"Hey, buddy," Alder murmurs, gently petting his head. "You feeling better?"
The tenderness in his voice and the care he shows his pet stir something deep inside me. Alder might present himself as a tough hockey player, but there's a gentleness to him that continues to surprise me.
Gordon seems comfortable, already drifting back to sleep, and Alder straightens up. When he turns to face me, the gentleness is gone, replaced by something darker, more primal. His posture shifts, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening.
He's no longer the worried dog dad or the dutiful brother attending a wedding. This Alder is all predator, and I'm his chosen prey.
He steps toward me, deliberate and slow, backing me into the hallway. I retreat instinctively, pulse racing, as he leaves the bedroom door open for Gordie if needed.
"Lena," he says, my name like a declaration on his lips.
And then he moves, closing the distance between us in two long strides. Before I can react, his arms wrap aroundme, lifting me effortlessly. I gasp, my arms instinctively circling his neck as he carries me down the hall toward my bedroom.
I've never been carried like this before—like I weigh nothing like I'm precious cargo. His strength is both intimidating and thrilling, the solid muscle of his chest pressed against me as he moves purposefully through the doorway to my room.
He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, then follows me down, his body covering mine. We stare at each other for a heartbeat, the final moment of hesitation before crossing a threshold we can't uncross.
Then his mouth is on mine, and any remaining doubts evaporate. His kiss is nothing like the brief press of lips we shared in Brad's apartment. This is hungry, demanding, his tongue seeking entrance, which I readily grant.
His hands roam my body with the same urgency, mapping the curves he'd only glimpsed earlier. This is usually the part where I worry about how my body feels to my partner, but Alder has made it clear that he is deeply turned on. And that alone almost sends me over the edge.
My hands explore the broad planes of his back and the solid strength of his shoulders. His mouth travels from my lips to my jaw, then down the column of my throat, drawing a moan from deep in my chest.
"God, Lena," he murmurs against my skin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
"I think I have some idea," I manage, arching into him as his hand cups my breast through my dress.
He pulls back slightly, and I whimper at the loss of contact. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire.
"I need to tell you," he says, his voice strained. "I sent in the test kit. After Adam. Everything's healthy.”
The abrupt shift to practical matters catches me off guard, but I appreciate his honesty. "Me too," I say. "All clear."
Relief crosses his features. "Good," he says. "Still, we should use protection."
"Yes," I agree, touched by his responsibility even in this heated moment.
He rolls off me, and I make a small sound of protest. "I have condoms in the basket," he explains. "Above the fridge."
"The safe and satisfied basket?" I ask with a small smile.
He responds with a serious expression. His voice is nearly a growl when he orders, “Be naked when I get back."
The command in his voice sends a thrill through me. I've never been with someone who speaks to me this way—not demanding, exactly, but confident, expectant. It's intoxicating.
"Yes, sir," I reply, the teasing honorific feeling right on my tongue.
He groans, leaning down for one more searing kiss before striding out of the room. The moment he's gone, I sit up, reaching for the zipper of my dress with trembling fingers that suddenly quiver.
This is happening. I'm about to have sex with Alder Stag. And something tells me it’s going to ruin me for sex with anyone else.
I slip the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool around my waist before stepping out of it completely. My bra and panties follow until I'm standing naked in the soft light filtering through the curtains.
For the briefest moment, old insecurities threaten to surface— in my head, Brad's voice criticizing my body, reminding me of all the ways I don't measure up to conventional beauty standards. But I push those thoughts away, remembering the raw desire in Alder's eyes when he saw me in my underwear earlier, the way he called me sexy without hesitation or qualification.
I position myself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, feeling strangely powerful in my nakedness. I've seen glimpses of Alder's body over the weeks we've livedtogether—shirtless in the kitchen making coffee, coming in from a run in shorts that cling to his muscular thighs. But I've never seen all of him, and anticipation coils low in my belly at the thought.
I hear his footsteps in the hallway, approaching the bedroom, and my heart rate quickens another notch. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes me in, sprawled across the bed.
