A Warrior’s Second Chance novel Chapter 320

FAYE

He caught my wrist before I could take another step.

The sudden pull startled me enough that the pillow nearly slipped from my grasp. I turned sharply, ready to snap again, but Alexander’s hand was firm around my arm–not rough, just unyielding. His eyes were no longer distracted or amused by whatever had been happening on his phone. They were fully on me now.

“What’s your problem?” he asked, his voice low, controlled, but edged with confusion.

I lifted my chin instinctively, refusing to let him see the flicker of embarrassment creeping up my spine. “I know you were probably having a good moment on the phone,” I said evenly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

His brows pulled together for half a second.

Then something shifted in his expression.

“That was Irene.”

The words hit me like a physical thing.

“Irene?” I repeated before I could stop myself.

“My sister,” he clarified, and now there was unmistakable amusement in his voice.

Heat rushed up my neck so fast I felt it in my ears. My grip on the duvet loosened slightly. All at once, the pieces rearranged themselves in my head–the laughter, the comment about blue looking better, the light teasing tone. Dresses. Schedule.

I had-

Oh God.

I looked at him properly then, and the faint curve at the corner of his mouth made it worse. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t offended.

He was entertained.

“I…” The sharpness drained from my posture. “I thought-”

“I know what you thought,” he interrupted, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I never knew you could be that jealous.”

“I was not jealous,” I shot back automatically, though the defense felt thin even to my own ears.

His gaze dropped briefly to the pillow tucked under my arm, then to the duvet bunched in my hand. One brow lifted.

“Right.”

The humiliation settled in fully now. I looked away, jaw tightening as I forced myself to swallow it. I prided myself on control, on composure. And here I was, storming out with bedding because I’d assumed he was flirting with some mysterious woman on a call.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, the words tasting unfamiliar. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Mm.” He stepped closer, crowding my space slightly. “You shouldn’t have.”

I glanced up at him again, expecting mockery. Instead, there was something darker behind the amusement now. Something sharper.

“But,” he continued smoothly, “that sharp tongue you just used on me?” His fingers tightened just slightly around my wrist. “I’ll have to make you pay for that.”

My breath hitched before I could control it.

The shift in him was immediate. The teasing warmth was still there, but it had deepened into something commanding. Dangerous. Before I could respond, before I could even brace myself, he released my wrist only to grab my waist instead.

The world tilted.

He moved with decisive strength, lifting and turning me in one swift motion. He tossed me backward onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath me, and I barely had time to gasp before he was standing at the edge of it, looking down at me.

My heart pounded hard against my ribs.

There was nothing sweet in his expression now. Nothing soft or indulgent. His gaze was slow and deliberate as it traveled over me, assessing, predatory. I felt it everywhere it touched.

This was not the gentle Alexander I was used to in bed. Not the controlled, careful version who watched my reactions like something fragile.

This was something else entirely.

And it was hot.

He reached for the hem of his shirt, never breaking eye contact, and pulled it up slowly. Not rushed. Not careless. Every movement deliberate. The fabric dragged over the hard lines of his torso, revealing muscle inch by inch until he tossed it aside without looking.

I swallowed.

The way he was looking at me–like I was something cornered, something he intended to claim–sent heat rushing through me so fast it left me dizzy. My fingers tightened instinctively in the sheets.

He stepped closer to the bed, bracing one knee onto the mattress as he leaned over me slightly.

His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling at the base of my neck as he leaned down. The gentle version of him I knew in quiet moments was gone. In his place stood something darker, more commanding. And I realized, with a rush of heat, that I liked it.

“Still think I needed privacy?” he murmured against my ear.

I shook my head faintly, unable to form words.

His grip tightened just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat as he pressed slow, deliberate kisses down the side of my neck. Each touch felt amplified, every sensation sharper because of the tension that had built before.

“You should know better than to assume,” he whispered, his voice rougher now.

My hands slid over his bare shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him, the controlled strength coiled beneath his skin. When he moved over me fully, it wasn’t rushed.

He held my hair gently but firmly, guiding my head back as he kissed me–deep, consuming, leaving no doubt about who was in control of this moment. The kiss wasn’t soft or exploratory. It was claiming.

And I melted into it.

Whatever jealousy had sparked earlier had burned away completely, replaced by something hotter, heavier.

Then he slid inside of me slowly. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me.

Every time his fingers tightened in my hair, every time his voice dipped low near my ear, whispering how I shouldn’t challenge him like that again, my body responded without hesitation.

He moved with a rhythm that was steady and deliberate, making sure I felt every second of it. There was nothing hurried about him. He took his time, drawing out my reactions, watching my face as if committing every expression to memory.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against my skin.

The words sent another wave of heat through me.

I clung to him, overwhelmed by the intensity of him. By the way he could shift from controlled and distant to this–this commanding presence that left me breathless and pliant beneath him.

When he finally lowered his forehead to mine, his breathing heavier, his thumb brushed along my jaw.

“Next time,” he said softly, though the edge was still there, “ask”

I let out a shaky breath, fingers still tangled against his shoulders.

“Yes,” I whispered.