The Alpha's Eternal Ache

CHAPTER TWO

CHLOE

​A week had passed since Edward and his mother moved into my father's house, yet we remained strangers living under the same roof. The only link between us was the morning commute; we now shared the quiet cabin of his car on the way to school.

​It was that first Monday when I saw the black sports car idling in the driveway. Tim, my personal driver, had already reached for my door when Edward’s voice cut through the morning air, telling him not to bother. He’d be driving me himself.

​I’d stood there, stunned for a heartbeat, before remembering the wealth behind the Hawthorne name. I shouldn't have been surprised by the car, but the sudden command in his tone caught me off guard.

​For five days, the silence between us in that car was thick enough to choke on. Even in the classroom, we were two islands in the same sea. Daisy had left for England, leaving me to face the barrage of curious girls alone. They swarmed me, their eyes bright with questions about the new guy in my house.

​"Ask him yourself," I’d snap my usual response, turning away from their prying faces.

​Today was the start of a new week, and I was locked in my room, the air warm and heavy as I lay there thinking of Edward. Images of his bare chest—the way the water beaded on his skin after he climbed out of the pool—played on a loop in my head. I could almost feel the weight of that muscular frame pressing me into the mattress.

​My breath hitched as I spread my legs, my fingers finding the heat of my c******s. The first touch made my spine arch, my heels digging into the silk sheets as I found a rhythm. I reached a peak that left me breathless, but the hunger didn't fade.

​I knew the thoughts were dangerous. He was my stepbrother; the title should have been a barrier. But as I reached into my bedside drawer for my vibrator, I reminded myself that not a single drop of blood connected us.

​The hum of the device vibrated through my palm as I positioned it. My toes curled and my fingers gripped the sheets until my knuckles turned white. The sensation intensified, blurring the line between the plastic against my skin and the fantasy of Edward’s weight over me. I closed my eyes tight, picturing him, pushing toward a climax that felt like it would shatter me.

​Then, the click of the latch echoed through the room. The door swung wide.

​The air hit my skin, cold and sudden. I was certain I’d turned the lock, but there he was, framed in the doorway. Edward.

​A jolt of pure adrenaline replaced the pleasure. My legs were completely exposed, the vibrator still humming somewhere in the folds of the duvet. My first instinct was to scramble for cover, but I froze. He’d already seen. The shame fought with a sudden, defiant heat.

​I expected him to bolt, to stumble over an apology and vanish. Instead, he stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind him.

​The blood rushed to my face. I grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it over my hips.

​"What are you doing here?" I blurted out, my voice sounding thin.

​"I was asked to call you," he said. His voice was a low, masculine rumble that seemed to vibrate right through me, making the ache between my thighs flare up all over again. "But I can tell you're busy. I'll just relay the message instead."

​"Don't you know how to knock?" I demanded, trying to steady my racing heart.

​"I did. No reply. So I came in." His expression remained unreadable, his voice perfectly even.

​"f**k! So what the hell are you still doing here?" I yelled. The anger was easier to handle than the fact that a part of me wanted him to walk closer. I had just finished a movie in my head where he was the lead, and now he was standing at the foot of my bed.

​"Who do you think of while pleasuring yourself?"

​The question hit me like a physical weight. My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn't tell him he was the only occupant of my fantasies. I couldn't tell him he was the reason I was breathless and flushed.

​I stayed silent, my gaze locked onto his brown eyes. I knew I should scream or point to the door, but I was paralyzed.

​"No response again," he said, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He began to move toward the bed. "Do you think of me, then?"

​The humiliation was a hot prickle under my skin as he drew closer.

​"Why are you asking me that? What are you doing?" The words came out in a single, panicked breath.

​Scream, Chloe. Throw him out. The command echoed in my mind, but my body refused to follow it.

​Before I could react, his hand moved. He swept the duvet aside, baring my skin to the lamplight again. His fingers grazed me—a ghost of a touch against my c******s that felt like an electric shock. Every nerve ending I owned screamed for him to do it again.

​It was the first time anyone else had ever touched me there. The difference between my own hand and his was a chasm I wanted to fall into. I could have let him. I could have let the fantasy become real right there... but the words tore out of my throat before I could stop them.

​"Get out," I said. My voice was firmer now, even if my body was betraying me.

​Edward didn't look shocked. He didn't even look hurt. He just straightened his back, that maddening smirk returning to his face.

​"I'll tell them you're busy," he said, and without another word, he turned and walked out.