Maybe I was the one who got scared. I searched for his face and held it with my hands, but before I could say anything, Alexander spoke:
“…I think this is going to get a little rough,” he told me, and only then did I notice that he was breathing with some agitation.
His blue, crystalline eyes observed me carefully, studying me.
“Rough? What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“That right now I’m not so sure about what I told you before, that I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
I frowned, somewhat frightened, and tensed immediately.
“I don’t follow you. Why do you think that?”
“…I might bite you, or scratch your skin. Squeeze you too hard, not be gentle enough. Maybe all of that together. Biting you is what I fear most, hurting you. It’s your scent—you smell so damn good that I don’t know if I
