Chapter 9 #2
He reached up, his fingers brushing my jaw so lightly I might have imagined it. "You're cold."
"I know."
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"Not right now." And it was true—standing here with him, his warmth so close I could almost taste it, the cold felt distant. Manageable. Like my dragon had finally found something worth settling for.
His hand curved more fully against my cheek, and I leaned into the touch despite myself, my eyes falling half closed at the simple pleasure of contact.
"Taz." His voice was barely a whisper. "Can I—"
"Yes."
I didn't even know what he was asking. It didn't matter. The answer was yes. Would always be yes.
He rose up on his toes and pressed his lips to mine.
The kiss was soft. Careful. The kind of first kiss that asked permission with every brush of contact. His mouth was warm against my cold lips, and I felt something light pouring through gaps that had been sealed for decades.
My hands found his waist, steadying us both as I kissed him back with all the gentleness I could muster. He tasted like whiskey and something sweeter underneath, and my dragon practically sang with the rightness of it.
When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing harder than the moment warranted.
"That was—" he started.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It was."
He laughed, the sound shaky but real. "I should go home. Get some sleep."
"You should."
Neither of us moved.
"Do you want to come to mine?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "For coffee. Or just—" I watched him fumble, cheeks flushing darker, and something warm unfurled in my chest. "I mean, you don't have to. It's late, and we said slow, and—"
"Yes."
He blinked. "Yes?"
"Yes." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone, marveling at the way his breath hitched. "Coffee sounds good."
The drive to his apartment took fifteen minutes that felt like hours. I followed his taillights through streets I didn't recognize, my hands steady on the wheel even as my heart hammered against my ribs. This was happening. Whatever this was—it was actually happening.
His apartment was small. A studio, really, tucked into the third floor of a building that had seen better decades.
But it was clean, organized in a way that spoke to someone who'd learned to make the most of limited space.
Medical textbooks lined a shelf above the tiny kitchen counter.
A couch faced a television that looked older than most of the rookies on the team.
"It's not much," Cinder said, something defensive creeping into his voice as he hung up his jacket. "I know it's—"
"It's yours," I interrupted. "That's what matters."
He stared at me for a moment, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he laughed, soft and wondering. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I really do."
He moved toward the kitchen—a few steps, really, given the size of the space—and started pulling out mugs. "Coffee, then. I have—" He stopped, hands braced on the counter, his back to me. "I don't actually want coffee."
"Okay."
"I want—" He turned, and the look on his face stole my breath. Vulnerable. Wanting. Terrified in a way that made my dragon surge forward with the need to protect. "I want you. I know we said slow, and I know this is probably a terrible idea, but I can't stop thinking about—"
I crossed the distance between us in two strides and kissed him.
This wasn't like the parking lot. This was hunger, finally unleashed. His back hit the counter, and he made a sound against my mouth—surprised, desperate—as his hands fisted in my Henley and pulled me closer.
"Taz—" He gasped when I moved to his throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of his pulse. "God, you're so cold, it's—"
"Too much?" I pulled back immediately, terror spiking through the haze of want.
"No." His hands tightened, keeping me close. "No, it's—it feels good. Different. Like—" He shuddered as I traced my tongue along his collarbone. "Like it’s clean. It doesn't make me cold if that makes sense. It's like I register it, but it doesn't affect me."
The words broke something loose inside me. I'd spent years convinced my cold would only ever hurt, only ever damage. And here he was, pressing against me.
"Bedroom," I managed against his skin. "Unless you want—"
"Bedroom," he agreed breathlessly. "Definitely bedroom."
It was barely five steps away, separated from the main space by a half-wall that served as a headboard.
The bed was made with military precision, sheets tucked tight, and I had approximately two seconds to appreciate that before Cinder was pulling his sweater over his head and my brain short-circuited entirely.
He was beautiful. Lean muscle under pale skin, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders I hadn't expected. A scar on his left side, old and faded. I wanted to map every inch of him.
"You're staring," he said, something self-conscious creeping into his voice.
"You're worth staring at."
His laugh was shaky. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
He answered by reaching for my shirt, tugging it over my head with hands that trembled slightly. When his palms pressed flat against my chest, he sucked in a sharp breath.
"You really are freezing," he murmured, but he didn't pull away. His fingers traced patterns across my skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. Walls crumbling, defenses falling, he surged up and kissed me again, and this time there was nothing tentative about it.
We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, mouths still connected, hands everywhere. I worked his jeans open while he struggled with my belt, both of us too desperate for finesse. When I finally got my hand around him, he arched off the mattress with a sound that made my dragon roar in triumph.
"Fuck—Taz—" His head fell back, throat exposed, and I couldn't resist pressing my cold lips there, feeling his pulse hammer against my mouth. "That's—God, your hands are… it's—"
"Good or bad?"
"Good," he gasped. "So good. Don't stop." I didn't stop. I stroked him slowly, learning what made him gasp, what made him curse, what made his hips buck up seeking more friction. He was gorgeous like this—flushed and desperate and completely undone.
"I want—" He reached for me, and the first touch of his warm hand on my cock made me groan. "Can I—"
"Yes. Anything. Everything."
We moved together, hands finding rhythm, mouths trading desperate kisses.
The contrast of temperatures—his warmth against my cold—made everything sharper, more intense.
Every point of contact felt electric, his heat seeping into my frozen skin while my cold made him shiver and gasp in ways that had nothing to do with discomfort.
"You feel incredible," I breathed against his throat, my hand working him faster now, thumb sliding through the wetness gathering at his tip. "So warm. So alive."
"Taz—" His grip on me tightened reflexively. "I'm close. I'm—"
"Let go." I kissed him hard, swallowing his moan. "I've got you."
He came apart in my arms, spilling hot over my cold fingers, his whole body shuddering as he pressed his face into my shoulder and made sounds that I would remember for the rest of my life.
Beautiful sounds. Desperate sounds. The sounds of someone finally letting themselves feel safe enough to fall.
His hand never stopped moving on me, even through his own release, and the combination of his warmth and his touch and the way he whispered my name against my skin pushed me over the edge moments later.
The cold that usually spread through me when I lost control stayed contained, locked down by something I didn't fully understand—my dragon settled and certain in a way it had never been before.
We lay there in the aftermath, breathing hard, limbs tangled together on his narrow bed. His head rested on my chest, and I could feel him tracing patterns on my skin, mapping the cold the way I'd mapped his warmth.
"You're still freezing," he murmured.
"I know."
"It doesn't bother you? Being this cold all the time?"
I considered the question, running my fingers through his hair. "It used to. When I was younger, I thought something was wrong with me. That I was broken somehow."
"And now?"
"Now..." I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Now I'm starting to think maybe I was just waiting for someone warm enough to balance me out."
He lifted his head, meeting my eyes with an expression so open it made my chest ache. "That's either the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, or the cheesiest."
"Can't it be both?"
His laugh was soft, genuine. "Yeah. I guess it can."
We cleaned up eventually—his bathroom was tiny, barely room for one person, but we managed—and then we were back in his bed, wrapped around each other in the darkness. I should have gone home. Should have given us both space to process what had just happened.
Instead, I stayed.
"Taz?" His voice was sleepy, muffled against my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For all of it."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know." He shifted closer, his warmth seeping into my cold bones. "But I wanted to anyway."
I held him tighter, my dragon purring contentedly beneath my ribs, and for the first time in thirty years, the cold didn't feel like a curse.
It felt like coming home.
Cinder
The flight was smoother than the last one—or maybe I just felt smoother, still wrapped in the memory of Taz's cold hands and cool lips and the way he'd looked at me like I was something worth having.
I found my seat in the back, same as before, and pulled out my tablet to review player files. Routine. Normal. The kind of work that kept my hands busy while my brain replayed every moment of last night on an endless loop.
Nancy dropped into the seat beside me, her eyebrow already raised in that knowing way she had.
"You're glowing," she said flatly.
"I'm not glowing."