Chapter 9
Nine
Claire
His thumb was still moving. Not that I was watching it. Or thinking about it. Or—okay, I was absolutely thinking about it.
He was supposed to be rubbing my hands because they were sore. That’s it. Practical. Helpful. Platonic. Honestly, my whole body feels like it’s been through it from the worst flight ever followed by a horrific drive to the inn.
But that was fifteen minutes ago. And now?
Now we’re under the covers, watching Scream with the wind raging outside, blowing through the windows like it’s desperately trying to find somewhere to crash for the night.
And Seth is holding my hand—gently, deliberately—his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles into my palm like he has nowhere else to be and nothing else to do.
And I am panicking. Quietly. Internally. In black lacy lingerie. My skin tingles where he touches it. Every pass of his thumb makes it worse. Or better. I can’t decide.
He hadn't said anything after he told me I was being stubborn—he was right. Seth sits in those black athletic shorts—bare-chested, of course—like we weren’t one blanket and one questionable decision away from something I definitely wasn’t prepared for.
I need to get control back.
Clearing my throat, I suggest, “Okay. We need rules.”
He turned his head slightly, not letting go. “Rules?”
“Yes,” I state, with more authority than I truly feel. “Ground rules for the bed-sharing situation. To prevent any… weirdness.”
Seth’s voice is playful and rakes over my skin. “Define weirdness.”
I roll my eyes at the fact that he’s going to make me say it. Force me to draw the line we’re trying not to cross. “Anything you wouldn’t do with a coworker,” I suggest.
“Hate to break it to you, but I certainly wouldn’t be in bed with a coworker. Especially without a shirt on, or them wearing anything lacy.” He shrugs his shoulders, but still draws shapes with his fingers on my skin. His smirk is mischievous—he's enjoying this.
“You know what I mean” I do my best to keep my voice firm, confident. He makes it hard for me to think. To want the things I typically do. “No unnecessary touching.”
His thumb does another slow sweep across my palm, like he is trying to distract me on purpose. “So this is off-limits?” he asks, not stopping.
“Definitely,” I say, except it comes out about thirty percent certain. “You're not even rubbing anymore. You’re just… holding.”
He smiles. “But giving you a massage? That was necessary? Even though I wouldn’t do that with a coworker?” The way he’s trying to play this game to end in his favor is unnerving..and delicious.
I scoff and hold back a smile, “You’re being impossible.” I try to pull my hand back to me, to at least have that type of control, but he holds it.
“I think you’re impossible. With your lace and that fucking lip you chew on.” He grins, baiting me.
The fucking lip you chew on. A detail I didn’t expect him to notice or ever share aloud. My brain short-circuits for half a second. I pull in a sharp breath and sit up a little straighter, as if somehow my posture could save me from the emotional chaos unraveling beneath the blanket.
The walls seem to close in around us, pushing us closer and closer.
“Fine,” I huff. “What do you suggest?”
“For rules?” He drops my hand and rubs his chin, like he’s in deep thought. He turns toward me, leaning on his side, his tongue grazes his bottom lip. Seth goes to speak but then stops himself.
“What?” I press, almost desperate to know what he was going to say.
Pushing his lips together, he moves them side to side, and his eyes almost trick me to think they're green instead of hazel.. It feels like he’s pinning me in place with his gaze. Silence grows between us, almost like a snowball, rolling down a hill of fresh powder.
Laughing to himself, he tips his head back and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m trying to decide what answer I give you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I could give you the safe answer. Or, I could give you the honest one.” His voice drops dangerously low, and quiet enough that I know he’s being serious.
Shivers crawl up my spine, one vertebrae at a time. The seconds stretch and his eyes stay on me. All I can think about is how I don’t want to fray the rope between us–the tension pulled taut.
“Your pick, birthday girl.” His voice is pointed and it’s holding me in place.
I take a deep breath, pretend like I'm thinking it over, but it’s all for show. The second he mentioned the two options, I knew there was only one worth knowing.
Holding back a smirk, trying not to show all my cards, I tease, “What fun is it to play it safe when you know the truth?” The words feel like velvet on my lips.
Seth’s mouth pulls up into a devilish grin, one that sends heat to my center, desperate for him to be closer.
“I propose the one bed rule.” The words are matter of fact—am I supposed to know what he means?
Thankfully, he quickly continues. “When we’re stuck here,” he muses, gesturing to the room around us, “no matter how long it lasts.
.." He pauses and it might actually kill me.
I'm hanging on to every syllable, every twitch of his lip, every breath.
“We fucking give in.” His voice is low and like gravel as his hand reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then his thumb is on my jaw while his fingers hold the back of my head.
There’s no air, nothing to breathe in to relieve the ache almost cracking the bones in my chest. When his eyes go from mine to my lips, I can’t help but do the thing he called out—I push the bottom one through my teeth, meticulously slowly.
He leans closer, eliminating the space between us, his hand pulling me gently closer to him. We’re a short sigh apart; one move from either of us will change the game, the one I feel like we’ve been playing since we got here.
“Do you want to give in, Claire? Follow the one bed rule?”
I nod in agreement before the second question is out of his mouth. It’s not a want at this point—it's a need.
His lips are close to mine; if I took a deep breath, we’d be touching. But he stops before kissing me and murmurs, “Need to hear you say it, baby.”
Baby? Fuck. I am on another planet at this point. Whatever this man says, it’s going to be a yes. The pivot from my standard need for control to whatever he wants is jarring but, in a way, causes flames to lick at my skin.
I answer, “Yes.”
Seth offers me another smirk, one that has goosebumps raising on my arm, and then his mouth is on mine.