Chapter 18

Mira’s POV

Mira’s POV

The towel hit the floor like a quiet confession.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even try to cover myself. If I did, I knew I’d break. Something about the way Alejandro stood there, tall and unsteady, eyes dark and fixed on me like I was the only thing keeping him upright, made my body betray every sensible thought I had.

His gaze dragged over me slowly, and deliberately. Which surprised me, considering the alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.

“You’re drunk,” I said again, firmer this time, though my voice wavered.

“And you’re naked,” he replied softly.

That was it. That was all it took for the air between us to snap.

I reached for the towel, suddenly aware of how exposed I was, but he caught my wrist before I could lift it. His grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t rough and steady. Almost Intentional, like he was grounding himself through me.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

I should have pulled away. I knew that. I should’ve reminded him that he smelled like whiskey and poor decisions, that he wasn’t thinking straight, that this was a line we could never uncross.

Instead, I swallowed.

“You don’t get to do this,” I said. “Not like this.”

His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, slow and maddening. “Then tell me to stop.”

I opened my mouth, anticipating on how to tell him this was wrong but nothing came out.

His jaw tightened, like he felt the shift too. Like he knew he’d won something dangerous. He released my wrist, stepping back half an inch, giving me space that felt like a test.

I didn’t take it.

I hated myself for that.

I stepped into him instead.

His breath stuttered as my bare skin pressed against his shirt, still cool from the rain. The contact sent a sharp, needy pulse straight through my skin, and I bit down on my lip to keep from making a sound.

“Jesus,” he muttered, hands hovering at my sides, but not touching, yet. “Mira…”

“Don’t,” I warned, even as my body leaned closer. “You’re not allowed to say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already own me.”

A low, humorless laugh escaped him. “If I owned you, you wouldn’t be standing.”

That did it.

I shoved his chest, not hard enough to move him, but enough to make a point. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re lying to yourself,” he shot back.

I turned away, pacing a few steps, needing distance before I completely lost my mind. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, every nerve screaming for attention.

“This is a bad idea,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He didn’t answer right away. When I glanced back, he was watching me like a man starving, like restraint was something he’d learned the hard way and was about to forget.

“You’re sober,” he said quietly. “If you say no, I walk out that door.”

The seriousness in his tone stopped me cold.

I faced him fully. “And if I don’t?”

His eyes burned. “Then I don’t stop thinking about you ever again.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

I crossed the room slowly, deliberately. When I stopped in front of him, close enough that our breaths tangled, I placed my hand flat against his chest.

“You’re drunk,” I said one last time.

“And you still want this,” he replied.

I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze. “I hate that you’re right.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His mouth crashed into mine, hard and hungry, like he’d been holding back all night and finally snapped. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and heat and frustration pouring out of him in one brutal sweep.

I gasped against his lips, fingers curling into his damp shirt as he backed me toward the bed. My knees hit the mattress, and I went down with a soft sound, pulling him with me.

He followed, bracing himself on his arms, careful not to crush me, though everything about him screamed control. His mouth left mine, trailing along my jaw, my neck, lingering there just long enough to make my toes curl.

“Tell me to stop, Miss Martinez” he murmured against my skin.

I wrapped my legs around his waist instead.

His groan was low, and wrecked, like it came from somewhere deep and dangerous.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

“I never claimed to be.”

His hands slid over my thighs, slowly, like he was committing the feel of me to memory. When he kissed me again, it was deeper, and messier, like he’d lost whatever restraint he had left.

I tugged at his shirt, frustration bubbling over. “This thing needs to go.”

He laughed breathlessly, pushing up just enough to pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere I didn’t care about. Rainwater and heat clung to his skin, and I ran my hands over him shamelessly, exploring without permission.

His eyes darkened. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I’ve been burned before,” I said. “I survived.”

He shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line before he kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. His hands moved with purpose now, mapping me out, learning me, making my back arch off the bed without even trying.

I pushed at his shoulders suddenly, breathless. “Wait.”

He froze instantly, pulling back. “What?”

I sat up, heart racing. “You don’t get to forget this tomorrow. You don’t get to wake up and act like it was just the alcohol.”

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “I won’t.”

“Promise.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against mine. “I promise.”

That was when I kissed him first.

The shift was immediate. He let me lead, let me set the pace, let me decide how far this went. The power settled into my bones, intoxicating in its own way.

I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him, feeling his sharp inhale beneath me. His hands stayed at my hips, firm but still waiting, still listening.

I leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “You don’t get to control this.”

A shaky breath left him. “I know.”

The night blurred as our breaths evened. It wasn’t even sex. I wasn’t ready for that and Alejandro understood I guess. But I got my fill of pleasure and hopefully he did too. Something held me back and I don’t know what but for now, all I wanted to do was enjoy this side of my boss.

When it was over, when the room finally stilled and my heart slowed enough to remember how to beat normally, I lay against him, listening to his breathing even out.

He pressed a kiss to my hair, light and careful, like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“This changes things,” I said quietly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It does.”

I closed my eyes, exhaustion settling in alongside something far more dangerous.

Then something was beginning to click. I felt jealous when he looked at another girl. My chest hurt when I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t listen to Ace for up to five minutes without thinking about Alejandro.

Was I falling for my boss?