, if one can even call this rubbish that, doesn’t help either. I have no idea how they did it. Or who is responsible. All I know is that every personal text message I sent to Clara—every filthy, wicked thought I’d used to tempt her to my bed—is there