X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes (Royals Saga)

by Geneva Lee

  “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself,” she snaps.

  “That was before,” I say. How do I ask her to change and stay the same? How do I help her see that choosing me was dangerous? That she has to think more than she did before? “You made a choice, Clara, and when you did that, I assumed the responsibility of taking care of you.”

  Her answering glare tells me that I’m not making my point terribly well. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

  “No, you didn’t. But you chose to come into my bed. You chose to stand by my side this evening.” Can’t she see what that means? Her life isn’t hers anymore. She belongs to the paparazzi and the people and the world now—and they will all want a piece of her.

  She recoils, shaking her head. “Yeah, but we’re not married or anything—”

  “What message do you think it sends for me to bring a date to my father’s birthday?” I stop her.

  Her words fall away, leaving her mouth hanging open as she processes this. I’m as surprised as she is by what I’ve said, but I do my best not to show it.

  Is that where this is going? Is that what I want? One look at her, and I know I don’t want it. Not because I don’t want her. I suspect I’ll always crave Clara Bishop. Because I don’t want her to live this life.

  “We barely know each other.”

  “That might be true,” I admit, “but we’ve been linked publicly, and after those texts were published today, people are going to make assumptions.”

  She needs to know what she’s getting into. I thought I’d made that clear before. Now, I’m no longer certain.

  “What kind of assumptions?” she explodes. “I really don’t give a fuck what people who read TMI think of me!”

  I study her for a moment, wondering if I can tell her a pretty lie instead of the ugly truth. I stand a better shot of keeping her if I do, but I can’t. She needs to know, even if it means losing her. “It won’t just be TMI’s leak for long. There will be more legitimate news sources reporting on it. I live in the public eye, Clara.”

  “Why?” she asks bluntly. “Why did you bring me tonight? You knew that assumptions would be made. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been caught with your pants down. Why give them more to gossip about?”

  So much depends on my answer. This is my chance to lie. To tell her that I hadn’t considered it and we needed to end things. Or to tell her that she’s reading too much into this evening and let her believe that I’m an overprotective wanker.

  Instead, the truth spills out.“Because I want to protect you. I need to protect you. I can’t explain it, because I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s a compulsion.”

  And it’s not enough. I will never be enough to protect her from this life. I will never give her enough to make up for what they’re going to take from her. There’s not enough of me to be what she deserves, and I know it.

  “Compulsions generally aren’t healthy,” she whispers, the challenge gone from her voice. I find comfort there now.

  And even knowing all the ways I’ll fail her, I know now that it’s too late. She’s mine to watch over. It doesn’t matter if I do it with her in my arms or from a distance. I will always protect her. I brush a finger along her delicate cheek, marveling at the sheer wonder of everything she is to me. “This compulsion is. You can push me away, Clara, and I’ll still devote myself to protecting you.”

  How can one person make you feel alive at the same time that they torment you? How can someone fill a void that never existed before you met them? How can she be the answer to every question I’ve never asked?

  Clara stares into my eyes like she’s trying to read my thoughts, and before I can wonder what she’s thinking, my mouth finds hers. She collides into me with a force that leaves no room for more questions. I become something primal. I’m no longer a man frozen in contemplation. I am in motion. I want. I take. I lift her off her feet, and we slam against the wall. I need more of her, so I take it. Turning, I press her body against the brick and capture her tongue. I taste her, but it’s not enough. Setting her on her feet, I kneel and shove her skirt to her hips.

  This is where I belong: kneeling before her, giving her pleasure, earning her.

  “Spread your legs, poppet.” I kiss her soft thighs, already breathing in her scent. Holding her to the wall, I continue my devotions until her fingers grab hold of my hair.

  “I’m going to fuck you with my mouth, and I want to hear you come. I want you to let go,” I order. It’s met with a pleading whimper. I love the little sounds she makes—the anticipation in each one. I love the ones she makes when she comes even more, though. I push her legs apart, wanting more and taking more with each stroke of my tongue. Her body stills, tightening, and I know she’s at the edge. I close my mouth over her clit and suck it until it throbs.

  She’s speaking, but I can’t hear her. There’s only one thing that matters. I pin her against the wall harder and continue to pleasure her. Stroking. Sucking. Thrusting. I’ve found my calling—the reason that I exist—and it’s here between her legs.

  Her release is violent. It overpowers her. My hand anchors her. My tongue centers her. For one moment, I am her whole world, too.

  As the tremors fade, I become aware of myself again—or, at least, the painful hardness of my cock. I need her naked. Now. Standing, I take her handbag and find the keys. Clara slumps against the wall while I unlock her flat. Kicking the door open, I lift her into my arms. We make it as far as the kitchen counter.

  I lay her across it as I unbuckle my belt then my trousers. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  “Wait.”

  I have her for the rest of the night, so I’m able to pause.

  She scoots off the counter and reaches for her zipper. A moment later, her dress flutters to the ground and pools at her feet. Clara sinks her teeth into her lower lip as she stands before me naked, offering herself to me. I take her again, lifting her into my arms and carrying her to the wall. Her legs circle me as she bucks against my groin. She pushes down my pants, and I step carefully out of them, my cock already pushing against her soaked sex.

  “Slowly,” I remind her as I nudge her entrance. “Now, poppet.”

  She does as she’s told, sinking onto my shaft with teasing slowness until she’s skewered. As soon as she’s taken all of me, she thrusts her hips like she’s hitting a power button.

  I force myself not to laugh at her impatience. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She grabs hold of my hair and pulls. “I thought you liked that.”

  I stare at her, trying to be sure I’m hearing her right. I can’t be. She’s been clear on her boundaries. But it’s there on her face: an invitation to cross them.

  She has no idea what she’s dangling in front of me or how dangerous her offer really is.

  “Tread carefully, Clara.” I can’t take it. No matter how much I want to. Pressing my forehead against hers, I close my eyes to her momentary lapse in judgment.

  I don’t need the pain or the control—not if I can have her. I’ll make it work. She deserves that much. I kiss her softly, not daring to open my eyes before I move inside her. “This is enough.”

  Finally, I chance a peek. Ecstasy soaks her features, and I smile. She’s enough.

  But worry clouds her eyes, and I know what she’s doing. I know what she’s wondering. I never should have asked her to submit to me. Will that request always linger between us?

  “Clara,” I saw in a low voice, “stop thinking.”

  “I—”

  I kiss her before she can finish the thought. “Be with me. Feel me.”

  I shift against her, pushing deeper inside her body. It’s an effective distraction for both of us. Clara’s face goes blank, even as I feel her swell over my cock. A throaty cry escapes her lips and becomes my name. “Alexander!”

  It pushes me over the edge, and I release into her, savoring each surge. I may never get enough of Clara Bishop, but that won’t stop me from giving
her everything I can.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clara sags against me, boneless and spent. I make no effort to break our bonded bodies. I’m still too anxious to release her in any way after her disappearance from the party—even physically. She’s barely hanging on, so I turn to carry her to the bedroom. I step into the hall and realize I have no idea which room is hers. I’ve never been farther than her kitchen.

  “Right,” she says so softly I barely hear her.

  Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. A window overlooks the street below, but at eye level, I can see only the outline of trees cast by street lamps. There’s a bookshelf, half-filled with novels, and a few boxes shoved against the wall. In the morning, I’ll investigate further, discover more about Clara’s life. Tonight? I just want to hold her.

  Her eyes open sleepily when I lay her across the bed. She watches me with drooping eyelids as I strip off my tuxedo shirt and crawl into bed next to her. It’s smaller than the hotel bed we’ve shared, but there’s enough room for me to wrap my body around hers. The only space I leave is enough room to stare into her beautiful face.

  Now that she can’t run, it’s time to face what happened. “About the party—”

  A hand slides free from my arms, and Clara holds up her palm to stop me. “Don’t worry about it. We both knew they weren’t going to like me.”

  “They shouldn’t have been so rude.” She shouldn’t forgive them this easily. Dismissing their behavior won’t earn her any points with my family. It will only prove to them that they can bully her into silence. And if they can do that, they can bully her into disappearing entirely.

  She bites her lip as if searching for a way to refute this. Instead, she says, “Edward was nice.”

  If only that mattered. I love my brother. I wish I could tell her that he’ll stand with us, but he’s got his own reasons for not rocking the boat. She needs to understand that he’s only an ally to a point. “Yeah. Edward understands what it’s like to be an outsider…”

  I stop myself before I can betray his trust. Edward might not be her knight in shining armor, but it’s not my place to share his secrets. Although, I know Clara won’t care that he’s gay or share his secret. Her silence suggests she understands that. I want to tell her to be his friend. I want to hope for that. But I don’t know what that means. For her. For us. For me.

  There’s only one truth I’m certain of, and it’s somehow the most unexpected realization of all.

  This is the only place I want to be: here, holding her, ignoring the outside world. In this moment, I would choose her above everyone else. I would give up everything I am to be the man that gets to go to bed with her at night.

  But for how long can I pretend that’s possible? How long before someone in my family finds the right button to push? The one that makes her see I’m not worth the trouble? How long before my father sends me away from London and her on the premise of fulfilling my duty? How long before she realizes that a prince doesn’t actually mean a happily-ever-after?

  “I’m home safe, and you’ve damn near screwed me to sleep,” she says after the silence extends to a breaking point. “You should go back to your father’s party.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the party.” I don’t want to go back to that life.

  “X, it’s your father’s birthday.”

  I suppose it’s normal to see a family event as an obligation. Most people don’t think of them as torture sessions. Of course, most people don’t have national celebrations of their birth. “Exactly, and he has hundreds of people there to kiss his ass. He won’t even miss me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  I shake my head. She’s still thinking like a normal person. That’s going to have to change. “You’re right. He might miss me if he needs someone to yell at.”

  “I’m just going to go to bed.” She stretches, her soft body lengthening in my arms and yawns.

  Does she really want me to go? Is that why she’s pushing me to go back to the party? I prop myself up and study her for a moment before kissing her shoulder. Maybe she’s saying what she thinks I need to hear. It’s time I make it impossible for her to push me away. “I want to go to bed with you. Earlier wasn’t enough for me. I have things to do to your body.”

  “This body” —she yawns again— “needs to rest. I have no idea how you’ve got that much stamina. It shouldn’t be physically possible.”

  Or maybe, she’s had a long, emotionally draining day, and I’m a wanker. What would a boyfriend do? I catch her trying to hide another yawn. “We can sleep.”

  “You want to sleep here?” The question lurches out of her like she doesn’t know what she’s asking.

  Maybe that’s not what a boyfriend would do. I might have to resort to asking for pointers on this relationship thing if I’m going to get everything wrong. “Is that not okay?”

  “Sure. Of course, it’s okay,” she says a little too quickly, rolling over so I can’t see her face. I gather her against me, breathing her in, and wonder if she means it.

  She’s definitely putting up with me. I’ll take what I can get, but I’m going to have to ask someone how to handle moments like this. If only I knew a single person with a normal relationship.

  “Alexander,” she says, drawing my attention back to her. “Earlier when you said you didn’t want to hurt me…”

  Of all the topics I thought might come up, I didn’t expect it to be this one, especially not twice in one night.

  “I had my reasons for saying no before,” she continues, “but—”

  “There’s nothing more to say, Clara. You don’t owe me,” I stop her. “I don’t need that.”

  I can’t ask it of her. I won’t take the one thing she begged me to leave her. Not when being with me leaves her at risk of losing everything else.

  “What do you need then?” There’s frustration in her voice. Maybe I’m not the only one wondering how to make this work.

  Somehow that thought gives me hope. I’d rather be muddling through this together than fucking it up all on my own.

  “You,” I tell her, meaning it. “Sleep, poppet. All I need is you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Where am I?

  It’s the first thought that filters into my brain. The answer doesn’t come. Only heat. The smell of gasoline.

  Pain.

  Unbelievable pain.

  I look down to discover my shirt is torn, stained with blood, under it, something white poking out of my side.

  My rib.

  “Fuck! Alex!” Jonathan’s voice cuts through the air. “Alex! Your sister! Fuck! Your sister!”

  Sirens cut through the night air as a camera flash goes off. The light illuminates the scene, and I see Sarah, her hair plastered to her forehead, her legs bent at an unnatural angle to the side.

  “Sarah!” Blood gurgles up my throat, and I choke on her name. I try to claw my way across the slick pavement, fumes making it difficult to breathe. No, it’s something more than that. More pain—like my body is trying to collapse in on itself. I try to push past it. “Sarah!”

  Another camera flash goes off. Another. The cameras are everywhere. I can’t help feeling like we’re driving into an Austen novel as we approach the antique, wrought-iron gates. One of the leeches with the camera bends to help me, camera still in hand, and I swing instinctively.

  “Alexander, wake up!”

  I want to. God, I fucking want to wake up, but this nightmare is real. This is happening. Sarah won’t move. I can’t tell if she’s breathing.

  Suddenly, I’m all alone with her in an empty street. There’s no car. No paparazzi. Just me and my baby sister. I lift her head, wondering if I should do CPR. Something hot and sticky coats my hand. Blood.

  This can’t be happening. I close my eyes. Night becomes day.

  When I open them, I’m staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. I breathe in shallow pants, waiting for the searing pain to catch up with my waking brain. It doesn’t come.
Glimpses of the night before flash through my mind. The party. Arguments. A red rose.

  Her.

  The bed is empty. I turn instinctively to find her. She’s staring at me, arms clutching her stomach. “Clara?”

  She makes no move toward me, and that’s when I realize one palm is rubbing her stomach. Her eyes are wary, alert—too alert for someone who was asleep until moments ago.

  “Oh god,” I murmur. “What did I do?”

  I can only think of reaching her. Swinging my legs out of bed, I’m out of it and on my way to her with the trained response years of military service drilled into me. But Clara backs away, still watching me with wide, doe eyes. I stop, finally understanding what’s happened. “I hurt you.”

  She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. I shift direction towards the clothes I’d left on her floor. I’d known this would happen. Years of restraint and one night upends it all. Why did I think it would be different? How many times had my buddy Brex woken me in the barracks in the middle of a nightmare? Every time he’d been ready, fists up, trained to expect my violent, subconscious reaction.

  Clara didn’t stand a chance. She still doesn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, buckling my pants. I tug on my shoes. “I warned you. I’m so, so sorry.”

  She still hasn’t spoken by the time I reach the door.

  “What were you dreaming about?” Her soft voice asks behind me.

  No. I won’t burden her with any more of my crosses. I spin to her, shaking my head. “I won’t ask you to carry my demons, Clara.”

  She finally moves, but instead of backing away again, she walks toward me with gentle eyes. I see the forgiveness in them, and I hate the hope that springs in my chest.

  “Maybe you could just let me hold them for a while,” she says.

  “It’s too ugly for you. You’re beautiful, pure—”