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I’m in a vortex of pleasure for what feels like hours. It’s easily the best self-induced orgasm I’ve had. When I finally open my eyes, Alize is still asleep.
There’s an urge to crawl into bed beside her now that the euphoria has dissipated. But I’ve already done too much. I tuck my cock back into my slacks.
I got what I came for.
Yet it’s hard for me to get my feet to move. I’m frozen in place. Who knew watching someone sleep could be this erotic? My cock stirs to life. I could go again, for good measure.
I’m debating if I should when Alize moves.
My whole body goes rigid. Is she waking up? Even though I know there are no real consequences to her catching me—now that I’ve got my nut, I have the clarity to acknowledge I’m still the one in control here—the threat of it adds a layer of thrill to this encounter.
I watch with bated breath as she adjusts herself in the bed.
One of her hands moves to palm her breast, while the other skirts the edge of the nightgown. The serene expression on her face has faded into something else, and it’s a look on Alize that I know very well.
Lust.
Narrowing my eyes, I take a step closer.
The hand on the fringe of her nightgown inches upward, her fingers slipping below the hem. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth with furrowed brows. Alize lets out a gentle moan, tossing her head to the side and spreading her legs.
Is she having a sex dream?
She pinches her nipple, rolling it between her thumb and index finger.
She’s having a sex dream.
My cock is as hard as it was before, but my hands are frozen by my side. The lust coming alive in my blood isn’t warm. It’s white-hot, tinged with rage.
Who the fuck is she dreaming about?
She alluded to letting another man touch her by the gazebo. At the time, I thought she was just trying to get a rise out of me, because there’s no fucking way she could have moved on from me that quickly.
There is no moving on. She’ll always be mine.
What if she wasn’t joking?
Despite my disbelief, the narrative starts to unravel in my head. It would explain why she’s been so unaffected despite living in such close quarters with me. Was it someone she met at the hotel after our fight? Did someone else dry her tears? Did she turn to them for comfort because she thought she couldn’t get it from me?
Or it could be someone here on campus.
Was the reason she was so scared to be here actually trauma from the night Keller drugged her, or was it because she’s involved with someone who lives in Kingmaker House? My brain starts to short-circuit.
It’s hard to think any further. Even the air in the room seems sparse all of a sudden. The edges of my vision grow spotty and I’m possessed by a devilish anger. My whole body is an inferno, and it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m trembling.
I will hunt him down and have Alize watch me kill him.
I don’t care who it is. It will be a slow, painful death that she’ll have to watch every second of—then we’ll pull the trigger to end his sufferingtogether,so she understands what happens to any man she lets touch her. She’s mine. She will nevernotbe mine. The sooner she understands that, the easier it will be for both of us.
It’s her fucking choice if she wants to do this the easy way or the hard way.
My hands are balled into fists at my side. Another moan slips from her, and this time my eyes are glued to the movement of her lips. It would be a gift if she mumbles the motherfucker’s name—I would have him bound and gagged in the basement before the sun rises.
The heavens hear my cry, because she does mumble a name.
What she says is unmistakable.
“Alexander.”
