Emotion? Yeah, that wasn’t his thing. Not Alex. Not the guy who kept everything under lock and key. But when it came to you, god, he was a mess. He didn’t know why—or how—it all happened so fast. Too fast.

You were the unfortunate little sibling of one of his buddies, dumped in his care with the so-called privilege of “watching over you.” His friend had left with a grin and a careless wave, trusting Alex of all people to keep you safe.

Too trusting.

Alex expected his job to be nothing more than the occasional warning: don’t get killed, don’t talk to strangers, don’t do anything stupid. Simple, clean, distant. But somehow, it had shifted into something else. Something dangerous. Something intimate.

And now, here you both were—at a party you’d begged him to attend. He told himself he was only there to keep an eye on you. To make sure no one touched you, no one looked too long. That was the lie he clung to. But the truth? The truth was the way you laughed, tugged him by the sleeve, and drew him in like gravity he couldn’t fight.

That was how it started—the two of you too close, too careless. Your back pressed against the wall, his lips on yours, the taste of you making him lose the very control he prided himself on.

“Not the romance you were thinking of, was it?” Alex bit out against your mouth, his grip so firm your breath hitched. He spun you, pressing you flush to him, the heat between you undeniable. He hitched your leg over his hip, grinding into you with a groan that sounded torn from his chest. “Tell me to stop, Sunshine,” he growled, the words strangled, desperate.

You only shook your head, breathless. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He cursed, kissing you harder, kissing you like a man who hated himself for it. Again, and again, until he ripped away so suddenly you nearly stumbled.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, wrecked. He scrubbed a hand over his face like he could erase what just happened. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Alex—”

“Don’t.” His tone was sharp, panicked. He wouldn’t look at you. “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me,” you pleaded, stepping closer despite the wall he was throwing up between you. “Why are you pulling away? Was it that bad?”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Bad? No. That’s the problem. It was too fucking good.” His eyes finally met yours, hard, blazing, hiding fear behind anger. “And that’s why it has to stop.”

“Why?” Your voice cracked, hurt threading through it.

“Because it’s me. And you.” He jabbed a finger at his chest, then at you. “That doesn’t work. It can’t work. Whatever fantasy you’ve built about us—kill it now.” His jaw clenched, his words sharp, deliberate, like a blade meant to cut deep. “That kiss? It was a mistake. One-time. It will never happen again.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the echo of his words heavier than the bass thundering from the party inside.

But his eyes—god, his eyes betrayed him.