Behind His Eyes
817 Words
Alexander
It was infuriating.
There was no other word for it.
Harper Quinn, who had walked into my life like a storm wrapped in charm and defiance, had the audacity to make me feel things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. And yesterday, when Matthews — that pompous board member — had dared to compliment her too freely, something inside me snapped.
I hated that I snapped. I hated that my blood boiled, that my chest tightened, and that my fingers ached to be closer to her and nowhere else. I hated that she could make me feel powerless.
And yet… I hated myself less for wanting her.
⸻
This morning, I found her in the kitchen again, sipping coffee like she owned the place. Which, technically, she did not.
“You look tired,” I said, though I had no right to notice.
“I woke up early,” she said, staring down into her mug. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” I said quickly. But she caught the soft edge in my voice.
I had learned early in life that emotions were dangerous — tools for others to use against you. I had learned to mask, to calculate, to command.
Harper had no such training. She spoke in instinct and laughter, and her eyes, bright and defiant, were a constant challenge.
I moved closer. “You need to be careful,” I murmured. “People stare.”
“I’m aware of the consequences,” she said, never looking up.
“Not just them,” I said, voice low. “Me.”
Her gaze finally lifted, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes — curiosity, wariness, maybe even amusement.
“What do you mean?” she asked softly.
I stepped closer, so close that she could feel my presence like heat against her skin. “You’re mine today,” I said. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Her breath hitched. “Mine?”
“Yes,” I said, voice rougher than intended. “And I don’t like sharing.”
Her eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw the flicker of vulnerability I had been searching for — the tiny c***k beneath her confident exterior.
“Alexander…” she whispered, barely audible.
I hesitated, aware of how close I was, aware that one step could destroy everything — or create something I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine.
And yet, the idea of walking away, of pretending this was all just business, felt impossible.
Her hand brushed mine as she reached for her mug. The touch was electric, fleeting, yet it sent my pulse racing.
I wanted to grab it, to hold it, to never let go. But instead, I just let my fingers hover near hers. She noticed, and I saw her inhale sharply.
“You’re infuriating,” she said, voice trembling.
“And you,” I whispered, “make me forget how to control myself.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but I could see the fight in her eyes — the stubborn refusal to admit what we both knew. That the fake engagement was no longer entirely fake.
⸻
Later that day, a minor board conflict forced me to stay late. I returned to the penthouse to find Harper sitting on the balcony, knees drawn up, staring at the city.
“Long day?” I asked, leaning against the frame.
She shrugged. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do,” I said softly, stepping closer. “I can feel it too.”
“Feel what?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“Everything,” I admitted, finally letting the walls fall just enough. “The tension, the frustration… the longing.”
She froze, the word lingering between us. “Alexander…”
“Yes,” I said, taking the last step so we were inches apart. “I can’t keep pretending anymore. You make it impossible.”
Her breath hitched. “We can’t—”
“I know,” I whispered, my forehead almost touching hers. “And yet, here we are.”
The air was heavy, charged with everything we hadn’t said. The city below was alive, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Not the press, not the board, not the contracts. Nothing mattered except her.
Her eyes searched mine, vulnerability mixed with defiance. And then — slowly, deliberately — she closed the last of the distance.
We didn’t kiss. Not yet. But our foreheads touched, our breaths mingled, and the heat between us was undeniable. It was enough to make me forget the rules, forget the arrangement, forget everything except the fact that she was right here, and I couldn’t resist her.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to want. To need.
And that was the dangerous truth.
- Writer
