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We don’t share a bathroom, but I’ve seen her in the hallway once or twice—seemingly after she’s just had a shower. Once with damp, fragrant hair and water droplets sticking to the sliver of golden brown skin by the crook of her neck.
I wanted nothing more than to lick it dry.
That night I had to rub one out in the shower then stand out in the cold on the balcony for nearly an hour to get myself back under control. My attraction to Alize is always there, simmering, beckoning for me to give in—and the most innocent things threaten to push over the edge.
It was herinnocencethat attracted me to her the first time.
If I could, I would go back to that point in time. At least then, I didn’t know what lay behind those doe-like hazel eyes. I didn’t know the pitch of her satisfied mewls, or the taste of her orgasm. That knowledge is what makes her irresistible, now.
Her hatred for me just makes dominating her in bed even more desirable. It must be the part of me that likes a challenge. Once we iron things out and she’s back to accepting that she’s mine, I think all of this will make us stronger.
It has to.That hope keeps me going.
Then, I can finally tell her that I made a mistake letting her leave me that night. I can tell her that I love her, that I want to give her the relationship she always wanted—and more, so much more. I’ll give hereverythingshe’s ever wanted.
I’ll give her anything she wants, as long as I have her.
Presently, I’m on the balcony off the living room. The cigarette has burned to the butt now, so I toss it to the slate-tiled floor and crush it with the pad of my foot. Within seconds, the itch to light another starts clawing at my throat.
I’ve been smoking even more than usual since Alize has been living here—which is ironic since I relapsed when she broke up with me. I’ve lost track of how many packs I’m burning through—but from the looks the pageboy gives me when I send him to buy them, I’m assuming it’s a lot.
I hadn’t realized it before, but Alize has become my drug.
To get over my addiction the first time, I had closed myself off from everything. I ditched the drinking, the partying, the wild behavior and focused every fiber of my being on becoming Head Kingmaker. I did fuck a few girls, but it was never serious and they never mattered to me.
But then Alize happened and somewhere along the way, I started relying on the rush she gave me. It felt familiar, almost like lighting up after a horrible day. She bled color into my world. The first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing before I fell asleep.
My life got stressful, but it didn’t matter because I had her. She took the edge off. She was always there, she was innocent, she was kind. It kept me grounded more than I realized at the time. Now that I can’t even get her to smile anymore, life feels too sharp.
When I reach into the pocket of my sweats, the pack of smokes comes up empty. I’ve burned through them all the past couple hours. It was my last pack too, I’ll have to grab some on the way to class and leave a note for the pageboy to refill my stash.
Checking my watch, I realize I have thirty minutes to get to class.
Fuck, the morning has just disappeared—I’ve been in my head so much the past few days it’s been hard to get out when I need to. I haven’t even had the chance to schedule those meetings like Ezra asked me to. Pushing open the accordion balcony doors, I step into the living room.
What I see stops me in my tracks.
Alize is sitting in one of the leather armchairs, reading some stupid psychology book.
But it’s not the book that gets me. It’s her.
The whole room smells like her—a bright mix of coconut oil, vanilla and the hint of lavender. Her temples are damp, and her curly hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her skin is smooth and glowing, and she’s dressed in a strapless top and a pair of leggings. Her cleavage peeks out the top of her outfit, and my eyes trace the curve of her legs.
My mouth goes dry, my feet carrying me closer to her.
I need to say something to her.
Anything.
All the other times I’ve seen her, she scurried out of the room before I could get a word in. Now, I don’t even think she’s realized I’m in the room. She’s so absorbed in that book.
My brain races with ideas.
Starting the conversation by begging for her forgiveness for what happened in the hotel room isn’t going to get me what I want. Neither will telling her that it wasn’t me who snitched, when I have no proof of it.
I have to start somewhere neutral and say something I know she will like. My heart is pounding in my chest.Why the fuck am I so nervous?
“That’s a cool book you’ve got there.”
