POV:) Juliet Anderson

I pout, crossing my arms. "Now Sienna's going to tease me again."

Alexander chuckles, low and deep, and before I can process it, his thumb is against my lips.

A soft, teasing touch.

My breath hitches.

His thumb lingers, pressing against my lower lip, dragging down slightly as if testing the softness. My heartbeat stutters, erratic, wild.

"Poor babygirl," he murmurs, voice dark with amusement. "So easily flustered."

I swallow, forcing myself to ignore the heat curling in my stomach.

Then, as if he owns the place—because he probably does—he sits down in the guy's chair.

Legs spread. Presence overwhelming.

He doesn't even look at me when he speaks.

"Talk to me, babygirl. Not him."

A smirk tugs at my lips. "Fine, Mr. Hunk."

He cocks a brow, but he doesn't correct me.

Instead, he flags the bartender down, ordering himself a glass of whiskey.

Neat. No hesitation.

He downs it in one go. No grimace, no reaction—just pure, controlled masculinity.

Then he orders...

"Lemon juice for her."

I blink. What?

When the glass is placed in front of me, I stare at it, then him.

I laugh. "Seriously? A lemon juice? What are you, old?"

Something flickers in his gaze—something sharp, dangerous, and amused.

"I'm not old, babygirl," he says, voice deep, silky, laced with a challenge.

And then—

He moves.

Before I can react, he grabs the leg of my chair and pulls me forward.

The movement is quick, precise, dominant.

I gasp as our knees collide, my breath hitching when I realize just how close we are now.

Our legs tangled, heat radiating between us.

His fingers curl around the armrest of my chair, his grip loose but possessive, like he's reminding me he's the one in control.

"I'm just twenty-seven, babygirl." His voice is a low rasp, his breath warm against my skin.

I barely hear him.

Because my focus is on his lips.

Full, perfect, just inches from mine.

I lick my lips without thinking.

His eyes darken instantly, the amusement in them shifting into something else.

Something raw.

I watch his gaze flick down, following the movement of my tongue, and suddenly, the air between us is thick.

Charged.

Unspoken words crackle in the space between us.

He shifts slightly, his knee pressing harder against mine, his hand still curled loosely around the chair's armrest.

"Careful, Juliet," he murmurs.

My breath catches.

"Careful of what?" I whisper.

His fingers lift, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, trailing down slowly, deliberately.

The touch is soft.

But his eyes?

Ruthless.

"Careful," he repeats, his lips twitching. "Or I might start thinking you want me to kiss you again."

My stomach twists.

Do I?

Would he, if I dared him to?

I press my thighs together, pulse hammering, heat licking up my spine as I look at him.

Alexander Wolfe is playing a game.

A game of power.

A game of restraint.

And for the first time in my life, I'm terrified that if I keep playing—

I'm going to lose.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering as I force myself to hold his gaze. "And if I did?"

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Something flickers in his expression.

His fingers tighten on the armrest, just slightly.

Then—

He smirks.

Not a playful smirk.

Not a kind one.

A warning.

"You don't know what you're asking for, babygirl."

His voice is low, dark, dangerous.

I shiver.

And then, he does something that makes my stomach twist, my breath hitch—

He leans in, lips barely an inch from my ear, his breath warm as he speaks.

"If I kiss you again," he murmurs, "I won't stop this time."

My entire body stiffens.

Heat surges through me, and I clench my thighs together, trying to calm the aching, pulsing need his words ignite.

He knows what he's doing to me.

He's enjoying it.

Bastard.

I toss my purse at him. "Drop me home."

Alexander catches it with ease, raising a brow, but doesn't argue. Instead, he stands, stretching to his full height—towering, commanding.

I glance between us, the stark contrast making me bite my lip.

He's huge.

Six foot seven, all muscle and power, and here I am, barely scraping five foot four.

Poor me.

I pout, tugging at his sleeve. "Walk slower, Hulk man. I can't run in heels."

He stops mid-step, his piercing gaze flicking down at me. Then—before I can process—

He picks me up.

Effortlessly.

As if I weigh nothing.

I gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders. "What the—"

"If you were tired," he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice, "you should've just told me, babygirl."

I blink up at him, heart hammering.

He's holding me like I belong there.

Like carrying me is the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part?

It doesn't feel wrong.

It feels... safe.

Possessive.

Dangerous.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my body reacts to him.

"Stop staring, babygirl," he mutters, smirking.

I snap out of my daze, quickly looking away.

We reach his sleek black car. The door swings open with a quiet click, and he gently sets me down, his hands lingering at my waist for a second too long.

I glance between him and the open door.

Then I smirk.

"I may be a little drunk, Hulk," I tease, "but I know you're not this chivalrous."

His smirk deepens.

And then—

He leans down.

So close, I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

His scent—dark, rich, intoxicating—wraps around me, making me dizzy.

"Not for others," he murmurs. "But for you, babygirl?"

His lips ghost over my ear.

"Yes."

My breath catches.

My fingers tighten on my dress.

I can't look away.

He's a predator.

I'm his prey.

And we both know it.

I force myself to smirk, tapping his cheek playfully, though my hand trembles against his skin.

"Driver," I whisper, my voice betraying me. "Come fast and drop me home."

His bodyguard's eyes widen slightly, as if no one's ever spoken to Alexander like that before.

But Alexander?

He just laughs.

Low. Deep. Sinister.

He shuts the door, strides around the car, and slides into the driver's seat himself.

"Tell me the address, babygirl."

I sigh, giving it to him as I lean back in the seat. My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.

Sienna: Message me when you get home. Also... I'm going home with this sweet, cute guy I met. Wish me luck!

I smirk, sending her a thumbs-up emoji before locking my phone.

Soon, we pull up in front of my building.

I turn to Alexander, tilting my head. "Do you want to come inside?"

His jaw tenses slightly, his fingers gripping the steering wheel.

"No, babygirl. Not when you're drunk."

His voice is firm.

Final.

I shrug, pushing open the car door. "Suit yourself."

Stepping out, I sway slightly but regain my balance, making my way inside.

My apartment is quiet.

Too quiet.

Just me... and the lonely pizza sitting in my fridge.

I sigh, kicking off my heels and heading to my bedroom.

Then—

Ding.

The doorbell.

I freeze.

Slowly, I make my way to the door, my heart thudding.

I check the security camera—

And there he is.

Alexander Wolfe, standing outside my door, holding up my purse toward the camera.

I smile despite myself and open the door.

"Thanks," I say, taking it from him.

But he doesn't leave.

Instead, his sharp gaze flickers behind me, scanning my apartment.

Then—

"You live here alone?"

I hesitate.

I don't know why, but something about the way he asks makes my skin prickle.

Still, I nod. "Yeah, I do."

A slow smirk spreads across my lips. "Why? You planning to kidnap me, Mafia Boss?"

Alexander chuckles, but there's no amusement in his eyes.

He steps closer—so close that I feel the heat radiating off his body.

Then—

Tap.

He lightly taps my forehead with his fingers.

"If I wanted to take you, Juliet," he murmurs, voice dark, "you wouldn't see it coming."

A shiver runs down my spine.

I don't know if it's fear...

Or excitement.

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammers. "Well, if you're not kidnapping me, do you want coffee?"

For a moment, he just looks at me.

Like he's debating something.

Then—

He steps inside.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And suddenly, my apartment feels smaller.

Tighter.

Like the walls are closing in—

Or maybe it's just him.

"Sit," I tell him, pointing at the couch.

Alexander smirks but obeys, his large frame sinking into the cushions.

I head to my bedroom, slipping into an oversized t-shirt and shorts before making my way to the kitchen. The warm scent of lemon fills the air as I prepare tea—strong, soothing, exactly what he needs after all that whiskey.

I return to the living room, setting the cups on the table and turning on the TV.

He picks up the cup, eyeing it like it's poison. "This is tea, not coffee, babygirl."

I roll my eyes. "Of course, dumb Hulk. It helps with hangovers. Your head won't hurt tomorrow. Try it."

He snorts, swirling the liquid. Then—he lifts his gaze to mine, sharp and assessing.

"First, you try it."

I blink. "What?"

His expression is unreadable. "What if you mixed something into it?"

For a second, I just stare at him.

Then—I burst into laughter.

"Oh my god," I say between giggles. "You really think I'd drug you?"

His smirk is lazy, teasing. But there's something dark lurking beneath it. "Can't be too careful, babygirl."

I huff, crossing my arms. "Please. If I wanted to do something to you, I'd just seduce you and make you my slave instead."

I flick my hair dramatically for effect.

Alexander's eyes darken.

My breath catches.

Something about the way he's looking at me now—like I've just challenged him—sends a sharp thrill down my spine.

Dangerous.

Hungry.

Like he's already imagining how he'd punish me for that statement.

"Careful what you say, Juliet," he murmurs, voice low. "You might get exactly what you ask for."

A shiver runs down my spine, but I ignore it, grabbing the remote and pressing play.

Beauty and the Beast fills the screen.

Alexander raises a brow. "This puts you to sleep?"

I shrug. "It's comforting."

His gaze flickers to the screen, then back to me.

A slow smirk stretches across his lips.

"Interesting choice."

I frown. "Why?"

He leans in.

So close that I catch his scent—dark spice, expensive whiskey, and something unmistakably him.

Then—

His lips brush against my ear.

His voice is nothing but a whisper.

"You always fall for the beast, don't you, babygirl?"

My stomach clenches.

My fingers dig into my thighs.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat curling low in my belly.

Because the worst part?

He's not wrong.

The movie had blurred into the background, the warmth of Alexander's body beside me too comfortable.

I don't remember when my eyes fluttered shut, only that I leaned into him.

And now—

I wake up in my bed.

I blink, confusion washing over me.

How...?

I sit up, running a hand through my hair. Did he—?

A voice cuts through the quiet.

Low. Deep.

Him.

I swing my legs off the bed, my heart pounding as I follow the sound.

And then I see him.

Standing in my kitchen.

Shirtless.

Alexander Wolfe.

Tattooed. Muscled. Dominating the space as if it's his.

A spatula in one hand, a pan sizzling on the stove.

He looks up, catching my stunned expression—then smirks.

"Like what's yours?"

I freeze.

His words sink in.

Like what's mine?

I blush. Hard.

And then I panic.

Because wait a damn minute.

He just said it—so effortlessly, so casually—like it's a fact.

Like I'm already his.

I spin on my heel, practically running back to my bedroom.

My heart is hammering.

My face is burning.

What the hell is happening to me?

I slam my bedroom door shut, pressing my back against it.

My pulse is racing. My hands are shaking.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It's just breakfast.

It's just him—standing there, shirtless, cooking, claiming things that don't belong to him.

Like what's yours?

His voice plays in my head again, sending a shiver down my spine.

I exhale sharply, moving to my closet. I need to change. I need to act normal.

Like I'm not affected.

Like my skin isn't still tingling from where I leaned against him last night.

I grab a sweater and shorts, throwing them on quickly before pulling my hair into a messy bun.

By the time I step back into the kitchen, Alexander is already seated at the small dining table, looking completely at home.

He glances up, his dark eyes dragging over me—slow, lazy, intentional.

"Better," he murmurs, smirking.

I frown, confused. "What?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. His gaze flicks to my bare thighs, then back up to my face.

"You looked too innocent in that oversized shirt, babygirl. Like you just woke up from a dream."

My stomach clenches.

Because I had woken up from a dream.

One where his voice was still in my ear.

Where his hands were still on my waist.

Where I could still feel the weight of his presence in my bed.

I clear my throat, pulling my chair out and sitting down. "I didn't ask you to stay," I say, reaching for my plate.

"I didn't ask for permission."

His voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that I freeze mid-bite.

He isn't playing by normal rules.

He isn't normal.

And the worst part?

I don't want him to be.

I put my fork down, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

"Alexander," I say slowly. "Why are you still here?"

He tilts his head, amused. "You invited me for coffee. I decided to stay for breakfast."

"That's not an answer."

His smirk fades slightly. Something shifts in his gaze.

And then—

He gets up.

Moves toward me.

Too close.

Towering over me, trapping me in the space between the table and his body.

I can feel the warmth radiating from him. The scent of him—spice, leather, control—wraps around me like a noose.

He leans down, placing a hand on the back of my chair, his lips inches from my ear.

"You're right," he murmurs. "It's not an answer."

Then, before I can move—

Before I can even breathe—

His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up.

And then he kisses me.

Deep. Slow.

A warning—

Or a claim.

My breath shudders. My body betrays me, melting into the kiss even as my mind screams to pull away.

But he doesn't let me.

Not yet.

His other hand slides into my hair, controlling the angle, deepening the kiss—his lips owning mine, his tongue sliding against my own in a way that makes my stomach coil tight with heat.

By the time he pulls away, I'm shaking.

His thumb brushes against my swollen lips, his voice husky.

"Now ask me again why I'm still here."

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