Chapter 120
Chapter 120:
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor biting at my bare feet. I was about to call out — to humiliate myself by begging to know if I was still welcome — when a sound drifted from the far side of the room.
Scrape.
The faint, distinct sound of a chair leg dragging against stone.
My breath hitched. I turned toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the balcony. One was slightly ajar.
I grabbed the fluffy white robe Dallas had given me, wrapping it tight around my body like armor, and padded silently toward the opening. Stepping out into the morning air, the scent hit me instantly — rich coffee, crisp ozone, and the deep, woodsy warmth of cedar. Him.
Dallas sat at a small bistro table, his back to the sprawling city skyline. He was reading a tablet, a mug of coffee in one hand, looking devastatingly casual in a dark t-shirt that strained against his biceps and a pair of grey sweatpants.
“You’re awake,” he said without looking up, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the soles of my feet.
“I thought you left,” I admitted, my voice small.
He set the tablet down and finally looked at me. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “This is my home, Adella. Where would I go p>
𝘙e𝖺d f𝘳𝘦е 𝗻ove𝗹𝘴 oո
I don’t know. Business. Alpha duties. Away from me.
He gestured to the empty chair opposite him. “Sit. Eat p>
The table was set with a spread that looked like it had come from a French bakery — flaky croissants, a bowl of fresh berries, and a carafe of water. I sat down, my nerves still humming, and poured myself a glass of water, my hands trembling slightly. The cool liquid soothed my dry throat, leaving a faint, foggy imprint of my lips on the rim of the crystal glass.
I set it down. Before I could reach for a croissant, Dallas’s hand shot out.
He didn’t take a pastry. He took my water glass.
I froze, watching him. “Dallas, I can get you a fresh p>
He ignored me. His golden eyes locked onto mine, intense and predatory. Slowly, deliberately, he rotated the glass in his hand until the faint smudge of my lip print faced him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted the glass and pressed his own lips directly over the mark I had left.
He drank, his throat working as he swallowed, effectively covering my trace with his own.
Heat exploded in my cheeks and rushed down my neck. It was an indirect kiss, but the way he did it — so slow, so deliberate, so dominant — felt more intimate than if he had stripped me bare right there on the balcony.
“I’ve never seen you share a drink with anyone before,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “You never share a glass. Not with anyone p>
Dallas set the empty glass down with a soft clink. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, invading my personal space.
“I don’t,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “But you are the exception p>