Chapter 15
Fifteen
AVA
It’s stupid early. Pale, blue-gray light is creeping in through the gaps in the curtains.
Everything’s quiet and still. The house, usually groaning with the morning bustle of my parents and coffee machines, is silent.
I can’t sleep. Not with Soren curled around me as though he was made to fit there, all heat and hard lines.
At some point in the night, we must’ve gravitated toward each other. His leg is notched between mine, and one arm is locked around my middle like I’ll float off if he lets go. His breath brushes against my neck in warm puffs. And there’s one more issue.
A very… present issue.
Soren’s morning wood nudges my backside with its own agenda. From how thick and obscenely hard his “flesh sword” is, it could apply for its own zip code.
Jesus.
Then, as I lie there, caged between his arms, the unthinkable happens.
My brain cues up a smutty slideshow of every angle, all the positions, me panting as I imagine Soren burying himself deep inside me with his thick, obscenely hard cock.
Raging.
Punishing.
Fucking me in ways no one ever has.
A needy ache blooms low, and I squeeze my thighs together. As if that’s going to help. It doesn’t, obviously.
Fuck, what has gotten into me? I’m not supposed to want him. He’s my fake boyfriend. My online nemesis. My one-man PR disaster.
And yet. Here I am. One sleepy thrust away from throwing all my emotional boundaries in a blender and asking him to rearrange my insides.
For research, of course. Something other than porn and Passionflix. Real-life, hands-on experience.
My eyes fly open.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
This behavior has to stop. From me launching myself on top of him last night, to now, enough is enough.
Inching forward, I manage to create a little space between us, but Soren’s arm tightens. A soft, possessive murmur escapes him. Even asleep, he’s got a sixth sense for retreat.
I stay still.
Mistake.
My body—traitorous, stupid, and apparently starved for touch—shifts back the tiniest bit.
That’s all it takes.
Suddenly, Soren’s moving, grinding against me with a seductive roll of his hips. He’s solid and ready, and the shape of him is pressed firmly against the curve of my ass.
Another laggard grind, and that razor-sharp pulse ignites, heat blooming between my legs with humiliating urgency.
Closing my eyes, I bite back a curse, mortified that a half-conscious thrust got me wet.
Thankfully, Soren turns onto his back. Right when I think I might escape this unholy situation without dying of mortification—his body turns again, his arm jerks, yanks me back, and I’m flush against a wall of warm, sleepy muscle.
My stomach nosedives. My breath is caught in my throat. I. Can’t. Move. Fucking hell.
“Soren,” I hiss. No response. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe this is some involuntary—
He chuckles.
“Oh my God.” I twist to break free. No dice, his grip is relentless. “You did that on purpose?”
“When you wiggle against it, what do you expect?” His voice is rough with sleep. He doesn’t even pretend to be sorry. “Men can’t help it. Especially when you rub up against us with your ass.”
“How long have you been awake?” I demand he confess, spinning in his arms.
“Since the moment you sighed and did that little… arch thing.”
“I didn’t do an arch thing.”
“You did.”
I gape at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
One shoulder of his shrugs, cocky and clearly unfazed. “Hey, don’t blame me. Your ass clearly has a crush on my dick. And full disclosure—he’s into it. He thinks your ass is pretty damn cute too.”
My mouth tumbles open at his crass words.
Soren grin widens. “They’ve got chemistry, Bells. Could be special. Beautiful, even.”
I scramble away from him. Staying a second longer might shatter whatever’s left of my resolve. And I’m too goddamn horny to fight against my walls.
As I near the edge of the bed, I nearly fall off in my haste.
He props himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging over me with zero shame. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to let them explore that connection, I’ve got a rock-hard invitation ready to go.”
Snatching the throw blanket from the footboard, I wrap it around me. “I’m going downstairs.”
“You always run.” His voice is no longer teasing.
I pause at the door. “Excuse me?”
Soren sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist. His eyes lock on me. “Why?”
“Because this is fake.” The words don’t come out as cold as I meant them to. They sound… tired. Broken.
“You kissed me back last night,” his tone is certain. “That’s twice now.” His legs swing off the bed. He walks to me. Barefoot. Bare-chested.
“I told you to wear a shirt.”
Soren doesn’t even acknowledge that statement, only continues to trudge toward me. “You pounced on me, touched me, ground on my dick because you wanted so much more from me than fake.”
I’m retreating backward as he’s stalking forward. Our eyes are latched onto each other’s, and we do this little dance until my back hits the door.
“One kiss, you can fake. Twice? Nope. You can’t fake twice.
You also can’t fake pouncing on me in your treehouse last night, or clenching your thighs together like your pussy’s trying to cast a protection spell to keep me out.
Which is what’s happening right now.” Strong arms cage me in.
His body presses closer to mine. “Guess what, Bells. I already got past the wards.”
I don’t have an answer to that. Or I do, but it doesn’t matter what I say, he’s right.
Soren’s hand reaches for mine. I yank it away. He sighs, head dropping for the briefest second before lifting back up.
His eyes connect with mine. “Stop denying what you feel.”
“It’s not real.” The words are thin. I’m trying to convince a ghost of a truth I no longer believe. “Or professional.”
Pine, musk, a hint of worn cotton, and an elemental scent–wild sage beneath morning dew wafts off him.
“That’s what you’re telling yourself.”
The softness in his tone weaves through all the hollow parts of me before lodging in my chest, heavy and terrifying. If I let myself believe him—if I let myself believe this—there’s no turning back. And I can’t have that. I refuse to stand on the edge of a cliff that’s too steep to climb if I fall.
So, I look away. It’s safer than gazing into the eyes of a man who sounds as though he might actually mean what he’s saying.
I know better.
“That burning inside,” my voice trembles. “It’s heat. Lust. It’s not good, Soren.”
“The fact that you can describe it to me tells me you feel it too.”
Shaking my head, I duck under his arm to escape and retreat to the bed. “I’m not about to act on it.”
“Except, you did.”
My entire body goes rigid, nerves locking tight beneath my skin. I could tell him the truth—that I’m scared. That I’m in too deep. That he makes me feel things I can’t control.
“That was a mistake,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
Soren strides up to me, closing the space and erasing every inch of distance I’ve tried to build. His hand comes up, fingers firm but gentle beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his.
“Yes, it will,” he says. “And when it does, I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”
This is too much for me. So, I go for the jugular.
“You’re confused,” I say, both words clipped and cold. “Whatever fantasy you’ve built in your head over the last couple of days needs to end. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed with the idea of family, since you don’t have one.”
The words hang between us like shrapnel. For a heartbeat, Soren doesn’t move. Or blink. He stares at me, the color draining from his face as the hit lands exactly where I aimed. Then he nods once—pointed, contained—and looks away, swallowing hard.
I hate myself for it instantly. But hate feels safer than hope.
I plant my hands on my hips and turn away. I put the hurt in his face there, and I can’t stand to look at it.
“That was a low blow, Bells.”
I let out a long breath before turning back to face him. “Look, I don’t do casual. And you don’t do relationships. You’re not the long-haul type. You’re fireworks and flings that burn fast and bright. We wouldn’t be right for each other anyway.”
The air between us turns to ice. I’m really twisting the knife today, and I hate myself for it. But it’s easier to strike first than wait to bleed.
When he speaks again, there’s no anger, only quiet resolve. “It doesn’t mean I can’t want something different.” His arms drop to his sides. “And that something different is you, Ava.”
Ava? No Bells. Just… Ava.
“You don’t want me,” I say, angling my head to look back at him. “You just want to fuck me.”
The silence that follows isn’t soft or comfortable. Soren’s stormy eyes flame with fire. His smile—ever-present, ever-disarming—is gone. What replaces it is ice and fury.
“Wow,” he says, voice lethal. “You really think that little of me?” He steps into me, close enough to steal my air. “You think this is about sex? That I’ve spent months circling you, sparring with you, craving every damn second of you… because I’m what? Horny?”
I search for the right words, but come up empty. What does he mean he’s spent months circling me? And craving every damn second of me?
“If all I wanted was sex, I could’ve had that with a dozen other people by now. People who didn’t insult my integrity every time I gave them a piece of myself.”
“Soren, I don’t understand. We’re rivals. It’s a gimmick. A show. And now, that show has become a clichéd fake dating trope. For numbers. Nothing more.”
Soren presses a hand to his chest as though he’s physically holding himself together.
Like if he doesn’t keep the pressure there, the wound I’ve just inflicted will split wide and spill everything he’s trying so hard to keep inside.
“That’s where you’re very wrong.” A shadowed sadness I’m not prepared for passes over his features.