X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,57
search my memory, trying to recall to whom.
“Who on earth did you think was making that noise last night?” Belle asks.
A smirk dances over my lips. She knows exactly who it was.
“A neighbor,” her fiancé grumbles, and I can’t help feeling certain whoever he is, he’s a little man. One likely not capable of producing the noise Belle spoke of.
“What does Alexander like?” Belle asks, and I know she must be talking to Clara.
Why doesn’t she respond? Is she tired? Sad? Did I frighten her? Is she hoping I’ll leave without staying for toast and a chat? I wouldn’t blame her for that. But I’m hungry and determined to prove I can be a boyfriend, even if I keep cocking it up.
“Tea. No milk,” I announce, coming into the small kitchen. Clara startles, her hand flying to tug together her cream-colored dressing gown. I want to remind her that she’s got nothing I haven’t seen, but I think she might spontaneously combust if I remind her, judging from her deep, ruddy blush. She looks like every dirty dream I’ve ever had, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in waves, her mascara smeared just enough to make her eyes look smoky and mysterious. I have to force my attention back to the topic of food. “As for breakfast, everything. I’m starving. I worked up an appetite last night.”
My eyes meet Clara’s, and I grin so she doesn’t miss the double meaning. First, food. Then, sex. Things will be clearer after that. She flushes more deeply, dropping her eyes for a moment, but I saw her thoughts wandering to the same place.
She looks over at Belle, frowning to discover her friend staring absently at me.
“I’ll get it,” she says, grabbing a plate to fill it for me.
There’s something deliciously domestic about seeing her there, barefoot in the kitchen, bringing me food. It stirs something primal in me that wants to lift her onto the counter and fill her with my seed. I turn away before I can let that idea take root and spot Belle’s fiancé. Suddenly, I recall why I didn’t remember who it was because Sir Philip Abernathy is about as memorable as a piece of toast. There’s not a lot of options in the small flat for seating, so I take a barstool next to him.
He doesn’t bother to acknowledge me. I don’t bother to acknowledge him.
Clara places the plate before me, and I murmur my thanks before devouring it.
The women hang back, eying us, before Belle turns on Clara. “What do you want, Clara?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” Clara waves off the offer, and I feel surprisingly wounded. She must be hungry after last night. If she’s not, I might be forced to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to bed until she is.
“Absolutely not,” Belle says with a firmness that distracts me from doing so. “What do you want?”
“Some eggs and toast, I guess.”
She guesses. I shovel my own food more quickly, determined to make her have an appetite. But there’s something odd at play. I find myself stealing glances, catching them doing the same. There’s a lot being left unsaid, it seems, and I’m the one on the outside.
What’s new.
The two share a look, and Belle quickly makes small talk. “What are your plans today?”
“Not sure,” Clara hedges.
Belle brightens. “Let’s go shopping.”
Clara looks to me like she’s seeking permission. Am I that controlling of her already? God knows, she could use the time to breathe. I’m smothering her, and my family is judging her. She should go with her friend and get away from all of us. If she has any sense, she’ll stay away. “I have a family thing, and I’m certain my father will require a few hours of explanation as to why I left last night.”
She mouths an apology, but I shake my head. I really am a monster if she’s apologizing to me for my family’s behavior.
“Then let’s go!” Belle claps her hands, looking giddy at the prospect of time together—and I feel a sting of jealousy. I wish anything in my life were that easy, particularly where Clara is concerned. “There’s a new boutique in Notting Hill.”
“Notting Hill on a Saturday will be a madhouse,” Philip finally speaks up, and naturally, it’s to sour their plans. He’s really an incredible wanker.
“I need to shower, and then we can go,” Clara says before turning to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”