23. Chapter Twenty-Three - Breaking Point #3
His words dropped into the silence like heavy stones, each one sending ripples through the charged air. I blinked once, twice, stunned.
My mouth parted as the meaning threaded itself through my brain and sank somewhere low and molten in my belly, because that was the most I’d ever heard Culver Scarbrough lay out in one go, and it wasn’t his usual cool distance or those vague hints he threw around.
I hadn’t expected that. Not from him.
I didn’t know how to react to a confession like that, and I honestly didn’t believe it for a second.
“So what?” I teased, my voice light and airy on purpose. “You wanna be friends, but you also wanna be more than friends? Are you playing out the long game for sex?”
A sound tore from his chest, low and feral and absolutely not human, something primal and territorial that vibrated straight through my spine and made my pussy flutter with hot, embarrassing intensity.
I barely had a second to brace before he pushed away from the mirror, holding me against him with an ease that made me feel weightless.
A second later, I landed on the couch with a soft thud.
My legs parted instinctively, like my body already understood the choreography, and he hovered over me, caging me in with his frame.
He didn’t touch me beyond that, didn’t pin me the way he had earlier, but the electricity of him was everywhere: his breath, his chest, the solid shape of his thighs bracketing mine.
The ridge of his cock brushed my outer thigh, thick and eager through his pants, and my pussy responded with a slow, needy throb that made me squeeze my legs together in reflex.
“Ira,” he breathed, his voice threaded with restraint so fragile it might snap with the wrong word.
His hands gripped the couch on either side of my head, elbows locked like he was holding back an entire storm.
“Forget the matter of sex. What I want is you. To be near you. To keep watch over you… to protect you. To feel your hands in mine and your body in my arms. That is all I could ever want, for as long as I exist. I have no need for titles or fleeting vows. Not when I already know I am bound to your side for the rest of forever.”
I felt exhilarated, warmth flooding through me like I’d just taken a hit of something strong that lit up every nerve, because Culver wanted me.
Not only my body, even though his cock was pressing hard against his pants like it had ideas of its own, but he also wanted to be close to me, to spend time with me.
But the logical part of my brain finally caught up. I knew this was a tactic.
Love bombing was the easiest thing a guy could do to get into my pants, so I had to push the boundary.
My chest rose and fell too fast, my breaths shallow and trembling, my nipples straining against my shirt as heat pooled low and deep.
The way he looked at me made me feel seen and devoured at the same time, his eyes tracing my mouth, my neck, and my collarbone as if memorizing them for later. I swallowed hard.
He lowered himself a fraction closer, just enough that his silver chain slipped forward between us, brushing the top of my cleavage. My heart stuttered in my chest like it didn’t know whether to sprint or stop entirely. This was just manipulation wrapped in poetry and control.
Men like him didn’t invest without getting something in return: power, leverage, ownership. And what did I have to offer someone like Culver Scarbrough? He could have anyone. He could buy anything. The only thing I had was whatever my body could give.
I flicked my gaze between his face and the forearms caging me on either side. Veins rose beneath his skin, his muscles taut, the kind of tension that could flip me over and take me from behind if he let himself.
Instead, I took control.
I reached up and curled my fingers around his necklace, the chain cool and smooth against my palm, tugging the cross forward with a slow pull.
He didn’t flinch. He leaned into the motion like I’d offered something he’d been starving for.
I dragged him closer by the chain until his face hovered inches from mine, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—surprise, hunger, maybe even something close to reverence—before narrowing into something darker, more focused. He inhaled. Really inhaled. His breath caught faintly.
Only then did I realize how heavy my arousal must’ve been in the air between us, threading through sweat and perfume.
His gaze flicked to my lips like he wanted to taste every word I hadn’t said.
My fingers traced down the sharp line of his jaw, following the softness that would feel sinful against the inside of my thighs.
Tilting my head, I whispered softly against his breath, “Do whatever you want, Culver. But listen, I’m not fucking you today if that’s what you’re wanting.”
The words tasted like smoke and honey as they left my mouth, lingering between us. Sharp enough to wound. Sweet enough to tempt. His eyes snapped back to mine, searching my face for cracks, for truths I wouldn’t give him.