10. Chapter Ten - Split Boundaries #2
“Yes,” he replied, his breath humming softly against my ear. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers grazing my shoulder, and a flutter rolled through my chest.
“And as for payment,” he added quietly, “you need not concern yourself. You’ve already repaid me.”
I frowned. “How?”
“By being here.” His fingers slipped into my hair again, and this time I didn’t stop him.
I didn’t want to.
They stayed there, possessive in a quiet, unapologetic way. My shoulders loosened before my brain could argue with the reaction, and a soft breath escaped me as I leaned into him.
“Stop,” I muttered weakly, shifting slightly. “You’re sniffing me like a creep.”
“I cannot help it,” he replied smoothly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “You smell fantastic.”
You do too.
Relief spread warmly through me despite myself, ridiculous and immediate, because I’d spent half the day worrying I smelled like vape smoke and stress.
“I think I wanna look at all of these,” I said quietly, turning another page of the catalog since my dignity had apparently abandoned ship already.
“If anything is lacking,” he said calmly, lifting a hand toward the attendant, “I will see that it is adjusted to suit you.”
She moved, already scanning the pages I’d circled with efficient precision. I took a sip from the glass of water she’d returned with earlier, the crystal cool and heavy in my hand.
Culver carried authority in the same effortless way a blade carried danger: quiet, controlled, and impossible to ignore.
It should have alarmed me more than it did.
But the way he touched me and looked at me felt different from the cold composure he gave everyone else.
That difference scared me a little because I knew attention like this never lasted forever.
Eventually, I’d become just another person who got too close and mistook focus for safety.
Even knowing that, I stayed curled beside him, caught between comfort and caution.
By the time the attendant returned with a rolling rack of carefully chosen clothes, sleepiness had started creeping into my limbs.
My thoughts softened at the edges, heavy from exhaustion and warmth.
I hadn’t realized how far I’d leaned into him until my cheek brushed the hollow between his shoulder and chest, his scent wrapping around me.
His arm hovered close to mine, not fully touching but near enough to send a message all its own. Protective. Quietly possessive.
Culver didn’t move away. He stayed perfectly still, letting me rest against him without expectation or pressure.
It felt strange in the best way. Most guys I’d known treated affection like a transaction.
A kiss led somewhere. A hand on your thigh meant they wanted something.
Culver overwhelmed me in the opposite way.
His restraint pulled me in more than persistence ever could.
His cold skin no longer shocked me. It steadied me instead, the chill smoothing slowly into something addictive.
When I finally tried to sit up, partly out of politeness and partly to avoid looking like I’d fallen asleep on him in the middle of his luxury store, I lost my balance.
My hand slipped off the edge of the couch, searching for support, and landed somewhere very, very wrong.
My fingers closed around something firm and unmistakably male.
The accidental glide of my hand across him sent realization crashing through me. His cock angled slightly to the left beneath his jeans, solid and heavy enough that the stupid elephant joke instantly stopped being funny. His breath hitched, and my mind tucked the way a gentle groan exscaped him.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“Shit—sorry,” I blurted, jerking upright so fast I nearly launched myself off the couch. Heat flooded every inch of me as I scrambled toward the edge cushion for distance.
Before I could recover, Culver leaned forward and erased the space between us completely.
His face tilted just beneath mine while both hands planted themselves on either side of me.
His presence felt intoxicating, those hypnotic green eyes turning my thoughts into static.
Unfortunately, imagining him straining beneath his jeans again came far too easily.
Dammit.
I inhaled sharply as his cold hand slid over mine, slow enough to keep me frozen in place. The moment stretched unbearably long, even with the attendant still standing nearby pretending not to notice.
I bit my lip and jolted when his fingers trailed slowly up my arm, leaving goosebumps behind.
“You never need to apologize,” he said, smirking up at me without looking away.
I could’ve sworn his teeth looked sharper for a second, though my brain was probably just malfunctioning.
“Even when you stroke my cock in public.”
My cheeks burned hotter. “Pervert, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” I snapped, shoving him weakly with my free hand. “Who wants to feel your stupid dick anyway?”
Absolutely not me. Obviously.
He chuckled and rose effortlessly from the couch, my shove barely registering.
“Tend to her,” he said, his voice rougher now, gravelly and strained enough to send another traitorous shiver through me.
Then he was gone, crossing the room and disappearing behind a heavy door that slammed shut with a final echo.
The store fell quiet again except for the soft classical music drifting overhead. I forced myself to breathe normally, though embarrassment still burned beneath my skin. The attendant watched me with flawless professionalism, waiting patiently for instructions.
“Can you help me pick out some outfits?” I asked, forcing a thin smile that didn’t feel remotely convincing.
She nodded and gestured toward the fitting area.
I followed automatically, my thoughts lagging several steps behind.
My attention kept drifting back toward the door he’d vanished through, and the longer he stayed gone, the more my imagination betrayed me.
He was probably dealing with the erection I’d accidentally caused, and that realization alone sent another wave of heat rushing through me.
Then another thought settled in, impossible to shake. If he’d asked, I probably wouldn’t have stopped at touching him. And honestly… it wouldn’t have felt terrible.
He’d held me close like I belonged there, fingers moving through my hair while he kept me tucked against him. He wanted me there. So why did it suddenly feel like I was the one who had crossed some invisible line?
It had been an accident. I knew that.
But accidents weren’t supposed to linger in your fingertips like static. They weren’t supposed to leave your thighs pressed together while you sat alone replaying every second.
And they definitely weren’t supposed to make you wish the other person hadn’t walked away.
Not unless you wanted it again.
And deep down, I knew I did.