Chapter 8 #2
I’d fought so hard to keep distance. To be neutral. To stay contained. Yet, here I was and my body was rebelling like it had never agreed to any of those terms in the first place.
I made it to the bed out of exhaustion more than intent. Curled on top of the covers with another bottle of water beside me, half-finished. My legs tangled. My body burned. My thoughts refused to stay quiet.
The window was cracked, letting in a sliver of night air to cool the rising heat. I closed my eyes again and told myself I’d just rest for a minute. Just long enough to reset.
Sleep didn’t come gently.
It came like drowning.
The dream started in the arena.
Empty. Echoing.
The lights above the ice humming like insects.
I stood barefoot at center rink.
And then they were there.
Roan first—helmet off, skates half-unlaced, watching me like I was the only thing in the building.
Jay, gliding silent from the bench, gloves off, eyes too dark to read.
Rhett, breathless and grinning, already close, scent thick and teasing, curling around my ankles like smoke.
“You ran,” he said, brushing my hair off my neck. “You didn’t have to run.”
“I didn’t—” My voice caught.
Jay’s fingers grazed my wrist, feather-light. “You always run. Even when you’re standing still.”
Roan didn’t speak.
He just stepped closer.
I let him. What was I doing? I was… oh, it was a dream. I didn’t have to fight it. I didn’t have to lie. I didn’t have to keep the leash tight around a body already slipping.
Roan’s hand touched my jaw, firm and steady.
Jay leaned in, his scent cutting clean through the fog. “Let go, Wren.”
Rhett whispered at my back, warm lips brushing my ear. “We’ll catch you.”
I wanted to say no. But that wasn’t what came out of my mouth. No, a very simple word. Maintain the boundaries. Keep my distance. Be contained.
That was what I should have done. But what did I do?
I said yes.
I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.
Blankets kicked off. Skin burning. Muscles clenched.
The air in the cabin was cold. Too cold. My body didn’t care.
I sat up, heart pounding.
My scent was everywhere.
It was no longer subtle. No longer manageable. It was full and heady and soaked into every surface. I could barely breathe through it.
My hands trembled.
This wasn’t heat.
Not yet.
But it was coming.
Fast.
I wasn’t ready.
For the first time since dismissing the doctor’s recommendation of hiring a pro, I wanted to scream at myself. Saying no to that had been automatic, intense, and necessary. The idea of someone else…
No. I survived those first two heats. I’d survive this one.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, still half-dazed from the dream.
The cold tile beneath my feet was a jolt, but it wasn’t enough to shake off the lingering sensations.
I splashed water on my face, the shock of it barely registering against the fire beneath my skin.
The mirror reflected back a stranger—eyes too bright, cheeks flushed, lips parted like I was already panting. I looked like I was in the throes of it, even though I wasn’t. Not yet. But the signs were all there, screaming at me that I was on the edge of something I couldn’t control.
Already naked, because even the sheets had already been too much touching my skin, I stepped into the shower again.
The water was ice-cold this time, a desperate attempt to cool the inferno raging inside me.
I stood under the spray, teeth chattering, but it didn’t help.
The ache was too deep, too insistent. It wasn’t just physical; it was a need that went beyond my body, a craving for something I couldn’t name.
Dialing the water up to something warmer, I reached for the soap, my hands shaking as I lathered it over my skin. Each touch was electric, sending sparks through my nerves. I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t get clean. The scent of my arousal was thick in the air, clinging to me, marking me.
I slipped my hand between my legs, fingers gliding over slick flesh. The sensation was intense, almost painful, but I didn’t stop. I needed release, needed to ease the pressure that was building inside me. I worked myself faster, harder, chasing the orgasm that would give me a moment’s respite.
It came in waves, crashing over me, leaving me gasping and trembling. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. The ache was still there, gnawing at me, demanding more. I leaned against the wall, water cascading over me, and slid to the floor, too exhausted to stand.
I stayed there, curled up in the corner of the shower, until the water turned cold again. Then I dragged myself out, wrapping a towel around my shivering body. I stumbled back to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress, too tired to do anything but lie there and stare at the ceiling.
Sleep eluded me, but I didn’t fight it. I let my mind drift, let the memories and fantasies take over. Roan, Jay, Rhett—their faces, their scents, their touches. It was a dangerous game, letting myself go there, but I was past caring. I was past everything but the need.
I reached for the bottle of water, taking a long drink, trying to ground myself.
But there was no grounding when my body was on fire, when every thought was consumed by the approaching storm.
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me, hoping that this time, sleep would bring some relief.
But even as I drifted off, I knew it was just a temporary escape.
The heat was coming, and there was no running from it now.