Unspoken Desire

Noelle POV

"He knows I have a high libido. I can't survive without sex, but he is deliberately depriving me to enforce his dominance. I despise him," Mom wept, pressing her knuckles into her wet cheeks. "I truly hate him."

I knelt closer on the plush rug and rubbed her trembling shoulders, trying to offer some warmth in the dim, chilled bedroom. "Mom, take a deep breath. Please."

The heavy brass lock on the bedroom door clicked before she could answer. Two stone-faced security guards stepped inside, signaling that my five minutes were up. Letting go of my mother broke my heart, but staying would only cause a scene with the staff. I backed out of the room, listening to the door bolt shut behind me with a loud, metallic clank.

Talking to my mother was useless right now. I needed to confront the man pulling the strings.

I bolted down the wide marble staircase, pushed through the grand foyer, and burst into the morning air. Alaric’s sleek black sedan was already rolling down the driveway toward the estate gates. Without thinking, I sprinted across the lawn and threw myself directly into the vehicle's path.

The driver slammed on the brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt. He stepped out with wide, startled eyes, but I did not wait for an invitation. I grabbed the rear handle, wrenched the door open, and slid onto the cool leather seat beside my stepfather.

Alaric stared at me with a furious scowl, his jaw clenched tight. "Are you planning to get yourself killed?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at him through my lashes. "It's Mom. She isn't doing well at all."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes fixed on his gold watch. "Her punishment is not ending anytime soon. It is best if you walk away now, Noelle. I have an executive board meeting in fifteen minutes."

"She told me you refuse to touch her," I countered, keeping my voice low. "She said you reject every single one of her advances. Why are you doing that to her?"

Alaric froze, his eyebrows drawing together in sharp lines. "She told you that?"

"Yes, she did." I nodded, holding his gaze.

"I had no idea she had such conversations with you." He pressed a firm thumb against his temple, a clear sign his patience was wearing thin.

I looked away from his piercing stare, shifting on the seat. "I think you're being far too hard on her."

He turned his body toward me, his voice dangerously smooth. "Tell me, what else does she share with you? Does she discuss her sex life with her other partners too?"

The raw vulgarity of the question hit me like a slap. I choked on my breath, staring at him in utter disbelief. He was shameless, asking something so filthy with a straight face.

I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. "We are not talking about other men right now. I want to know why you refuse her touch. Why are you starving her of affection?"

Alaric leaned in slightly, his dark gaze locking onto mine with suffocating weight. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

My pulse jumped into my throat. "What?"

"You know exactly why," he repeated.

A wave of heat rushed beneath my collar. His words dragged my mind straight back to the darkness of my bedroom, to the heavy weight of his body pressed against mine. I remembered the heat of his skin, the intoxicating smell of cedar on his neck, and the thick head of his cock nudging against my wet pussy through thin fabric. The memory was raw and filthy, making my chest tighten with sudden desire.

The air inside the car felt stifling, almost impossible to breathe. I reached for the chrome door handle, desperate to get away from his heavy stare. "I need some air."

I pushed the door open, but before my foot touched the ground, his large hand shot out and clamped firmly around my wrist.

I stopped and looked back at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What is it?"

He stared at me, his pupils dilated with an intense hunger that made my stomach flutter. His thumb brushed over the rapid pulse point in my skin. Then, just as quickly as the fire appeared, his features hardened into cold detachment. He released my arm and turned his face toward the window.

"Nothing. You may go," he said.

I stepped out, shut the heavy door, and stood in the driveway as the car sped toward the gates. My wrist still burned where his skin had touched mine. He wanted to say something real back there. I could see the words sitting behind his teeth, but he chose to swallow them instead.

I spent the rest of the day pacing my bedroom, unable to shake the look in his eyes. The memory of his hands lingered on my skin, making my thoughts stray where they had no right to go.

Around late afternoon, soft footsteps and low voices echoed in the hallway. I cracked my bedroom door open and spotted a maid carrying a stack of fresh dark sheets down the corridor.

I stepped into the hall and caught her attention. "What is going on?"

The maid paused with a polite nod. "Mr. Ashford called from the office and asked us to prepare his secondary suite. He will be home shortly."

"The second bedroom?" I asked.

"Yes, miss," she replied before continuing toward the west wing.

He never used that suite. It sat at the quiet end of the hall, cold and unoccupied since he bought the property. Was he moving out of the master suite just to isolate my mother even more? It was unfair. She made a terrible mistake, but treating her like an unwanted ghost was cruel.

I needed real answers. He dodged me in the car, but he would not brush me off inside his own house.

Silence settled over the estate an hour later, signaling his arrival. I slipped out of my room and walked quietly toward the west wing. A private guard stood near the corner of the hallway, adjusting his radio.

I approached him with steady steps. "Is he inside?"

"Yes, miss," the guard answered, stepping aside to give me room.

I stood before the dark mahogany door and rapped my knuckles against the wood. "I need to talk to you."

Nothing stirred inside.

I knocked again, testing the brass handle. It gave way under my grip, swinging inward to reveal a vast suite decorated in deep grays, black marble, and brushed steel. The heavy curtains were closed, letting in only thin slivers of evening light.

"Alaric?" I called softly, stepping past the threshold and closing the door behind me.

The bedroom was empty, the fresh sheets stretched tight over the king-sized mattress. A faint sound of running water came from the adjoining bath, accompanied by the scent of warm steam and sandalwood soap.

I took slow steps across the thick carpet, heading toward the open bathroom entryway. "Are you in here?"

Before I could call out again, the frosted bathroom door swung wide.

Alaric walked out into the bedroom, completely naked.

Water droplets glistened across his broad shoulders and the dark hair covering his chest. My eyes dropped instantly down his washboard stomach to the heavy, thick cock hanging between his muscular thighs.

His eyes widened in shock as he spotted me standing three feet away. "Oh, shit."

He leaped backward behind the wooden doorframe, pulling the panel shut with a loud click.

My face felt like it was on fire. I slapped both hands over my eyes, trembling from the sudden surge of adrenaline running through my veins. The visual was burned into my mind, detailed and illicit.

The bathroom latch clicked open again, followed by the soft rustle of cloth.

I kept my palms glued over my eyes, refusing to peek.

A low, amused chuckle rumbled from his throat. "You can open them now, Noelle."

"Are you serious? Did you actually put clothes on?" I asked through my fingers.

"I am serious. Open your eyes."

"Swear you aren't naked." I kept my fingers tight together, though a thrill shot straight down my spine.

Standing here in his private room, bantering with him while he stood just inches away from my covered eyes, felt like a forbidden game. He was my stepfather, yet every single line between us was blurring into something intoxicating, and I had no desire to pull back.