And the worst part? Some treacherous part of me wanted that to be true.
Before Aster could say more, a shadow fell over our table.
“You two ready to ski?” Noah asked, already dressed for the slopes, goggles resting on his head, that same cocky grin spreading across his face. Jason stood beside him, quieter, hands buried in his jacket pockets, gaze skimming over us with calm interest.
“I’m not sure I’ll be much good,” I said, hoping to deflect.
“You’ll be fine,” Noah replied, confidence rolling off him as he adjusted his goggles. “We’ll stick to the easy runs first. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Jason gave a small nod, his tone even. “It’s not too bad once you get the hang of it.”
Aster nudged me beneath the table. “Let’s go. It’s not every day we get this high up a mountain with nothing due and no pressure.”
I hesitated, but then Gwen stood, tugging on her gloves, Zayn close behind her, his grin effortless, his presence easy. The room stirred with movement, students gathering their things, laughter spilling into the hall, boots crunching against the frost-coated floor.
I couldn’t exactly refuse without drawing attention. But how could I go? How could I follow them after what had happened in that room, after his fingers, his breath, his words had branded me into stillness? After I’d promised that I wouldn’t?
The memory of his voice still coiled inside me, and yet, I was already walking toward the door. My fingers tightened around my gloves, my boots striking the floor in a rhythm I couldn’t control. What was I supposed to say?
That the man I used to hate had kissed me with a hunger that stripped me bare, that he’d devoured me with possession and fury until I forgot how to breathe? His breath still haunted the space beneath my throat, his words still burned behind my ribs, and the ache between my thighs pulsed with every step I took.
Because I had come on his fingers. My professor’s fingers.
The truth of it clung to me more stubbornly than the fabric of my sweater. No one could see it, but it lived under my skin, a secret thrumming with every inhale. Each step toward the slopes felt false, a quiet betrayal of what had happened in that room and how it had rewritten me. Yet, I kept moving, because I knew he wouldn’t forget. And neither would I.
Even though I hadn’t seen him since slipping out of that room, I could still feel him somewhere behind me, his presence heavy in the air, his unseen gaze dragging against the back of myneck. That silent claim he’d left on me still burned, unyielding, undeniable. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even guilt. It was something far more dangerous.
Desire. And that was the hardest part to walk away from.
***
Snow crushed beneath our boots as we followed the narrow trail toward the equipment rental, the cold sharp against my cheeks but powerless against the heat rolling under my skin. My gloves felt thin, useless against the memory imprinted on my palms. My fingers still remembered where his hands had been, how they had held me, moved me, undone me. I curled them into fists now, as if I could press the sensation out.
Aster was talking with Jason about slopes and snow quality, her voice lively, her laughter bright against the white quiet of the mountain. Gwen and Zayn’s banter drifted somewhere ahead, easy and untroubled. But their words blurred together, fading into a distant hum. I walked beside them, nodded when I needed to, smiled when expected, but my mind wasn’t with them.
Part of me was still upstairs in that lodge room, caught between the door and his restraint, drowning in the way his eyes had consumed me until I’d forgotten where I ended and he began.
Noah stayed close as we approached the ski racks. His shoulder brushed mine once, twice, his body language casual enough to disguise intent. He offered to help with my boots, complimented the color of my sweater, said it reminded him of the pines on the slopes. He joked about helmets, about me falling into him, his grin careless but deliberate.
And still, I smiled back. A reflex. A performance. Because pretending was easier than admitting how deeply everything had shifted.
At the foot of the slope, he leaned closer, voice soft but laced with a kind of easy confidence. “We’ll take it slow,” he said. “You’ll be clinging to me in no time.”
I gave a laugh, practiced and harmless. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
He winked, amused. I turned away. But my gaze moved on its own, past the chatter, past the crowd at the base lodge, straight to the single figure standing motionless against the snow.
Hayden.
He stood near the tree line, half-buried in shadow, his body turned just enough to suggest he might leave, but his eyes told a different story. They were locked on me, unyielding, predatory, burning through the cold until I swore the air itself shivered between us.
He wore a dark coat, gloves hanging from one hand, snow melting in his hair as it caught the wind. There was no pretense left, no trace of the careful restraint he used in lecture halls. What burned in his eyes wasn’t just anger but possession, restrained and slow, a force that seemed to exist only for me.
Our eyes met, and the world stilled. The cold receded. The noise dimmed. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning everything but him.
I couldn’t move. Because if I did, I’d run to him. And I couldn’t, not with Noah standing beside me, not with Aster waving from the lift, not with the echo of his mouth still bruised against mine and his voice whispering you belong to me, that vow carved straight into my bones.
I drew a breath, slow and shaking, and tore my gaze away. But even when I looked elsewhere, I could still feel him, his stare burning against my back, a touch that never quite broke skin but branded all the same. Even as the lift carried us higher, even as the sky widened and the trees thickened, I knew he was still watching. Still waiting.
