X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,35

tight, and I wonder if it’s her anger or how long it’s been since I fucked her that’s bothering her.

“Couldn’t you text me?” she asks dryly, sounding anything but amused.

I sigh and drop her arm as we step inside the lift. “I guess you saw that, too.”

But I don’t wait for her response. I can’t wait. I’m on her, pressing her body against the stainless steel wall of the lift. I need to feel her body against mine. My hands pin her wrists above her head as my hips lock against her. I know she can feel my cock pressing into the soft flesh of her abdomen. I might be going too far. She’d made her feelings clear the last time I saw her, but I hadn’t imagined the connection between us. It hangs between us now, an invisible thread pulled tight between her body and mine. Surely, she feels it. She has to.

“Alexander!” Her cry is half panic, half prayer.

“Why haven’t you answered my texts?” I demand.

“The whole world can read that you want to go down on me on a gossip site, and you’re worried about that?” she stammers, her eyes widening. Her body stays perfectly still, resisting the tug of that connection between us. It’s too controlled, but I sense something more lingering under the surface of her rebuke: concern.

Concern for me.

She has pushed me away. And she has come when I’ve called. She’s torn between my warnings and my temptations. The truth is that she’s too good for me—too kind, too normal—and we both know it. So why don’t I just let her go? I think of the texts and the lying tabloids. It’s been a long time since I gave a shit what any of them had to say. But I care now—I care what she thinks. I don’t want her to believe them.

“I don’t give a damn what they can read!” This realization explodes from me, and I back away, afraid I’ll scare her. “Why do you care what they think, Clara?”

“Me?” Her hand goes to her heart—to the one part of her I will never let myself have. “You were the one who wanted to meet me in secret at a fucking hotel!”

It takes me a moment to process this. She thinks I was hiding her because I was ashamed? As though any man wouldn’t want the world to know the things he’d done to a woman like her. “I did that to protect you. You were scared of the paparazzi.”

“They were reporting we were in a relationship,” she says, “and I didn’t know who you were at the time.”

“We are in a relationship,” I tell her even as my brain struggles with the concept. We are? Where did that come from? I’m surprised to discover that I do very much care about this fact—and it is a fact to me. Clara Bishop belongs to me. She did then, and she does now.

Her mouth opens, her perfect lips are wide but unmoving. She blinks as if clearing her thoughts. When she finally speaks, confusion coats her words. “We broke things off.”

“You were overwhelmed, and I gave you space, but did you think I would allow you to end things like that?” I ask. “I made it clear that I hadn’t had my fill of you.”

“But you didn’t want to be seen with me,” she babbles, her eyes darting between me and the floor. “You can’t pick and choose when to be in a relationship!”

“I wanted to protect you.” I brush my index finger along the curve of her cheekbone, marveling at the supple softness of her skin. “I didn’t want to scare you. I can do that all on my own.”

Her answering laugh has a hollow ring, nearly smothered by the ding of the lift doors. “You can at that.”

“So is that what’s going on?” I pull her from the open lift toward a deserted alcove where we won’t be seen. “A misunderstanding?”

It couldn’t be that simple. Her tears tell me as much. “I wish it was.”

“You’re scared of me.” It’s my fault. Why wouldn’t she be scared? After I’d warned her to run? After I’d pursued her anyway? I’ve been as dogged as the goddamn paparazzi and my motives are even less chivalrous. “I tried to warn you.”

“Maybe I don’t understand,” she says to my surprise.

I grip her hip tightly, the need to touch her driving me and making it harder to think. She needs reassurances. I have no idea how to