Chapter 81 Study Break
“How about you come spend the night?” His voice dropped, turning playful and naughty. “Or I should come to yours?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I could feel them burning. “You can come,” I whispered.
He leaned in and kissed me lightly, just a brush of lips. But when I tried to pull away he caught the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair, and dragged me back for a deeper kiss. Slow, claiming. When he finally let me go I was breathless, lips tingling.
“Go study,” he said, voice rough. “I’ll come to you later.”
I stood on shaky legs, smoothing my sweater over my bump. “Okay.”
He watched me walk away, eyes dark and hungry, but there was something softer there too, something that looked a lot like love.
I made it to my room, closed the door, and leaned back against it for a long moment, heart still racing. Tamara’s words echoed in my head, cruel, cutting, but Alexander’s response drowned them out. I was his mate, I was carrying his child.
And he had chosen me, publicly, unapologetically, in front of the woman who’d once thought she owned him.
I placed both hands on my belly and smiled.
Whatever trouble Tamara tried to stir up, whatever shadows still lingered from the war, from Ben, from my old life, we would face it together, and we would win.
I was still hunched over my laptop, highlighter between my teeth, trying to force my brain to focus on structural load calculations when the door opened so quietly I almost missed it. Alexander slipped inside, pausing in the doorway like he was afraid to disturb the air.
I looked up and smiled around the highlighter. “I’m awake.”
He exhaled a small laugh and closed the door behind him with the same careful touch. “I thought you might be sleeping. That’s why I opened it so gently.”
I pulled the highlighter from my mouth and set it down. “Still studying. Everything going on, especially this marriage thing, has wrecked my concentration.”
He nodded, expression softening with understanding. “Okay. I won’t disturb you. I’ll wait till you finish.”
Instead of leaving, he crossed to the bed, kicked off his shoes, picked up one of the architecture theory books I’d left on the nightstand, and stretched out on his side, propped against the headboard. The mattress dipped under his weight. He opened the book to a random page and started reading, or at least pretending to.
I watched him for a second, warmth spreading through my chest. He looked so… domestic like this. Hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled to his elbows, long legs stretched out. My mate. The word still felt new and huge every time I thought about it.
“What did you study in school?” I asked.
He glanced over, then relaxed back on one elbow, book resting open on his chest. “Business. Had to. Only child, family empire. Either I take over from my father or it all goes to outsiders. I’ve been training for it since I was old enough to hold a pen.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, turning back to my screen but not really seeing the numbers anymore.
He tilted his head. “Have you always wanted to study architecture?”
“Yes.” I closed the laptop halfway, resting my chin on my hand. “Growing up I loved drawing houses. Sketches of roofs and windows and little balconies. I just… loved the idea of bringing a design to life. Making something that stands, that people live in, that lasts.”
His smile was soft. “That suits you.”
I shut the laptop fully and pushed it aside. “I guess I’m done for the night.”
He chuckled. “I guess so.”
He set the book on the nightstand and patted the space beside him. “Come here. Lie down. You’ve been sitting too long, let me massage your back.”
I hesitated for only a second, then stood. The robe slipped off my shoulders and pooled on the floor. Underneath I wore only the short, silky nightgown Alexander had bought me weeks ago, thin straps, lace trim, barely reaching mid-thigh. The fabric whispered against my skin as I moved.
Alexander’s eyes darkened the moment he saw me. He sat up slowly, gaze tracing every inch.
“You look so beautiful,” he said, voice low and rough, “that I want to eat you inside out.”
Heat exploded across my face and chest. I laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “Alexander…”
He slid off the bed and knelt in front of me on the rug. “Lie down.”
I obeyed, heart pounding, stretching out on my stomach across the comforter. The mattress dipped as he climbed back up, straddling my thighs without putting weight on me. His hands settled on my lower back, warm, sure, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles on either side of my spine.
I sighed as he started working, slow deep strokes that unraveled knots I didn’t even know I had. He moved upward, kneading my shoulders, then down again, fingers splaying wide over my hips, every touch felt deliberate, reverent.
“I’m wondering what the guards and maids will say,” I murmured into the pillow. “Seeing us together. They might have seen me coming from your room.”
He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “They know you’re my mate. Clara and a few others figured it out first. Word spread fast. They also know the marriage with Ben is fake. No one’s surprised I guess.”
Relief washed through me, loosening the last of the tension in my back. “Okay. Good.”
His hands drifted lower, thumbs circling the dimples above my tailbone. Then lower still, sliding under the hem of the nightgown, caressing the backs of my thighs. My breath hitched.
He hooked his fingers under the silk and slowly dragged it up, exposing me inch by inch. Cool air kissed my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palms. He peeled the gown over my hips, up my back, over my shoulders. I lifted my arms so he could slip it off completely.
Naked now except for my underwear, I felt exposed in the best way, his gaze heavy, appreciative, hungry.
He shifted, turning me gently onto my back. His eyes roamed, breasts, stomach, the soft swell where our baby grew, before meeting mine again. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
Then he lowered his head and kissed me.
It started slowly, lips brushing, tasting, teasing. But the hunger built fast, his tongue found mine, stroking deep, possessive. One hand cupped my breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaked hard under his touch. The other slid between my thighs, fingers tracing the damp cotton of my panties.
I moaned into his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to watch my face as he slipped the fabric aside. Two fingers parted me, sliding through slick heat, circling my clit with slow, maddening pressure. My hips lifted, chasing the touch.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Let me feel you.”
He kept the rhythm steady, firm circles, then long strokes, then dipping inside just enough to tease. My breathing turned ragged. My hands fisted the sheets. When he pressed two fingers deep and curled them, I shattered, back arching, a broken cry tearing from my throat as pleasure crashed through me.
He didn’t stop. He kissed down my body, neck, collarbone, breasts, sucking one nipple hard while his fingers kept moving inside me. Then lower, he settled between my thighs, pushed my legs wide, and lowered his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue made me gasp. He licked slowly, savoring, then sucked my clit gently between his lips. My hips bucked. He pinned them down with one forearm, holding me open while his tongue worked, flat strokes, quick flicks, then circling again. Two fingers slid back inside, curling, thrusting in time with his mouth.
I came again, harder this time, shuddering, thighs trembling, his name a sob on my lips.