Dean straightens almost immediately and lets me go, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he steps back a few paces to give me room to breathe again. “Wasn’t trying to. I was just playing around.”
The apology sounds half-hearted, but at least it’s something.
No one says anything for a long moment.
The only sounds are the faint crackle of the fire and the low hum of Christmas music drifting from the record player.
It’s almost cruel how normal it all feels when my pulse is still skipping erratically from everything that almost happened or maybe from how abruptly it all stopped.
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, but my hands still tremble slightly.
Grant’s eyes flick to me then, the sharpness in them softening as he takes me in. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I manage after a beat, nodding slowly. “I’m fine.”
Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, sweetheart. Got a little carried away.”
I flex my fingers at my sides, grounding myself in the sting of my nails against my palms, because every nerve in my body is screaming at me to do something stupid like reach out, close the distance, and finish what he started.
Because the truth is…part of me wants to. What would stop us from actually going through with it?
I want to know what it would feel like to give in to that look in his eyes.
The one that makes my stomach twist and my heart forget its rhythm.
I want to know if the heat simmering under my skin would taste the way it feels.
Realistically, what would really stop me?
Dad’s gone for the night.
The snow outside’s still falling, muffling the world beyond the front door.
It’s just me and three men who used to be names I heard in stories as a kid who now exist here, real and solid and far too close for comfort.
God, what am I even thinking?
When I glance back at Dean, he’s still watching me. His expression has softened, maybe even turned a little regretful, but the spark in his eyes hasn’t gone anywhere.
It lingers, flickering like a flame that refuses to die no matter how much air you steal from it.
I don’t know what possesses me to speak—some reckless cocktail of adrenaline and curiosity, or maybe just the way his gaze makes my thighs press together hard enough to feel a jolt of pleasure rocket through my core.
Either way, the words slip out before I can stop them, before my brain even catches up to my mouth.
“I mean, itistradition.” I swallow around the lump in my throat, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.
For a split second, confusion crosses his face.
Then realization dawns, and I see it, the exact moment he understands what I mean.
His eyes widen slightly, that dangerous spark flaring back to life and burning hotter now.
“Noelle…”
Somewhere off to the side, Grant’s voice cuts in again, rougher this time. “Don’t encourage him.”
I ignore him because the room has gone still again, thick with unspoken tension neither of us dares to name.
