Page 33 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

But it held me captive. It told me I wasn’t wrong, that the safety and warmth and want wasn’t just in my head.

“Claire.”

The way he said my name made my heart stutter, sent heat rushing through me in a way I couldn’t control.

I started to speak, to pull away before this spiral became irreversible, but his expression stopped me cold. His eyes burned—heavy, knowing, daring me to resist what was happening between us.

He dipped his head. I rose to meet him.

I kissed him.

I wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t supposed to want this. But I did, and it was more than a contract, more than an arrangement, more than anything I’d ever let myself imagine. I rose to meet him, and the force of it—of us—was devastating.

Comfort and desire tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. He felt like something I was meant to hold on to, something steady, something real. But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I swallowed hard, shivering against the intensity of it—the way his hands gripped the fabric of my shirt, pulling it tight and holding me upright, the way I melted into his warmth despite every warning and red flag screaming in my mind.

My body betrayed me, pressing closer, demanding more, while doubt clawed at my insides like a real, living thing trying to save me from this devastating mistake.

His gaze was scorching when he pulled back just an inch—just enough that his breath cooled the dampness of my lips.

Everything inside me screamed to close the distance again. To erase the space between us, to feel his lips on mine, to forget everything beyond this moment.

But he hesitated.

A flicker of restraint. A test.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just about want—it was about choice.

Icouldstep back. Icouldend this now.

Or I could kiss him again.

Really kiss him.

I made my choice.

Sure, I wasn’t supposed to want this. But I did—and the force of it, ofus, was undeniable.

Alexander kissed me like he already owned me, like the last of his resistance had snapped and all that was left was this wild rush of heat. It lit a fire under my skin, left me reeling.

His mouth, his tongue, were greedy, insistent, claiming me like I’d always been his and just didn’t know it. And my own response, melting into him, needing him more than air. Then he lifted me, and I gasped as my legs wrapped around his waist. I’ve never done this before. I didn’t care. Not anymore.

When he laid me back on the bed, I was sure. Sure I wanted this, wantedhim.

I had imagined this moment, but nothing came close to this. Nothing came close to the intensity of his lips claiming mine, the shockwave of his tongue sweeping into my mouth.

His hand caught my wrists and pressed them to the bed above me, as if to keep me from fighting. I had no intention of struggling.

My heart beat frantically, but instead of being afraid, I was drawn in deeper, closer, with a need that should have worried me. It didn’t.

His hand was firm on my hip, the tips of his fingers just grazing my backside in a way that drove me wild, and I melted under him. Was this really happening? Was I really doing this? The terrifying, thrilling answer was yes.

My fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured me with an urgency that made my head spin.

His mouth left mine long enough for him to pull back and search my eyes. I sensed he was asking me if this was okay, and internally I screamed at him to not stop as if he’d hear me, because there was no way I could speak.

Then he kissed me again, hard, like he couldn’t help himself, and I kissed him back, helpless in a way that made me breathless with want.

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