Chapter 21 Fractured Pretenses
The rest of the day passed in a haze of forced normalcy. After leaving the conservatory, hair smoothed, clothes straightened, lips still tingling from Alexander’s kisses, I retreated to the library on the second floor. It was a cavernous room lined with leather-bound books, rolling ladders, and a massive stone fireplace that crackled invitingly. I told myself I would study. Finals were looming, even with winter break approaching, and I couldn’t let this chaos derail my last semester.
But concentration was impossible.
Every few minutes my mind wandered back to the bench beneath the orange tree, the way Alexander’s hands had felt on my skin, the low growl in his throat when he came, the overwhelming surge of the bond that made every touch feel like destiny carved into my bones. My body still hummed with aftershocks, a low, persistent ache between my thighs that made sitting uncomfortable and deliciously distracting.
Worse were the heightened senses. The library smelled of old paper, beeswax polish, and the faint trace of Alexander’s cologne that seemed to follow me everywhere now. I could hear Clara vacuuming two floors below, the rhythmic thump of the machine distinct through layers of wood and plaster. When a gardener started a leaf blower outside, the noise grated like nails on a chalkboard until I pressed my palms to my ears.
I slammed my textbook shut and paced to the window. The gardens stretched out below, winter-bare trees laced with frost, the lake a sheet of gray glass under a cloudy sky. Somewhere out there were the woods Alexander had mentioned, safe places for shifting. The thought sent a shiver through me that was half fear, half anticipation.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts. Clara entered with a silver tray: tea, scones, and a small envelope sealed with red wax imprinted with the Blackwood crests stylized wolf’s head.
“From Mr. Alexander, miss,” she said, setting the tray on a side table before curtsying and leaving.
I broke the seal with fingers that weren’t quite steady.
Meet me at the stables at four.
Wear something warm.
Sender: A
My pulse quickened. The stables were at the far edge of the estate, past the formal gardens and across a meadow. Private. Isolated. Dangerous, considering we couldn’t seem to keep our hands off each other.
I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. 3:15. Plenty of time to change.
I returned to my room and swapped the sweater for a fitted thermal top, jeans, and sturdy boots. Over it all I layered a thick wool coat and a scarf. In the mirror I looked like any college girl preparing for a winter ride, except for the flush high on my cheeks and the faint mark blooming on my neck where Alexander had sucked too hard.
At four sharp I stepped out the side door into crisp air that bit at my lungs. The heightened senses sharpened everything: the crunch of gravel under my boots, the distant whinny of horses, the rich scent of hay and leather drifting on the wind. I followed the path Ben had shown me during his poisonous tour two days ago, past the gazebo where the wedding had taken place, across the meadow now silver with frost.
The stables were a handsome red-brick building with white trim, a courtyard in front where a groom exercised a bay gelding. Alexander leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching the horse with a critical eye. He wore dark jeans, boots, and a black shearling jacket that made him look even broader, more imposing. When he saw me, his expression softened.
“You came,” he said, pushing off the fence.
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
“I thought you might need space.” He stepped close, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “How are the senses?”
“Manageable. Mostly. Loud machinery is the worst.”
He nodded. “We’ll work on filters. Come.”
He led me inside the stables, past rows of stalls where curious horses nickered softly. The warmth enveloped me immediately, thick with the smells of hay, grain, and equine musk. At the far end was a tack room, door ajar. He ushered me in and closed it behind us.
The space was small and private, saddles on racks, bridles hanging from hooks, blankets folded neatly. A single bulb overhead cast golden light. The moment the door clicked shut, Alexander’s control snapped.
He backed me against the wall, hands framing my face as he kissed me hard, desperate, like he’d been holding back all day. I kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers clutching his jacket, pulling him closer. The bond roared between us, amplifying every sensation until I felt drunk on him.
“I’ve been hard since the conservatory,” he growled against my mouth, hips rolling forward so I could feel the truth of it pressing against my stomach. “Your scent is everywhere. Driving me insane.”
I moaned as his teeth grazed my earlobe, then lower, nipping the mark he’d left earlier. My coat came off in a rush, then his, landing in a heap on the hay-strewn floor. His hands slid under my thermal shirt, palms hot against my chilled skin, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra.
“Alexander,” I gasped, arching into him. “Someone could come in.”
“No one will,” he rasped. “I gave the grooms the afternoon off.”
He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on a wide, blanket-draped bench used for saddle storage. My legs wrapped around his waist as he stepped between them, grinding slowly while his mouth devoured mine. I tugged his shirt free, hands roaming over the hard planes of his back, nails scraping lightly.
He broke the kiss only to yank my shirt over my head, bra following seconds later. Cool air tightened my nipples instantly, but his mouth was there, hot, wet, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. One hand cupped my breast, rolling the peak between finger and thumb, while the other worked my jeans open.
I was already soaked, aching for him. When his fingers slipped inside my panties, stroking through slick folds, we both groaned.
“So wet for me,” he murmured, voice rough with approval. Two fingers pushed inside slowly, curling to stroke that g-spot that made my vision spark. His thumb circled my clit in tight, relentless circles.
I fumbled with his belt, desperate to feel him. When I finally freed his shaft, thick, hot, pulsing in my hand, he hissed my name like a prayer. I stroked him firmly, base to tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum with my thumb.
He pulled his fingers from me, bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean while holding my gaze. The raw possessiveness in his eyes nearly undid me.
Then he was pushing my jeans and panties down just enough, lifting me slightly to align us. The blunt head of his shaft nudged my entrance, teasing, not entering.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, voice strained.
“I want you,” I breathed. “Now.”
He thrust into the hilt in one smooth stroke, stretching me perfectly, filling me so completely I saw stars. We both stilled, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
Then he began to move.
Slow, deep strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, grinding against my clit with every thrust. I clung to his shoulders, legs locked around him, meeting every plunge. The bench creaked beneath us, hay scratching softly against wood.
He sped up gradually, hips snapping harder, one hand gripping my ass to angle me exactly right. The other tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. His teeth scraped that claiming spot again and again, never breaking skin but promising.
The bond flared white-hot, pleasure echoing between us until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. Every thrust sent sparks through my blood; every growl from his chest vibrated in my bones.
I came first, hard, sudden, clenching around him as waves crashed through me. I bit his shoulder to muffle my scream, tasting salt and skin. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural roar, pulsing hot inside me as his entire body shuddered.