They watched the rest of the episode in silence. She shivered, pulling the blanket up to her neck. He shot her a sidelong glance before tugging it back toward himself. As their half-playful power struggle continued, they slid lower and lower onthe couch, until they were both snuggled fully under the blanket, legs entangled like a pretzel. Lilah wanted to be annoyed, but she was too cozy to care.
When the next episode started, she repositioned her leg more abruptly than she’d meant to, her heel making hard contact with something warm and firm. Shane hissed through his teeth, jerking upright.
“JesusChrist,watch your feet,” he said with a wince, reaching under the blanket and adjusting himself.
She stifled a laugh. “Sorry. They made that seem more fun on TV.”
“They also say not to try it at home,” he grumbled under his breath. “Just get over here, already, before you do any permanent damage.”
She paused, unsure she’d heard him correctly. But he didn’t take it back, just stared at her, eyes dark and bottomless, flickering in the light from the fire.
The blanket fell away from her shoulders as she sat up, folding her legs underneath her until she was kneeling. She crawled across the couch toward him, never more aware that they’d split one outfit’s worth of clothing between the two of them, that her tank top was barely more than a technicality.
She assumed his hands would be on her as soon as she was within reach, but instead he flipped the blanket back, scooting over to create space for her between his body and the back of the couch. She slid in beside him, half relieved, half regretful that this was all he meant.
Once she was seated next to him, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, the long line of his lower body pressed against hers, she hesitated, looking over at him. He was studying her with a serious, almost troubled expression, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips to her chest and then back to her lips again.
She wondered if he was going to try to kiss her after all. He obviously wanted to, and it would be so easy, their faces already inches apart. They’d done it plenty of times before, they were days away from being forced to do it again, and once the idea entered her head, it was hard to make it leave.
But she knew if they did, it wouldn’t matter what she’d said earlier—she wouldn’t be able to stop there. And going down that road with him again would only lead to the same drama and mess and emotional carnage it always had, their work environment once again collateral damage. The tentative peace they’d fought so hard for over the last few months undone in a single night. They’d come too far to risk it.
So she slid down farther, Shane following her lead, until they were both lying flat: her cheek on his bare chest, her arm stretching across the span of his ribs, her breasts pressed into his side. He brought his arm around her, tucking her shoulder tightly into his armpit, before pulling the blanket back over them. Once they were fully settled, they both exhaled heavily, and Lilah felt the last bit of tension drain from her body as she relaxed against him.
There was nothing wrong with a little cuddling. It didn’t have to mean anything. Considering how well their bodies fit together like this, it would be a waste if they didn’t. Lilah couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this comfortable, warm and swaddled and safe, mellowed by wine and practically high off the scent of his skin. Her eyelids began to droop.
“ ’S better.” Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by the sluggishness in his voice that his eyes were probably closed, too. He stroked his hand back and forth over her upper arm absentmindedly, sending pleasurable tingles down through her toes.
“Now that you’re safe from me?” she asked his chest.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be safe from you,” he murmured, or maybe she hallucinated it, since she was already drifting off.
The next thing she knew, the room was dark apart from the flickering of the TV—and cold, too, now that the fire had gone out. But she was warm somehow, even though the blanket was half-off her. It didn’t take her long to figure out the source: she was lying on her side, facing Shane, his arms wrapped around her, his weight pinning her to the back of the couch.
She took inventory of one body part at a time, her heart speeding up exponentially as she accounted for every limb: both her arms around his neck. Her bottom leg sandwiched between his heavy thighs. Her top one slung over his hip. There wasn’t very much of her that wasn’t pressed up against him.
He was still asleep, his brow creased deeply, like he was worried about something. She resisted the temptation to reach up and smooth it out with her thumb.
She must have tensed because she felt him stir, clutching her closer as he woke up. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t seem surprised. He didn’t say anything. He still seemed half-asleep, honestly. But his hands began to move.
The hand that wasn’t pinned under her body trailed down her back, settling on the strip of skin below her tank top, then back up again. His fingertips grazed under the hem, the barest brush somehow sending electric currents straight to her core, her nipples tightening against his chest. He kept his gaze locked on her face, and she knew he was waiting for a signal to stop. One of her hands clenched—practically spasmed—giving her away, her nails digging into the muscles of his shoulder.
He moved with purpose then, freeing the parts of his body that were trapped underneath her, shifting her more fully onto her back, looming above her. His gaze swept over her, eyes glazed, before he slid his hand possessively over her stomach,skating it up over her shirt until he stopped short, just below the swell of her breast.
She struggled for air, her lungs feeling like they were operating at half capacity. In her borderline dream state, his weight and heat and scent crowding her on all sides, restless and greedy, all her earlier inhibitions melted away. There was something hazy and unreal about the whole thing, like nothing that happened would exist outside that moment.
That must have been what emboldened her to place her own hand over his and move it the rest of the way, her breath escaping in a helpless gasp when she felt the warmth of his palm cupping her, his thumb grazing her nipple, her whole body clenching with need.
She thought his eyes would turn her to ash on the spot. He bent his head, and she felt his breath ghost against her skin. “God. Please,” he rasped, his voice desperate. “I know we can’t. I just…need to…” He didn’t finish his sentence before he closed his mouth over her other nipple, sucking through the ribbed fabric of her tank top, as hot and damp and electrifying as if he’d put his mouth directly between her legs. She arched her back and whimpered, lacing her fingers through his hair and holding on tightly.
At her encouragement, he gripped her breast roughly at the same time that she felt the sharp wince of his teeth, making her cry out harder. She wrapped her leg around his waist again and ground against him, her brain so clouded with lust she couldn’t summon any rational excuse why she shouldn’t. Like there was no way that anything that felt this good, that she wanted this badly, could possibly be a mistake.
Too soon, he groaned and released her, sliding his hand down to meet the other one at the small of her back. He restedhis cheek against her lower belly, exhaling heavily, as if stopping took ten times more effort than action. She reached down to stroke his hair.
She knew, then, that they really weren’t going to have sex that night.
They weren’t going to have sex ever again, unless it was for keeps.
The idea didn’t unsettle her as much as she thought it would. It must have snuck in and nested in the basement of her subconscious at some point over the last few weeks—or maybe it had been there for years, lying dormant, waiting for her to wise up and notice it.
