Page 14 of Wicked God
He uses the key to unlock the door, and we step inside. The beach house is cozy and warm, but clearly hasn’t been lived in for quite some time. But someone has been coming in and out, keeping it clean and well-maintained.
“So, is this your secret hideaway for charming unsuspecting women?” I ask. “Do you bring them here to sweep them off their feet with ocean views and childhood nostalgia?”
“You’re actually the first to cross this threshold since I was twenty. I haven’t been here in nine years. I left town, left everything behind. But I could never part with this place.” He holds up an old key. “It’s funny how a small piece of metal can represent so much of who you are.”
The first visitor in a decade. Something flutters beneath my ribs—something I refuse to examine too closely.
“I get why you loved it here. It feels like a world away from everything else, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly.” His voice drops to match the rhythm of distant waves. “I almost forgot how peaceful it is here, how the sound of the waves and the smell of saltwater can wash away all the worries of daily life.” He turns to face me. “And I want you to experience that. Make yourself at home.” Alex gestures towards the cozy living space. He walks over to the fireplace and starts a fire that crackles and pops to life, casting a warm glow over the room.
I take in my surroundings. Various trinkets and family heirlooms are scattered around the room, each one telling a story about Alex’s life and family history.
“We have someone come in regularly to keep the place clean and stocked. Please, have a seat and let me be a proper host,” Alex offers, pointing to a plush sofa facing the dancing flames.
“You and proper don’t exactly go hand in hand.”
“Darling, I can be quite proper when I want to be. Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure.” I smile. “Surprise me.”
He vanishes into the kitchen with the easy confidence of someone comfortable in his own skin. I sink into the couch cushions, watching him through the doorway—the flex of his forearms as he uncorks a bottle, the curve of his spine as he bends to retrieve glasses from a low cabinet.
Alex returns bearing two glasses of merlot, the deep red catching firelight as he offers one to me.
“Red wine as requested. Though I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for my company instead of a cat.”
I accept the glass, fingertips brushing his. “What are we celebrating?”
“Being in your presence is an occasion in itself.”
I take a slow sip, letting the wine linger on my tongue before setting the glass aside. When I rise to meet him, my palms find the solid warmth of his chest.
“I’m flattered by your high expectations, but I’m not as perfect or pure as you believe.”
He tilts his head and runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I might need some proof of that.”
“Do you think I would be here if I were? Good girls don’t follow men like you to deserted beaches.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m easy?” He hums as he gently traces circles on my back.
“No,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m calling you a tease.”
Alex catches my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses each fingertip in slow succession. The touch is intimate, almost reverent, and I can’t help imagining those lips on other, more sensitive places. Heat pools low in my belly.
Tonight isn’t about finding love or a deep emotional connection. It’s about giving in to every reckless urge I’ve denied myself for far too long.
“You promised me a tour,” I remind him, voice unsteady. “I’m still waiting.”
His eyes darken. “My mistake. What’s your preference for the grand tour? Kitchen first? Perhaps the bathroom? Or...” he pauses, voice dropping lower, “shall we skip straight to the bedroom?”
Giving in to temptation, I run my fingers along his jawline and over the rough stubble covering it. It will surely leave a mark on my sensitive skin.
Good. I want those marks. I want evidence of this night etched onto my skin.
“Let’s start with the bedroom.”
Chapter 7
