DASHIELL
My heart was racing so hard in my chest that I was finding it hard to breathe, and then you add the fact that Alexander was kissing me so fiercely and fast it felt like he wanted to deprive me of air. His hand curled possessively around my neck, fingers firm but not quite choking, just tight enough to remind me who was in control. He walked me backward with every step, lips bruising mine, tongue pushing in deep, licking into every corner of my mouth like he was claiming territory. My calves hit the edge of the bed and I stumbled, but he didn't let me fall, he just kept coming, mouth never leaving mine, body crowding mine until my back pressed against the mattress.
"S…" I tried to say something, anything but it was literally impossible. His tongue was everywhere, stroking mine, tasting me like I was something he'd been starving for. I pushed against his chest with both hands, not hard, just enough to try and make space, but instead he kissed deeper, growling low in his throat, hand tightening around my neck until my pulse hammered against his palm.
For one awful, dizzying moment I remembered what Sari and Leo had said about him being diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder with strong psychopathic features.
And here he was, devouring me like I was food, like I was his.
Panic spiked sharp and bright.
I shoved harder this time, firmer, my palms flat against the solid wall of his chest.
He stopped just like that and took one deliberate step back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound that echoed in the quiet room.
My lips pulsed, swollen and tingling, wet from his mouth. I dragged in a shaky breath, then another, staring up at him.
His black eyes, truly black, not dark brown pretending to be black and they were locked on mine. They looked glassy now, heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with something raw and hungry. Lust. Pure, unfiltered lust. No softness or hesitation. Just that cold, predatory gleam that made butterflies explode in my stomach and my knees feel like they might give out.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he'd just noticed had an extra piece.
"Too much?" he asked, voice low and rough, almost amused.
I swallowed. My throat felt raw. "I… I just want you to slow down a little. I couldn't breathe."
For one awful second I braced for anger, or mockery, or God forbid, him walking out like I'd failed some test.
Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a full smile—just that sharp, dangerous curve that made heat pool low in my belly.
"Okay," he said simply. "I'll be slow."
Just like that. No argument or eye-roll. No "you're ruining the mood." He said it like it was a fact he was now adjusting to, and somehow that made it hotter.
I stood there, frozen, chest still heaving, not knowing what came next.
The thing was… I had never done this before.
At twenty-five, I knew I probably should have. Everyone else had stories, experiences, casual hookups in college or awkward first times. I had… nothing. Sensory issues, routine obsession, the way loud bars and crowded parties made my skin crawl, the way even the idea of someone touching me without clear warning felt like static under my nails. I'd never found anyone patient enough, or safe enough, or direct enough.
And now the first person who was all three of those things was staring at me like he was about to eat me alive, and I had no idea how to tell him I was a virgin without sounding pathetic.
He watched me for another long beat, then arched one perfect brow.
"Take off your clothes."
The command snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts like a rubber band.
I blinked up at him.
He waited, patient and expectant. That arrogant brow still raised.
I opened my mouth and closed it, warmth flooded my face again.
He stepped closer not touching, just crowding and his voice dropped even lower.
"Wasn't it part of your rule that you wanted clear communication before any physical contact? Verbal narration?"
My breath hitched. "I…yes, but not like… narrate-narrate. I just meant…."
I stopped myself short.
Because the truth was, I didn't mind him telling me what to do. At all.
In fact… I liked it. A lot.
The structure. The predictability. Knowing exactly what was coming next so my brain didn't have to guess or panic or overload. It felt safe. It felt good. Like someone finally understood how my head worked without me having to explain it a hundred times.
Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly, like he'd caught the shift in my expression.
"Say it," he ordered softly.
I licked my swollen lips. "I… like when you tell me what to do. It helps. I know what's happening. No surprises."
Something flickered in those black eyes, maybe satisfaction. He didn't comment on it. He just nodded once.
"Then listen carefully."
He reached out, slow enough that I could track every movement and hooked one finger under the collar of my shirt, tugging lightly.
"Arms up."
I raised them without thinking.
He pulled the shirt over my head in one smooth motion, cool air hitting my skin instantly. Goosebumps raced down my arms, my chest.
"Pants. Unbutton. Slide them down and your underwear too. Slowly."
My fingers shook as I obeyed. The button popped open. Zipper rasped down. I pushed the fabric over my hips, let it pool at my ankles, then stepped out, my briefs followed and I put them aside.
And I stood completely naked in front of him.
He didn't rush or grab me. He Just stared.
His gaze dragged over me, clinical at first, then slower, hungrier. Lingering on my throat, my nipples (already peaked from nerves and chill), the flush spreading down my chest, my cock (hard and leaking against my stomach), my thighs trembling just slightly.
"Beautiful," he said, and this time his voice didn't sound flat or monotone.
My stomach flipped anyway.
He stepped closer again. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him through his still-buttoned shirt.
"Hands behind your back. Hold your wrists."
I did.
"Good."
He circled me once, slowly, predatory then stopped behind me. I felt his breath on my neck.
"I'm going to touch you now. Chest first. Then lower. If anything feels wrong, your word. Say it."
"Stop," I whispered, testing the shape of it. Just to know it was there.
He paused instantly. He didn't move or speak, just waited.
The obedience, instant, absolute, made something inside me unclench.
"I'm okay," I breathed. "Keep going."
His hands settled on my waist, warm, firm. Thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above my hips. Then slid upward, palms flat against my ribs, thumbs grazing my nipples.
"Ughh," I gasped.
He pinched them lightly at first, then harder. A jolt of pleasure-pain shot straight to my cock.
"Sensitive here," he observed, almost to himself.
I nodded frantically.
One hand slid down my stomach, fingers trailing fire. Lower and lower.
He wrapped his hand around my length, and made a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip.
My knees buckled.
He caught me with an arm around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest.
"Easy," he murmured against my ear. "Breathe."
I tried but I couldn't really do that.
He stroked again, firmer this time. Thumb circling the head, spreading the precum.
"You're dripping already," he said, voice rougher now. "You like being told what to do."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I whimpered.
He pressed a kiss, surprisingly soft to the side of my neck.
"Then get on the bed, on your back. Legs spread. Show me."
I moved before my brain could catch up. I climbed onto the mattress, lay back, and spread my thighs wide.
He stood at the foot of the bed, still fully dressed, watching me like I was his favorite exhibit.
"Touch yourself," he ordered. "Slow. Show me how you like it."
My hand wrapped around myself. I stroked, tentative at first, then bolder, eyes locked on his.
His jaw ticked. His shirt was still on, his belt still buckled. But the front of his trousers strained obscenely.
"Stop," he said suddenly.
I froze, hand still wrapped around my cock.
He climbed onto the bed, slow and controlled, until he was looming over me.
"Hands above your head again."
I obeyed and he leaned down, mouth brushing my ear.
"I'm going to fuck you now. Fast and deep. You'll feel every inch. And you're going to keep your eyes on me the whole time."
My breath shuddered out.
"Yes."
He smiled, a sharp, wicked curve.
"Good boy."
Then he reached for the lube on the nightstand.