Alex in Wonderland (Twisted Fairytales #1) Read online

  After one final lick to her bowl and three more licks across her lips, Deena purred—a soft and adorable sound—and meandered back to her perch by the window. I watched her settle in, walking circles around the sun rays brightening the floor. With her belly pressed to the ground and her paws stretched out, she settled into her version of the perfect catnap spot.

  Sigh. Naps were the single best thing in the world. Sometimes, I wished I were still a kid so I could take a long nap and everyone would just be proud of me.

  I glanced at the clock and noted it was only a little after noon.

  Hmm…I can sneak in a little nap before I got to work on some much-needed laundry and grocery shopping, right?

  The quick answer was yes. The long answer was yes, I could definitely sneak in a nap, after I called Mike, my new landlord, and asked him about my current shower situation.

  The water temperature was fickle as fuck. One minute it was warm, and the next it was raining ice cubes. It could go from boiling to freezing in thirty seconds flat without warning. One wouldn’t think a girl would have to endure a shower inside of a luxury apartment in LA.

  Sure, it was still a million times better than my studio apartment in Boyle Heights, but I guessed I’d developed a bit of a quick trigger when it came to bringing problems to my landlord’s attention. I blamed it on the fact that Mike had given me his direct number. It was the complete opposite of Vinnie Pat. He’d made it damn near impossible to get ahold of him, and, even when I’d managed to reach his lazy ass, he’d showed zero interest or motivation to fix the litany of problems incurring inside of his building.

  But Mike, on the other hand? Well, every time I called, things got fixed.

  Sure, maybe most of the problems weren’t even really problems per se, but normal living inconveniences that could occur anywhere—even luxury apartments.

  Sometimes, if you gave a girl an inch, she’d take a mile, and Mike McConnell had given me more than an inch—that’s what she said—with his prompt and timely responses.

  A quick tap to his name on my recent call list and he answered on the third ring, his deep sigh filling the airwaves before his voice. “What can I help you with, Alex?”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “We’ve had a lot of phone conversations over the past week. It’s safe to say I have your number programmed into my phone by now.”

  “Well…the shower off the master bedroom…I don’t think it’s working right. My temperature options consist of boil my skin off or frostbite. Can you come look at it?” I asked.

  He sighed again. “Yeah.”

  “Fantastic,” I responded with a smile. “So, I’ll see you in about thirty minutes?”

  “Thirty minutes?” he nearly spat. “I’m not gonna be able to make that work. I’ll stop by on Wednesday morning.”

  “Wednesday?” I questioned. “But that’s two days from now!” Seriously, how was I supposed to shower under these kinds of conditions? I wasn’t a princess by any means, but come on. No one wanted their shower to remind them of weather conditions in Antarctica.

  “Sorry, it’s the best I can do.”

  I plopped down on the couch and dug my toes into the cushions of my sofa. “Mike, this is ridiculous. How am I supposed to shower over the next two days?”

  “How’s the water in the kitchen?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You mean like the kitchen sink?”

  “Yeah, how’s the temperature from that faucet?”

  Jesus, this guy almost made me miss Vinnie Pat. Almost.

  “The temperature is great, but the whole dilemma of not being able to fit my ass inside the sink might cause problems,” I retorted and rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You’re the only guy who can come fix it? There’s no one else in this building who can help me? Not even maintenance staff?”

  “Let me make a few calls,” he responded. “I might have someone on our maintenance staff who can come out there later today and help you.”

  I crossed my fingers. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll call you back in about twenty minutes or so. Sound good?”

  “Wait! Before you go,” I added. “Whomever you end up sending, can you make sure they’re well-versed in dishwashers as well? Mine’s acting weird. Every time I put one of those dishwashing pods in the little compartment and shut the door, the dishwasher never actually uses the pod, and then my dishes are all—”

  “Hold up. Alex,” he cut me off before I could tell him a few more things. The fridge…the closet door…I was keeping a rolling list. “I’ve got someone who can help you right now. And even better, he’s in-house.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he responded, and the low yet playful tone of his voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “He’ll definitely be glad to help you out. Real nice guy. Loves fixing problems. I gotta get off of here, but I’ll text you the info,” he added and then quickly ended the call. Deena only had time to rub against my legs three times before my phone sounded with his text.

  Mike the Landlord: 18th floor. Apartment #1. Tell the guy at the door Moosa sent you.

  Eighteenth floor? That was the top floor. I’d never been up that high.

  I looked over at Deena, who, a tried and true sleep professional, was one blink away from falling into a kitty coma. For fuck’s sake, she’d been awake and moving two seconds ago. “Should I go up there?” I asked her, and she merely meowed her annoyance and turned her little face in the opposite direction.

  I grinned. “God, you’re so sassy when you haven’t gotten your beauty rest.”

  After a few soft rubs to the top of her head, I slipped on a pair of flip-flops, grabbed my keys, and headed for the elevator. Thirteen floors up and the doors pinged my arrival. The instant I stepped outside of the cart, I quickly realized this guy’s apartment wasn’t just an apartment, it was a flipping penthouse.

  Literally, the only one on the entire eighteenth floor.

  This guy—whose name I don’t know—is supposed to help me with my water temperature?

  It all sounded a little—okay, a lot—crazy, but it wasn’t like Mike had ever steered me in a bad direction. The second his presence arrived on my doorstep, I’d gone from nearly evicted to living here.

  A large beast of an olive-skinned man in a fitted black suit and neatly smoothed jet-black hair stood outside the only door on the floor. Apartment #1. His dark eyes assessed me intently as I closed the distance between us. Though his face was severe in its entirety, when I looked carefully at each part—his eyes, lips, jaw—I could tell he was working hard to soften each one for my comfort.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, and despite his efforts to look approachable, a part of me wanted to turn around and hop back on the elevator. Hell, I was even considering finding the stairs and running all thirteen floors.

  This guy was handsome, sure, but mostly just fucking intimidating.

  “Uh…” I started, but I forgot what I was supposed to say. With shaking fingers, I quickly tapped the screen of my phone and glanced at Mike’s message. “Moosa sent me.”

  “Moosa sent you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded. At least, I think I nodded. My entire body was too damn busy shaking on the inside from the uncertainty of it all to differentiate between nervous tremors and a nod.

  The man stared at me for a long moment before opening the door and gesturing me inside. The rubber of my flip-flops’ soles smacked as they hit the marble floor of the entry and echoed throughout the insanely large, marble- and stone-encrusted space. Immediately, I stopped in my tracks and just stared.

  Good Christ, Alex. Don’t touch anything in here.

  “Uh…”

  But before I could ask where to go or what to do or anything for that matter, he stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door behind him with a quiet click, leaving me inside and clueless.

  “Hello?” I greeted but received no response.

  “Uh
…it’s me, Alex Little,” I tried again. “I live on the fifth floor. Mike said that you could help me with the water temperature in my apartment…”

  Still nothing.

  Slowly, I walked through the entry, past the kitchen, past the dining room, and stopped in the living room. Although, I was using the term living room pretty loosely here. This room could hold one hundred people, and it would still have enough space for fifty more.

  “Hello?” For lack of anything else to say, I greeted the seemingly empty space again as I walked into the long hallway that I assumed led to the bedrooms.

  This was weird, right?

  I didn’t even know the name of the owner, and yet I was just wandering around his place like a creeper.

  “Is anyone home?” I asked, and my voice echoed off the walls once more.

  Deeper in the bowels of the pristine white hallway, I passed the third door, and finally, a sound could be heard that didn’t come from my own awkward lips.

  Water ran through the pipes in the walls, and the hum of a shower hitting tile spilled from the back bedroom and into the hall. Hmmm…maybe he was working on his own water temperature issue? That would make sense…right?

  Light spilled beneath the partially opened door at the other side of the manly space—yes, I went into the bedroom—and without thinking, I pushed it the rest of the way open until I was hit with the visual of a man—an insanely sexy man, mind you—in the shower.

  He was naked. Completely fucking naked.

  And then, over his firm, tanned, water-rivulet-covered shoulder, a familiar amber gaze locked with mine.

  Matt Hadder.

  Water dripped from the rain shower onto his tanned and toned skin, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from following the droplets’ paths as they slipped down his thick biceps, down his firm chest, down the ripples of his abdomen, past his trim hips…and then I stopped.

  Stopped and stared.

  Thick, hard, long. His hand was fisted around his cock as he stroked it. Instantaneously, I felt high from the erotic movements. Up and down. Up and down. The head getting more swollen, more red, more hard.

  My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips to compensate.

  Jesus Christ, it was a sight to behold. I might pass out.

  One I shouldn’t have been witnessing, but fuck, I couldn’t stop myself.

  My nipples tightened beneath my tank top, and a rush of heat consumed my body at the sight of him.

  One grunt left his lips, and our gazes locked again. But he didn’t stop, didn’t hide what he was doing. No, he continued. Primed. Ready. His muscles flexed as he stroked a little harder, a little faster. He was getting close. I wanted to look down. I wanted to look at his cock again, take in the details of his strong fingers wrapped around it, but I didn’t want to look away from the steady, confident hold of his eyes.

  Three more strokes, I could tell by the minute movement of his shoulder as it met the strong cords of his neck, and his eyes were still locked with mine.

  He was watching me watch him.

  We were voyeur and exhibitionist. Only, he held all the control.

  Two more strokes and his eyes turned darker, heated, anticipating the climax.

  The urge to step inside the shower was almost unavoidable. The desire to touch him, taste him, wrap my lips around him, shocked me. But it also aroused me. I clenched my thighs together in a poor attempt at sating the constant, delicious ache.

  One more stroke and climax. It rolled through his body, his muscles flexing and clenching, and a sexy as hell grunt that bordered on a roar left his lips. It was the hottest fucking sound I’d ever heard.

  And through each delicious wave, he held my gaze captive.

  I felt intoxicated. Horny. Turned the fuck on.

  I wanted to see it again. I wanted a redo so I could record every second and make one hundred different GIFs of Matt stroking his cock.

  Oh. My. God.

  What was that?

  As I stood in his bathroom, frozen to my spot and mind racing to figure out how in the hell I’d ended up in Matt Hadder’s bathroom watching the hottest peep show that had ever occurred, he went back to his shower like nothing even happened. He squirted shampoo into his hands and washed his hair before moving on to body wash and soaping up his skin.

  It was like I wasn’t even there.

  Am I really here? Or is this a dream? I mean, Matt Hadder stroking his cock is at least way more in line with general dream protocol. My subconscious is improving.

  The water shut off, and Matt stepped out. He grabbed a large white towel off a hook and started to dry himself off.

  “Hungry?” he asked as he wrapped the towel around the trim hips of his waist.

  Yes. I want to put my mouth on you…

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  He grinned. “Head into the kitchen and wait for me. I’ll make us something to eat once I get dressed.”

  “Okay,” I squeaked out and all but tripped over my flip-flops as I stepped out of his bathroom and walked back down the hallway.

  Mindlessly, I reached the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools around the island. I racked my brain for any relevant thoughts, but I only seemed to be able to replay what I’d just witnessed. Holy hell, that was the sexiest damn thing I’d ever seen in my life. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to be so turned on without any physical touch occurring.

  Good Lord, Matt Hadder looked good naked.

  And he looks even better while stroking his perfect cock…

  My eyes went wide at that thought.

  I’d just seen my boss’s cock.

  Actually, I’d just seen my boss stroke his cock.

  Oh. My. God.

  I hopped up from the stool and started pacing the kitchen.

  I’d come up here to talk to some guy about fixing my water temperature and ended up walking in on Matt in the shower?

  I didn’t even know Matt lived in this building.

  And why did Mike the landlord send me to Matt’s apartment in the first place?

  What in the hell was happening?

  Before Matt made his way into the kitchen, I found myself moving toward the entry, and my hand was wrapped around the knob of the front door.

  My mind was too overwhelmed.

  I needed to get the fuck out of here before my head exploded.

  MY LUNGS BURNED AS I stepped into my walk-in closet and yanked a white T-shirt and pair of briefs out of the top drawers of the built-ins. Consumed with racing thoughts of how in the fuck Alex had ended up in my apartment, I dressed quickly and headed for the hallway.

  At first, I’d thought I might have been imagining her, standing there in my bathroom in painfully short cutoffs, her tits spilling out of the spaghetti-strapped tank she’d been wearing without a bra.

  I’d already been fantasizing about what it would have been like if she’d wrapped her sweet lips around my cock at Ari Simon’s party while I’d stroked the ache out of my dick. So it’d made sense that, while my mind was beckoning images, it might as well summon her there too.

  But the girth of her eyes as they landed on my straining cock and sad replacement for a pussy—otherwise known as my fucking hand—hadn’t been a mirage or mental conjuring—they were all her. I couldn’t have imagined that sight, not for all the money in the world, not without having seen it myself.

  Paralyzing, fucking shimmering, aqua blue, the power of her gaze was so powerful that it had superseded anything and everything else. In a simple fantasy, she’d have distracted me with the hardening peaks of her perfect nipples or stripped off her shorts to show me how wet her pussy was.

  But this Alex, the real one, had done me one better. She’d connected intimately, almost down to the very root of my soul as she held me captive inside her gaze. Each stroke, each grind, each gasping zing of pleasure that’d run straight up my spine, she’d kept her eyes on mine. Staring, licking her fucking lips, the little voyeur had watched until my come covered my dick, my han
d, my balls—all of it coated with the very thing I wanted to fill her pussy up with until it couldn’t fit any more.

  And now, I feared she knew just how consumed by her I was. I wasn’t used to the emotional vulnerability. In fact, I didn’t think I’d felt like that since my mother died.

  Slapping, impatient steps finally taking me to the end of the hall, the kitchen in sight, I scanned the room for the woman who never should have been in my goddamn apartment in the first place and came up empty. I didn’t know if I was pissed off, disappointed, or relieved.

  Where in the hell had she gone?

  I moved my focus toward the dining room, the living room, even the outside terrace, and still, no fucking Alex.

  That’s when my anger started to set in.

  Irrationally, I was frustrated with her for being something I wanted but didn’t need to have. And rationally, I knew she didn’t just stumble into my apartment all on her own. From the wide-eyed look on her pretty little face, she was just as surprised as I was.

  There was something else at play here. I hadn’t deduced the how or why, but I was going to find out what the fuck had happened, or I’d kill somebody trying.

  With my clenched fist around the knob, I yanked open my front door. The abrupt motion shook water droplets from the still damp ends of my hair and dropped them on my neck, soaking into the fresh fabric of my T-shirt.

  Cal stood watch outside of my apartment, and his eyes met mine as he turned quickly from his position against the wall.

  “Where the hell did she go?” I questioned.

  He glanced toward the closed doors of the elevator. “She hauled ass out of here about five minutes ago.”

  “And why in the fuck was she in my apartment in the first place?”

  His eyebrows shot together. “She said Moosa sent her. You didn’t approve it?”

  The cords of my neck strained and stretched with my bark. “No, I didn’t fucking approve it.”

  “Christ.” His previously relaxed face turned to something that more closely resembled stone. “What’s Mickey got? A goddamn death wish?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” I vowed. “Find him. Get him here. But first, call IT and have them send over the last hour of Alex’s apartment microphone.”