Page 31

Stay away from the pool.

I sit up in my bed, feeling my skin prick as he passes the edge of the water and walks into the pool house. From the doorway, he just looks at the painting, swaying where he stands.

My beautiful, broken Alexander stares at my art on the wall, and I feel it from all the way over here—the lava boiling in his soul.

I should quit the job and let someone else finish the mural. My presence is torturing him, and this desire is torturing me.

But I can’t. I can’t sleep, leaving him like that. He’s never going to make it to his bed, and I couldn’t sleep knowing he’s too close to the pool in his condition. I could just see the headlines now. Millionaire trust fund prince drowns in his own swimming pool.

In nothing but my tight cami and underwear, I tiptoe out of my house and through the backyard. The cool grass wets my feet as I run across. It feels like running toward danger, knowing this is a bad idea, but I can’t stop myself.

He doesn’t notice me as I step through the doorway, but I can smell the booze on him, like a strong cologne as I get closer. There are red footprints across the floor leading up to where he stands, staring at the wall.

When I touch his arm, he doesn’t jump. I have enough experience with drunk people to know that when they’re this intoxicated, it’s like they’re not even there. There is no reaction, no life. You might as well be alone.

He turns toward me slowly, his reaction sedated. “Rain cloud,” he slurs as he looks at me. His gaze won’t focus on my face, so I don’t look into his eyes again.

“You need to get to bed,” I whisper as I walk him toward the door.

I notice the way his gait is unbalanced.

“Alex, stop. Your foot is bleeding.” He tries to lean against the wall but falls hard onto his ass.

Pulling his foot up to the light, I see the piece of glass sticking out the side of his foot and the deep cut there. Carefully, I slide the glass out and run toward the bathroom where I know there is a first aid kit.

I grab a couple bandages and head out to find him snoring on the tile floor.

Once I have his foot cleaned and covered, I reach down to pull his face off the floor. The sight of his cheekbones pressed against the cold tile makes me stop. Resting my hand against his cheek, I rub my finger across his bottom lip.

A thought crosses my mind.

He’s so asleep he wouldn’t even notice. And I need to get this out of my system so I can stop fantasizing about what it might be like. I just want to see, so I have the feel of his lips stored away in my memory.

I lean forward, straddling his sleeping body just to feel the hard frame of his body between my knees. Folding myself over him, I pull his face closer so I can press my mouth against his. His lips are soft, perfect with that deep contrasted line against the skin of his face. For a moment, I imagine he’s mine to kiss. And I let myself believe he’s kissing me back. And I slip my tongue out to run it along the crease. He tastes like alcohol and perfume, a sour musk that assaults my taste buds, and I wish I could taste him instead. Tears prick my eyes when I realize he’s been kissing other women tonight. I can still taste her lip gloss.

Sadness and regret bubble up inside me as I bury my face in his neck and wrap my hands around his waist. It’s ironic that I’m holding him as he sleeps because that’s how unrequited everything is with him.

Pulling away, I touch his face for another minute, letting this closeness seep into my pores. I want more, and I thought that kiss would get him out of my system.

“Come on, Alex. I need to get you to bed,” I whisper. He doesn’t move, and for a minute I consider leaving him on the floor. But I’m still afraid he’ll get up in the middle of the night and stumble to his certain death.

“Alex,” I moan, pulling him up by the shoulders.

He groans but doesn’t move. I could try and carry him, but I probably wouldn’t get far.

“Alex, come on!” I shout, shaking his shoulders.

He groans again as something grinds against my sex, sending bolts of lightning through my body. You’ve got to be kidding me. The man can walk through broken glass, crumble drunk to the floor and probably drown in his own pool, but he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get his dick hard no matter how drunk he is.

“Sunny,” he moans as he presses his hips up again.

Oh my god.

His eyes are still closed and for the most part, he’s dead to the world—well, everything except his dick, which is still pressing upward to meet me, and I should definitely crawl off him right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

He tries to peel his eyes open as his hands reach for my hips.

“Wake up, Alex,” I whisper as I climb off him. The instant loss of that friction makes my body ache, but I can’t be touching someone so intimately while they’re too drunk to even walk. But oh God, do I want to grind myself all over him until I come…but I won’t.