Alex's Girl [Lesbian]

Chapter 9

I couldn't sleep at all. Unsurprising, considering Brian was upstairs doing... things to Alex while I was lying downstairs on the couch, hands behind my head and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Did she enjoy sex with him? Something told me she didn't but I would be too afraid to ask. And maybe I didn't want to know. The fact that they had sex at all was enough to make me physically sick, not to mention incredibly jealous. At least, that's what I thought that feeling must be... I had never felt jealous before—no one had ever dared to try and take what was mine before.

What made this worse was that it was so irrational. Alex wasn't mine. She made that blatantly clear. So why could I feel his hot breath on her neck, his weight on hers, his hands pinning her wrists, his smug smile forming as she whimpered beneath him? Why was it that the more I tried not to think about it, the more violent and horrifying my imagination became?

No no, I had to think of something pleasant or I'd lose my mind until Brian came down to talk to me. My thoughts finally left the terror of not knowing what was going on in their bedroom and drifted towards earlier that night.

Cooking with Alex had been fun. She did most of the work, of course, but I was happy to do anything she asked me to. I liked helping her, pleasing her, and when I accidentally cut my finger while cutting some vegetables (I never said I was competent) she led me to the sink and gently washed my hands for me, the hot water rolling over our hands as she turned my hand this way and that. I had been watching her face then, how intensely she looked at our tangled hands, how worried she looked when my finger continued to bleed, how soft she sighed when she had bandaged it and I insisted that I was fine.

The truth was, I had fallen hard for Alex. If she had been my teacher and not Angela I don't know if I could've waited a year to date her. I don't know if I could have waited at all.

But Alex wasn't Angela, Alex liked me but she didn't want to be with me. No, that wasn't quite right. I think she wanted to be with me but she couldn't be with me. Whether it was because of Cyn or Brian or the fact that I was a Greco I wasn't sure. Maybe it was mix of all three; maybe it was none of those. But I knew I wanted her more than anything I had ever wanted, and a Greco always gets what she wants, especially because Grecos—unlike Sterlings and Sawyers—don't play fair.

Neither did someone else, apparently. Who had told Brian what happened with Alex and me at the bar last night? He seems to think we had actually slept together—that we had been sleeping together. I wish. But we hadn't. The only person who saw us together was Darby, and she wouldn't have told Brian.

But if she told Cyn...

I heard steps on the stairs. So he was finished with her? Was she sleeping now? Did she feel okay? Did she feel violated? I swear if I find out he has been forcing or hurting her...

"Miss Greco..." and I hated the way he said that, the way he reminded me of who I was, and with just that knowledge his power over me, over Alex.

He stood at the opposite end of the couch, where my feet were. I threw off the quilt Alex had given me and sat up, tucking my knees up and peering at him through the darkness. He was just standing there, watching. His slate gray eyes were hard to see without any light but it was unnecessary—I could feel them on me clearly. Again he was shirtless, but at least he was wearing pajama pants.

"What do you want?" I asked. To be honest, I was nervous. Adrenaline was already pumping into my system and my body was already telling me that whatever situation I was in—I should get out of it. Sometimes it scared me how spot on our instincts could be. I tried not to let this show.

"A little bird told me you've been fucking my fiancé..."

I cringed at the way he had said that. "I haven't been," I said, keeping my tone level and calm. "Whoever told you that is misinformed." I was trying to channel my father now. He was always good at controlling a situation, a room, without needing to stand or intimidate. He could make men quiet with just a look.