She soaks my hand before she collapses against my chest. I hold her until she’s steady on her feet again, sucking my fingers into my mouth.
If I wasn’t worried about someone coming to search for us, I’d pull my cock out and fuck her right here. But I know I’m not thinking clearly, so it’ll have to wait until later tonight.
Tessa presses her hands against my dress pants, feeling how hard I am. My dick strains against the zipper, practically begging for her touch.
I move in close, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Later,” I say, the word scraping out like a vow I’m already set on keeping.
It takes everything in me to pull away from her. I grab a few tissues from a box on the counter and help her clean up before holding out her panties for her to step back into.
If I wasn’t worried about the thought of another man smelling her arousal, I probably would’ve left her without them. The reporters here already have plenty of reasons to drag my name through the headlines. We don’t need to give them another.
Chapter Sixteen
Tessa
I’m not sure what I expected after the gala. Maybe for Clay to shut me out, to build that wall back up, and pretend none of it happened. Perhaps for him to say the guy was right—that we’ve been walking a line too thin to keep pretending it doesn’t exist.
Instead, all I can think about is the way he looked at me before we slipped out of that room. The hint of a smile he tried to hide. The rough edge in his voice when he said,“Later.”
By the time we get back to the lodge, it’s after midnight. My head’s pounding, my feet ache, and the weight of the night hangs heavier than it should. I kick off my heels by the door, mumble a good night to everyone, and head upstairs.
I go through my nighttime routine—washing my face, changing into shorts and a tank, and tying my hair up. I crawl into bed, ready to get some sleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out when I hear the soft click of my door closing. My eyes open to the dark. The faint glow from the miniature tree on my dresser in the corner makes it easy to see him.
My pulse kicks hard, exhaustion gone in an instant. He’s standing near the door, a hoodie half off his shoulders before he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. His chest is bare, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, shadows catching on every line of him.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” he says quietly. His voice is hoarse, like it’s been sitting in his throat all night. “I know you’re probably tired.”
Sorry.The word doesn’t mean much when he’s standing there looking like that.
I push up on one elbow, trying to read him, but the dark hides too much. I shift over, lift the blanket, and let that be my answer.
He doesn’t move right away. His gaze slowly drags over me, lingering on my bare shoulders and the dip of the sheet at my hip. The air between us shifts. My skin prickles with heat that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
The floor creaks under his weight, and my breath hitches. The mattress dips as he climbs in, wearing nothing but his boxers. His scent hits first—a mixture of his soap and the sharp smell of his cologne. He slides an arm under my pillow and pulls me in, closing the space between us.
His body’s warm against mine, heat sinking through the sheets. When his hand finds my stomach, I go still. His lips brush my temple before he finally speaks.
“Tess, baby, you feel good in my arms.”
The words make my chest ache just thinking about how much I’ve wished for nights like this. I find his hand under the pillow and lace my fingers through his. His thumb moves in slow, distracted circles against my skin, and it sends a jolt straight through me. The lines we once promised not to cross are gone, and I’m starting to wonder if they were ever real to begin with.
His hand slips to my waist, fingers tracing over the thin fabric of my shorts. Each slow pass feels like a question he doesn’t need to ask because we both already know the answer.
“Please,” I whisper. The word cracks, betraying how badly I want him. “Clay… I need you.”
The raw sound he makes comes from somewhere deep in his chest. His forehead drops to mine, and his breath is rough against my lips, like he’s one heartbeat away from losing control.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.
And then he’s kissing me. My hands grip his shoulders, holding on like I need something solid to keep me grounded.
Light from the tree in my room casts faint flashes of red and green across the ceiling. The scent of pine and cinnamon lingers on my skin from earlier, and when Clay breaks the kiss and buries his face against my neck, he exhales like he’s been holding it in all night.
Like he’s been starving for me.
