When I clench around him, he throws his head back and grits his teeth, trying to keep it down as his release slams into him.
He leans over me, breath unsteady, until the rush between us finally fades. The soft glow from the string lights flickers across my skin, catching on the faint marks where they’d wrapped around my wrists.
Clay’s fingers move gently, unwinding them one loop at a time, the quiet clink of bulbs the only sound between us. When the last strand falls away, he tosses it aside and drops onto the bed beside me.
I shift closer without thinking, my head finding his shoulder, his arm slipping easily around my waist. The warmth of his skin seeps into mine, anchoring me in a way nothing else can. I should move. I should create some space. But I don’t. I just stay there, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat calm mine.
The room is quiet, except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the soft rustle of our breath as we sleep. Shadows spin lazily across the ceiling, and I stare up at them, trying to take in everything about this moment—about him.
Because this isn’t about one night. It never was. It’s him. It’s always been Clay. The way he looks at me like I’m something he shouldn’t want but can’t stay away from. The way he makes everything feel more alive.
And that’s what scares me most. Because if he ever saw how deep this runs, how long I’ve felt it, there wouldn’t be a way back for either of us.
So I stay still, tucked against his chest, pretending I’m not falling harder with every quiet breath he takes.
Chapter Thirteen
Clay
The smell of coffee pulls me into the kitchen, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle me—not when she’s already there.
It’s Christmas morning. The house is loud with laughter and chatter, but all I can see is Tessa. She’s sitting at the table with the kids, mug in hand, pretending everything’s normal. But when her eyes lift and meet mine, the air shifts. The memory from last night sparks alive between us.
I take the seat across from her, trying to play it off, but my pulse won’t settle. Her hair’s down, her sweatshirt’s soft and familiar, and it should feel easy between us. It doesn’t. It feels like standing near a live wire.
When I shift in my chair, our legs brush under the table. Just a light touch, but it’s enough to make every muscle in my body lock up. I should pull away, but I don’t, and neither does she. Her breath falters just slightly before she forces a small smile, eyes dropping down to her plate.
Her mom glances between us, all smiles. “Morning, sleepyheads. I was starting to think you two were hibernating.”
“Long night,” Tessa says, hiding her smirk behind her mug.
Her mom laughs. “You stay up watching movies again?”
“Something like that,” she murmurs, eyes flicking to mine for a second.
The conversation continues when someone mentions the cinnamon rolls, another person asks for the syrup, and I’m thankful her mom doesn’t press further. I barely hear anything else that is said. Not when she’s right there, playing innocent while every memory from last night plays out in her mind before my eyes.
When she reaches for the butter, her leg brushes mine again. It’s deliberate this time. My hand tightens around the coffee cup.
Steven comments under his breath to Erica about unwrapping more than just presents, and Tessa’s gaze darts over to meet mine. I fake a grin, although my mind is already somewhere else.
On her, the heat of her leg resting against mine, and the memory of her body beneath me.
Tessa looks at me over the rim of her mug, that same teasing spark flickering in her eyes. One corner of her mouth curves up. It’s subtle, but I can feel it. It’s enough to tell me one thing. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The room’s loud—kids laughing, plates clattering, someone yelling for more syrup—but I barely hear it. She laughs at something across the table, though her eyes keep coming back to me. That look knocks the breath out of me.
Then Evan slides into the empty chair beside her, and the moment snaps.
His shoulder brushes hers as he reaches for the pepper, close enough that it makes my jaw lock. “Morning, Trouble.” His smug voice is enough for him to already get under my skin.
Tessa’s smile comes too fast. “Morning,” she says, trying to play it off as casual. But I catch the quick flick of her eyes over to me, trying to gauge my reaction.
He leans in again, murmuring something that makes her laugh. It’s fake and forced, and the sound makes my chest tighten. I grip my coffee mug until it’s almost too hot to hold, every muscle coiled tight with the effort not to react.
Evan dips his head closer, his breath near her ear as he jokes about “trouble following her everywhere she goes.” She swats at him playfully, but her eyes meet mine again. There’s a warning there, and something else too—something that dares me to stay in control.
Our gaze holds for a second too long. My pulse is hammering, and all I can think about is the way his hand rests on the back of her chair like he belongs there.
