Chapter 64 His kindness
RORY POV
I couldn’t stop crying the entire ride home. The poor Uber driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, completely lost, like he had no idea what to say to the sobbing woman in his backseat. I didn’t blame him. I probably looked like a mess.
Every time I thought about Scarlett’s cold words in that bathroom, fresh tears spilled over.
The second the car stopped in front of the house, I didn’t bother going to my room or changing. I went straight to Alexander’s study, still crying like a little kid who’d lost her favorite toy.
The moment Alexander saw me, he lunged from his chair. His expression went from bored to murderous in a heartbeat as he crossed the room in two long strides.
"What the fuck happened to you?" he sneered, his voice vibrating with a dark, jagged anger.
The sheer possessiveness in his tone made me lose the last of my composure. I burst out into fresh sobs, my chest heaving. "Scarlett...
Scarlett, she was so mean to me, Alexander.
Her and her friends. They... they played a game." I was gasping for air, sounding like a little girl reporting bullies to her father.
Alexander’s jaw clenched so tight I heard it crack. He turned on his heel, already heading for the door. “I’ll be back.”
“No—please don’t go,” I cried, grabbing his arm desperately. “I don’t want them to think I’m weak. Please, Alexander, just stay."
He let out a long, ragged exhale, his muscles bunching under my grip. Then, he did something I didn't expect. He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around me in a crushing hug. My heart did a frantic, heavy thud-thud against my ribs. I hugged him back, burying my face in his shirt, not caring that my wet, alcohol-soaked dress was ruining his shirt. He felt so warm. So solid. So safe.
"Next time I see Scarlett, I'm going to give her hell for picking on my wife," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He had to bend his tall frame, resting his chin on the top of my head so he could hold me properly.
Ilet out a weak, watery chuckle. "I should have listened to you. I shouldn't have gone."
"You're damn right. Now let's get you cleaned up. You reek of alcohol." Before I could protest, he hooked his arms under my knees and back, swinging me off the floor, bridal-style like I weighed nothing. I loved when he carried me. I wanted him to carry me like this all the time.
I nuzzled my face into his chest, arms tightening around his neck as he carried me through the house. I caught glimpses of Rosemary and a couple of guards staring as we passed, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the steady beat of his heart under my cheek.
He kicked open the door to our bathroom and set me down gently on the cool tiles. Then he started undressing me.
His fingers were careful, almost clinical, as he peeled the sticky dress off my shoulders and down my body. He unhooked my bra with one hand, letting it fall away without his skin brushing mine more than necessary. He hooked his thumbs into my panties and slid them down my legs, never once letting his touch linger on my skin the way I desperately wanted. It was deliberate. Controlled. Like he was fighting the urge to touch me properly.
I stood there completely naked in front of him, rolls and extra flesh on full display, and for once I didn’t feel the usual wave of shame. With Alexander, it felt different. Dangerous. Like my body was something he could claim if he wanted to.
He guided me into the large marble tub and turned on the warm water. I let out a soft sigh as the heat hit my skin. He knelt beside the bath, rolling up his sleeves and started bathing me.
His hands moved with surprising gentleness, lathering shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp with slow, firm circles that made my eyes flutter shut. He rinsed me carefully, the warm water cascading over my breasts and down between my thighs. Every brush of his fingers, even the accidental ones, sent sparks straight to my core. My nipples tightened into hard peaks under the spray. Heat pooled low in my belly. I was getting wet, not from the water, but from the way he was touching me like I was fragile and precious while still refusing to really touch me.
My chest burned with how gentle and kind he was being. But the longer it went on, the more I ached. I wanted his hands to slide lower. I wanted him to cup my breasts, pinch my nipples, slip his fingers between my legs and feel how soaked I already was for him. I wanted him to bend me over the edge of the tub and fuck me until I couldn’t think about Scarlett or Anastasia or anything else.
Instead, he stayed maddeningly respectful.
My chest burned with the kindness of it. It was the most intimate thing anyone had ever done for me, yet it was the most painful.
As he leaned over me, his face close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, a dark thought clawed at my throat.
Is he doing this for me? Or is he only washing the ghost of Anastasia?
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, forcing the question back down. You're a shadow, Aurora, I told myself. Don't get your hopes up.
you're a shadow, Auroea, I told myself . Don't get your hopes up.
When he finally finished, he wrapped me in a soft towel and carried me to the bed. I clung to him a little tighter than necessary, breathing in his scent, wishing he would lose control and take what we both knew I was offering.
But he didn’t.
He just tucked me in, brushed damp strands of hair from my face, and murmured, “Sleep. I’ll deal with Scarlett tomorrow.”
I watched him walk out of the room, my body still humming with unmet need, my heart aching with something far more dangerous than lust.