Chapter 264

ALINA

"Alexander i swear..."

He ignored me completely, his long strides eating up the distance toward our bedroom like I weighed nothing at all.

“You can yell at me more when we’re behind a locked door, Your Majesty.”

Behind us, I heard Leo’s voice echo from the foyer.

“Boss! We still have that situation in the basement—”

“Not now,” Alexander barked without breaking stride, his voice sharp and commanding.

“Alexander, this is serious—”

“I said not now, Leo!” His voice echoed off the walls, deep and final.

“Handle it. Or don’t. I don’t give a fuck right now.”

I heard Leo mutter something under his breath as his footsteps quickly retreated.

“Boss has lost it… thinking with his dick again. That fucking pink suit’s gone straight to his brain.”

My face burned with mortification.

Great.

Now even his men were witnessing my complete loss of dignity.

I smacked Alexander’s chest again, though it felt more like patting a brick wall.

“This is insane. You can’t just carry me off like some—like some emotionally unavailable action hero with commitment issues and a superiority complex!”

He didn’t even slow down.

Not a single step.

If anything, his grip tightened slightly, like I’d just said something mildly entertaining.

“Watch me,” he said calmly.

I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“Oh, of course. Why would I expect basic human restraint from you?”

His mouth twitched.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

“That was not a compliment!”

“I know,” he said, entirely unbothered.

“Keep going.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died when he kicked open the door to our bedroom and stepped inside.

The familiar scent of our space — his cologne, my perfume, the faint trace of us — hit me all at once.

He kicked the door shut behind us and carried me straight to the bed, tossing me onto the mattress with surprising gentleness.

I bounced once, glaring up at him as he loomed over me, pink suit and all.

“What the fuck, Alexander,” I hissed, scrambling to sit up on the bed.

He was on me in a second, crawling over my body and caging me beneath him.

The pink suit jacket strained across his broad shoulders as he braced his arms on either side of my head, trapping me completely.

“You’re wet for me,” he murmured, leaning down until our noses brushed.

“Even after everything. Even while you’re furious. Tell me I’m wrong, wife.”

I opened my mouth — probably to curse him out — but he didn’t give me the chance.

He crashed his mouth down on mine in a bruising, desperate kiss.

I resisted for half a second before kissing him back just as fiercely, my hands fisting the front of his pink jacket like I wanted to tear it off.

The kiss was angry.

Messy.

Full of teeth and months of separation.

I poured every ounce of hurt and hunger into it, and he met me with equal fire — biting my lip hard enough to draw blood before soothing it with his tongue.

I groaned into his mouth, my body arching against him as he ground his hard cock against my thigh through the ridiculous pink trousers.

“Fuck, I missed you, wife.”

Wait.

What the actual—

My brain screeched to a halt.

No.

No, no, no.

I was supposed to be angry.

Furious, even.

Possibly plotting his demise.

Not making out with him like a horny teenager who’d forgotten every reason she was mad in the first place.

Traitor, I mentally screamed at my own body again.

I pushed at his chest on instinct.

“Fuck you, Alexander,” I hissed, but my body betrayed me completely.

My back arched off the bed, pushing my breasts against the thin fabric of my top, nipples hard and sensitive as they rasped against the cotton like they had their own filthy agenda.

His dark chuckle vibrated against my lips.

“Careful, Your Majesty,” he murmured, voice dark and teasing.

“You keep saying ‘fuck you’ like that and I might think you’re asking for it.”

I wanted to slap that smug look off his face.

But I also wanted him to never stop touching me.

Traitor, I thought again.

His free hand dipped lower, cupping my mound roughly through my pants.

His fingers pressed the fabric deeper against my clit, the friction sparking raw, electric pleasure that made me gasp sharply.

I bit my lip hard, fighting the moan threatening to escape.

“You’re such an arrogant bastard,” I managed, my voice shaky.

“Thinking you can just pin me down and—”

He pressed harder, rubbing my clit through the fabric with just the right pressure.

Fuck.

My hips bucked involuntarily against his hand.

“—and what?” he asked, smirking down at me.

“Make you feel good? Make you forget how angry you are for a few minutes? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re soaking through your panties, wife.”

I glared at him, even as another wave of heat rushed through me.

“I hate you.”

He chuckled, low and filthy, leaning down to brush his lips against my ear.

“Keep telling yourself that while you’re grinding against my hand, Your Majesty.”

His hips snapped forward, grinding his thick, hard bulge against my thigh in time with the relentless movement of his hand.

The thin cotton of my pants was pure torture — a frustrating, soaked barrier that only heightened every teasing stroke.

I sobbed against his mouth, desperate for more, my hips bucking shamelessly into his touch.

His free hand fisted my long hair, yanking my head back with just enough force to make my scalp tingle.

He exposed my throat completely, and then his mouth was there — teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise, the sharp sting blooming into electric pleasure as he sucked a chain of dark hickeys along my skin.

Each pull of his mouth sent heat pulsing straight to my core, making me throb with need.

I was losing myself.

Completely.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want him to stop.

Fuck.

I bucked into his hand again despite the fury still burning in my chest, my pussy clenching desperately around nothing, slick soaking the crotch of my shorts in a shameful gush.

I fisted his shirt, yanking him closer until my tits crushed against his chest, nipples scraping against the fabric and sending sparks of friction straight to my core.

My other hand palmed the thick bulge in his pants, squeezing the iron-hard length through the material until he grunted, hips jerking involuntarily to grind his cock against my grip.

The ridge thickened more punderll my thumb as I stroked him, and he groaned low — a guttural rumble that vibrated through my body and made my insides clench even harder.

His hand on my mound shoved harder, two fingers dipping under the waistband of my pants to breach my folds.

He plunged his fingers deep into my heat, the stretch burning so sweetly that my vision sparked white at the edges.

“Fine… just this once,” I gasped, voice breaking with need as I tried to sound like I was doing him a massive favor.

“Fuck me. But don’t think this means anything — I’m still fucking mad at you.”

Alexander let out a dark, satisfied growl, curling his fingers inside me with ruthless precision while his thumb mashed against my clit in tight, relentless circles.

“Good,” he rasped against my neck, biting down just hard enough to make me moan.

“Stay mad. I want you angry when I make you come.”

I hated how much I loved the sound of that.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he growled, voice rough.

“Shut up,” I gasped against his lips, yanking him closer anyway.

“Just… shut up and fuck me.”

That was all the permission he needed.

He shoved the pink jacket off his shoulders and ripped his shirt open. Buttons flew across the room.

My hands were everywhere — nails raking down his chest, tugging at his belt, pulling him closer.

There was nothing tender about this.

Not even close.

This wasn’t softness or forgiveness or some cinematic reunion moment where everything suddenly made sense.

This was messy.

Sharp-edged.

Too much feeling packed into too little space.

This was hate and need and one single night of missing each other exploding all at once.

Yeah, one night, I thought bitterly.

One fucking night and I can’t even control my hormones. Brilliant. My pussy has officially taken over the steering wheel and is driving us straight into bad decisions.

My entire emotional system seemed to have voted him back into relevance without consulting me.

Traitors.

All of them.

I should’ve been thinking strategically.

I should’ve been remembering every single reason I was furious.

I should’ve been maintaining dignity, emotional boundaries, and possibly throwing something at him again for good measure.

Instead, I was lying here and my thoughts had collectively gone offline and my vagina had declared herself CEO.

Very unprofessional of my brain.

Truly embarrassing behavior from a body that was supposed to be on my side.

This was hate.

This was frustration.

This was unresolved everything all crashing into one stupid, confusing moment.

Not whatever my brain was trying — and failing miserably — to rebrand it as.

Alexander shoved my t-shirt up above my bare breasts with greedy hands and yanked my pants down my legs in one rough motion, taking my panties with them.

I was soaked.

Dripping.

The sight made him growl low in his throat, eyes darkening with raw hunger as he stared at my exposed pussy.

“Look at you,” he rasped, sliding two thick fingers through my slick folds.

“So fucking wet for the man you’re supposed to be mad at.”

“Shut up,” I moaned, hips bucking against his hand.

“You’re still an asshole.”

“An asshole you’re dripping for,” he shot back with a wicked smirk, curling his fingers deeper.

“Say it again, wife. Tell me how much you hate me while you fuck yourself on my fingers.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to hold back another moan.

“I hate you.”

He chuckled darkly. “Liar.”

He didn’t wait any longer.

He pushed my thighs apart and buried his face between them, licking me like a starving man.

My back arched off the bed with a cry, fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured me.

He sucked my clit into his mouth, fucked me with his tongue, and groaned at the taste of me — sweet, addictive, his.

“Alexander—!” I cried out, thighs clamping around his head.

He didn’t stop.

He licked and sucked and worshipped me until I was shaking, until my moans turned into broken whimpers, until I came hard on his tongue with his name on my lips.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he rose up, shoved his trousers down just enough to free his cock, and thrust into me in one hard stroke. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me completely.

“Fuck— yes—” I gasped, legs wrapping around his waist.

He fucked me hard.

Deep.

Punishing.

Every thrust was both an apology and a claim.

The bed creaked beneath us. My nails raked down his back hard enough to draw blood. He welcomed the pain.

“You’re mine,” he growled against my neck, biting down as he drove into me again and again.

“Say it.”

“Asshole—” I moaned, but my hips met every thrust.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours— fuck— I’m yours, Alexander!”

The sound of his name on my lips while he was buried deep inside me made him groan.

He fucked me harder, one hand fisting my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I came again with a broken cry, clenching around him so tightly I saw stars.

He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt as he came with a guttural groan, filling me with pulse after pulse of hot release.

We stayed like that for a long moment — panting, sweating, still joined — the ridiculous pink suit jacket crumpled somewhere on the floor beside us.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words raw.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”