Alexander
Three months had already passed since I married Evelyn Martinez . The girl who once threatened to burn down my penthouse just to get on my nerves.
And now she occupies every quiet corner of my life without even trying.
Aside from her occasional things between us had stabilized. We had our rhythm. Mornings were filled with her half-asleep grumbling during drives to college. Evenings were usually quiet.
Still, I had a business trip to Boston coming up one that I couldn't avoid.
And leaving her alone in that secluded penthouse was not an option.
So I told her, "You're coming with me."
She didn't argue. Just gave a small nod and said, "Okay," as if she'd been waiting for an excuse to escape the house anyway. Her exams were over, and lately she'd been restless wandering the halls like a bird that forgot why it stopped flying.
We left the next morning.
The flight was uneventful, save for the few times she peeked out the window and whispered how the clouds looked like cotton candy.
I pretended not to smile.
By the time we landed in Boston, the sun had already dipped below the skyline.
Traffic was a nightmare, and both of us were silent during the drive to the hotel.
It was a luxury place. of course it was. I didn't travel for work without my standards.
As we stepped into the marble-floored lobby, Evelyn's eyes lit up for a moment , curious, but then dulled just as quickly when she remembered this wasn't a vacation.
Just another boardroom week for her husband.
I took her straight to her room, a suite with every modern comfort imaginable. As she stepped in, I watched her quietly take in the space .She was mesmerized by the city view that spilled golden reflections into the room.
"You should rest," I said. "We had a long day."
She nodded, kicking off her shoes without saying much.
"I need to sort out a few things with the team downstairs," I added. "Room service is available if you're hungry."
She sat on the edge of the bed, nodded again.
I stood at the door for another moment, watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
And then I left.
After finishing up the meeting with the local team and settling the schedule for the next two days, I returned to the hotel.
Technically, our room.
I hadn't booked separate rooms because I know if someone from the media caught wind of my "separate accommodations" despite being newly married then rumours would start to spiral. That Evelyn and I were in a contract marriage. That I was secretly seeing someone else etc etc. So one suit and no space for gossip.
Just clean arrangements.
At least, that was the plan.
But the moment I unlocked the door and stepped inside, any semblance of peace or order in my mind disappeared.
She was standing near the bed, towel wrapped around her body, hair dripping wet, eyes half-focused as she ran her fingers through the damp strands.
Damn it. The image I had previously seen more than once and perhaps saw more than that.
Her back was to me exposing her bare shoulders, the delicate curve of her neck, the small droplets of water sliding slowly down her spine.
She looked like every dangerous thought I tried to push out of my head.
Every restrained urge I had been fighting since day one.
And she was my wife.
My eyes dragged over her unconsciously, taking in the fragile line of her waist, the softness of her thighs barely hidden beneath the towel, her legs still glistening from the shower.
She turned slightly, not startled, just casually acknowledging me with that quiet, unaware confidence she carried. Like she had no idea what she was doing to me.
God. She was beautiful.
Painfully so.
And the worst part?
I felt like a lunatic for it.
Because it wasn't lust from a distance, or admiration for some stranger at a party.
It was hunger.
Sharp and immediate.
And it was for my own wife.
The woman who still sometimes flinched when I raised my voice.
The woman I wasn't supposed to want this badly.
But there I was frozen in the doorway, every damn civilized part of me losing its voice, while the most primitive part whispered:
Touch her.
I dragged my eyes away, cleared my throat,
"I told you about the towel thing, didn't I?"
She smirked slightly, not looking back. "Then knock next time."
I shut the door behind me and rubbed a hand over my face.
God help me.
This trip was going to kill me.
She kept drying her hair with that towel, her voice maddeningly casual.
"I know you're not attracted to me," she said. "I mean I get it. I'm young, and well, you could have literally any woman in the world. Supermodels. Heiresses. Actresses. So, I'm not worried. I'm not exactly your type."
She said it like it was a fact.
And I stood there, completely frozen.
She didn't know how every single time I saw her like this bare skin, damp hair, that damn towel clinging to her curves I was two seconds away from losing every ounce of restraint I'd built over the last three months.
She didn't know how badly I wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and kiss her until she forgot her own name.
She didn't know how laid awake at night first time I saw her like that .
She thought I wasn't attracted to her.
But the truth was far worse.
I was attracted to her.
Painfully. Obsessively.
To the point it made me feel disgusting.
Like some beast caged in a suit and tie, pretending to be civilized while fire burned under his skin.
And I hated myself for it.
She was fragile. Sharp-tongued and strong, yes, but still so young. Still trying to hold together the shambles of her life.
And I was supposed to protect her not lust after her like some starved animal.
I needed to get a grip.
I needed to stop thinking about how soft her skin looked.
Or how she unknowingly made me unravel without even trying.
I turned away without saying a word and went straight to the bathroom.
The moment the door shut behind me, I gripped the counter, breathing hard.
Cold shower. Just take a cold shower. That'll help.
I turned the water on and stepped under the stream, letting it hit me like punishment.
Because I wasn't just burning with want
I was burning with guilt.
And the worst part?
Even the freezing water couldn't put out the fire.
I leaned forward, bracing my arms against the wall, trying to breathe through the fire. She had no idea how close I was to losing all control.
And then I looked down at myself , hard, aching, and completely consumed by the image of her standing in that towel.
Damn it.
I shut my eyes tightly and cursed under my breath. I hated this part of myself the part that couldn't think straight around her,
But tonight, there was no other way to make it stop.
I let my other hand move lower, as if it had a mind of it's own.
There was no romance in it. Just raw, unbearable need. My body moved with memory of the way she looked at me when she was angry, when she was just standing there completely unaware of how much she haunted me.
Each thought added fuel to the fire.
Each stroke burned with everything I couldn't say, couldn't do.
Her name stayed locked behind my teeth, my jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack.
I finished faster than I'd like to admit, breath hitching, muscles tense, frustration laced in every part of me. Not just from desire, but from the fact that even now after all of that I still wanted more. Still wanted her.
But she wasn't mine in that way.
Not yet.
I finished and stood there, still panting, forehead pressed to the cold tiles.
There was no satisfaction. No relief. Just shame coiled deep in my gut.
I was a man who built empires with ruthless focus and control.
But one girl had reduced me to a trembling mess behind a closed door.
And the worst part?
I didn't even blame her.
I blamed myself for wanting her more than I ever should.