ALEXANDER
Jealous.
The word settled through me with startling certainty.
Not because it amused me but because it answered the question I'd spent months wondering about.
Dashiell's world had always been orderly.
People occupied places within it according to logic rather than impulse.
I had wondered, more than once, whether I occupied that space because I was his husband… or simply because I was another certainty his mind had accepted.
Now I knew.
His jealousy wasn't loud. It wasn't the possessive performance most people understood.
It was quieter and more honest. Someone had looked at me, and for the first time his instinct had objected.
*Mine.*
The thought came with astonishing ease.
There was no world in which my existence could rearrange itself around someone else.
Not when every corner of it already belonged to the man currently sitting between my knees, damp hair still clinging to his neck, cheeks faintly flushed from admitting something he hadn't fully understood until tonight.
I had allowed Bianca to stay for one reason only: to watch what it would do to him.
She was irrelevant. A temporary presence. A useful catalyst and nothing more. My attention had never left the quiet, brilliant creature who had just confessed that another person's eyes on me had unsettled him.
Without another word I slipped one arm behind his knees and the other around his back. He made a small sound of surprise.
"Alexander…."
I let myself fall backward onto the mattress, taking him with me. He landed sprawled across my chest with another startled breath, one hand catching instinctively at my shoulder. His damp hair spilled over both of us in dark waves.
Better.
Much better.
I wrapped both arms around him until there wasn't the smallest space left between us.
He blinked down at me.
"…What are you doing?"
"Holding my husband."
"You were already doing that."
"Not sufficiently."
His eyebrows drew together in that familiar little frown that always made him look as though he were trying to solve an equation.
"I don't think that's measurable."
"It is."
"How?"
"There are degrees." I tightened my arms just enough for him to feel the difference. "This is an improvement."
He stared at me for several thoughtful seconds then his fingers absently straightened the collar of my shirt, smoothing a crease that didn't need smoothing.
"I didn't know I was jealous," he admitted quietly.
"I know."
"I thought I was just… irritated."
He rested his forehead lightly against mine.
"I don't like discovering new emotions."
"I like discovering new things about you."
A faint sigh escaped him. "Of course you do."
My hand drifted slowly through his hair, untangling a strand that had caught against his shoulder.
There wasn't another place in the world I wanted to be.
Hospitals, operating theatres, years of research, the awards that followed—none of it had ever altered the orbit of my life.
This man had.
Everything else simply existed around the fact that Dashiell was here, in my arms, exactly where I intended him to remain.
He stayed quiet for a while, cheek resting against my chest, fingers absently tracing a small pattern on my shirt. I felt the exact moment his thoughts shifted—the slight change in his breathing, the way his body grew warmer against mine.
Then he spoke, voice soft.
"Alexander."
"Yes."
A short pause. His fingers stopped moving.
"I want to have sex."
The words landed with the same direct honesty he applied to everything else.
His cheeks were faintly pink. His eyes met mine without flinching as his fingers resumed their restless tapping against my chest.
"Right now?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes." He considered for half a second. "If you want to. I know you've been watching me all evening. And your hands keep moving. That usually means you're thinking about it."
Fuck yes.
I rolled us in one smooth motion until he was beneath me, my weight braced carefully over his smaller frame. His eyes widened slightly as I settled between his thighs, but he didn't push me away. If anything, his legs shifted to make more room.
"I've been thinking about it since you slammed the shower door," I said, voice rough. "Longer, if I'm being honest."
His breath caught.
"Oh."
I leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, then lower, along the line of his jaw.
"You only had to say it."
Dashiell's hands found my shoulders, gripping lightly. His voice came out quieter than before, but still perfectly clear.
"I'm saying it."
That was all I needed.
"You're going to get exactly what you asked for," I murmured against his lips. "And I'm going to take my time giving it to you."
"…Okay," he whispered. "But don't stop halfway to tease me. I want all of it."
I groaned and reached for the hem of his shirt.
"Oh, baby," I said, voice rough with promise. "You're going to get all of it."
I sat back only long enough to pull the shirt over his head. The soft fabric tangled briefly in his hair before I tossed it aside. He lay beneath me in nothing but those short sleep shorts, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes tracking every movement with that focused intensity he brought to everything.
Mine.
The word pulsed through me like a second heartbeat.
I leaned down and kissed a slow path down his chest, lingering over the slight rise and fall of his breathing. When I reached the waistband of his shorts, I looked up.
"Still want this?"
He nodded immediately. "Yes. Don't stop to ask again unless I tell you to."
A dark laugh left me.
"Understood."
I hooked my fingers into the shorts and drew them down his legs, discarding them without ceremony. Then I settled between his thighs again, one hand wrapping around his already hard cock while the other braced beside his head.
Dashiell's hips jerked at the first firm stroke. A soft, startled sound escaped him.
"Sensitive," I murmured against his mouth. "I like that."
I stroked him slowly at first, watching every flicker of expression that crossed his face—the way his brows drew together, the way his lips parted on quiet, honest sounds. When I twisted my wrist just so, his back arched and his fingers dug into my arms.
"Alexander… please."
"Please what?"
He swallowed, eyes glassy. "I want you inside me. Not just your hand."
The last of my restraint snapped.
I reached for the nightstand, found the lube, and returned to him in seconds. One slick finger pressed against him, then another, working him open with careful, thorough patience even as my own cock ached with the need to bury itself inside him.
Dashiell took it beautifully—breathing through the stretch, thighs trembling, soft little moans spilling from his mouth every time I curled my fingers just right.
When he was ready, I lined myself up and pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until I was fully seated.
The sound he made nearly undid me.
I stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to his, letting him adjust. His legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my ass.
"Move," he whispered. "Please."