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.
“You’re fucking addictive,” he mutters, his lips brushing my skin. “Every time I’m near you, I lose myself. I don’t just want you, Tess, I crave you. I’ll never get enough.”
His words undo me, knocking down what little fight I had left.
Then his voice drops low. “Take your hair down. I want to see you.”
My fingers find the tie, and I pull it loose. My hair falls around me, spilling across the pillow. Clay doesn’t look away. He leans back, watching me like he’s committing every second to memory, even if he’ll never admit it.
“Christ,” he whispers, the words cracking. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Every inch of you belongs to me tonight.”
When his mouth leaves mine and moves to my collarbone, a low moan slips out before I can stop it. His lips find the hollow of my throat, pressing there once before moving lower. Each touch unravels me a little more.
I arch into him without thinking, chasing his heat, needing his touch everywhere. My hands drag down his back, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his skin. Every shift, every flex makes my pulse stutter.
The mattress dips as he leans over me, braced on his hands, and the sight of him—bare chest, boxer briefs now low on his hips, and eyes dark with want knocks the air out of me. He lowers himself until we’re flush, grinding against my aching center, drawing a sound from me I can’t hold back.
My hand slides down his side, and he shudders, pushing his boxers down. His forehead rests against mine as he reaches for me, slipping my clothes off one piece at a time.
He kisses me like he’s trying to erase the space between us. His hands slip between us, brushing over my aching center, causing a shiver to wrack through me.
“You’re always so wet for me, Sugar,” he rasps, voice thick. “You make me so hard I can’t see straight.”
The words strike like a match, and it’s exactly what I’ve been craving. I reach for him, my hand finding him hard and hot, proof of every promise he’s made in the dark.
He groans, the sound deep and raw, and then he’s there. The first push knocks the breath out of me, all heat and friction, enough to make everything else fade.
He moves with control that feels almost cruel. Slow enough to wreck me, deep enough to make me swear. Every thrust pulls a sound from me I didn’t know I could make.
I hook my legs around him, pulling him closer, desperate to take all of it. His hands grip my waist, holding me in place as he drives harder. Each snap of his hips sends another shock through me, and I can’t tell where the ache ends and the desire begins.
“Say my name,” he growls, breath hot in my ear.
“Clay,” I cry.
He slams into me harder, like he’s trying to erase every lonely night we ever spent apart.
His mouth crashes on mine, swallowing every sound I make.
Each thrust comes harder, faster, like he’s chasing something he can’t catch.
The bed hits the wall, and the room is filled with the sound of our ragged breaths.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Give it to me, Tessa. Hard.”
I do. I tumble over the edge with a scream swallowed by kisses, waves of release folding through me so hard I think I’ll break. He follows me, his body shaking against mine as he comes.
We collapse together, still shaking, still catching our breath. His weight settles over me, skin hot and slick, heartbeat pounding against mine.
He lifts his head, eyes dark, mouth finding mine again. The kiss is rougher this time, desperate, like he’s fighting off the inevitable. I hold on tighter because if I let go now, I’m afraid it’ll all be over.
When he finally pulls back, his hand stays on my face, thumb brushing along my jaw. “You have no idea what this meant to me tonight,” he says quietly. “Not just being here with you now, but earlier with that reporter. You didn’t even hesitate. You just… stepped in.”
“You didn’t deserve that,” I whisper.
He huffs out a small laugh, but it’s tired. “Maybe not, but I’ve heard worse. I just…” He pauses, tracing slow circles against my skin. “I guess I forgot what it feels like to have someone in my corner.”
I reach up, my fingers finding his wrist. “You’re not alone, Clay.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I know,” he says, voice roughened by something that isn’t desire. “That’s what scares me.”
He shifts closer, resting his forehead against mine. “You,” he says, the word rough with emotion. “Didn’t think I’d ever have this… have you.”
My chest tightens. “Clay—”
He cuts me off with a soft shake of his head. “Don’t. Just… let me have this for a minute.”
I nod, and he exhales, brushing his thumb over my cheek again like he’s trying to calm himself.
“This isn’t it,” he says finally. “You hear me? I’ll find a way. This won’t be the last time we’re together.”
I want to believe him. I want to let that promise drown out everything waiting outside this room. So I nod, even though some part of me already knows it’s a promise he can’t keep.
He pulls me close, his breath warm against my shoulder, our fingers tangled together. I fall asleep like that—wrapped in quiet and his unspoken words—holding on to a promise that won’t make it to morning.