Chapter 45
Study hall’s supposed to be quiet. That’s the whole point, but it never really is when all of us are in the same room.
Silas slouches in the seat to Liv’s right, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his notebook like he’s trying to summon a thought from the ether.
I’m on her left, math book open but untouched, watching the clock out of the corner of my eye.
Liv’s in the middle, bent over her notes, one leg tucked up in her in the chair.
Across from us, Rafe sits with Morella. Correction—he tries to sit. He shifts every few minutes, flipping between textbook pages and his laptop, clearly not absorbing any of it. His jaw’s tight. Eyes keep flicking toward us. Or maybe her.
He hasn’t said much since he walked in and saw Liv sitting between us. Not beside him. Nope. She took the space between me and Silas like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because lately—it is.
I settle back in my chair, arm sliding along the back of hers. My hand brushes her shoulder lightly, fingers trailing in soft, absent motions. I rub the top of her arm with my thumb. She doesn’t flinch or shy away. Instead, she leans in slightly.
Across the table, Rafe shifts again. The sound of his pen scratching across paper turns sharper. Less about taking notes, and more like attacking the page. Morella notices. I see her side-eye him but she doesn’t say anything.
“Do you two really need to have that much PDA?” he asks, not even bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.
The words hang for a second. I keep my hand where it is. Silas doesn’t even look up. Liv turns to face Rafe, her expression flat but amused.
“Do you really need to have so much PMS?”
Silas chokes on a laugh.
Morella actually snorts.
Rafe glares at her like she threw a dagger instead of a sentence.
Liv doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. She leans back in her seat, picks up the water bottle again, and takes another sip like nothing happened. I keep rubbing her shoulder, fighting a grin.
Across the table, Rafe doesn’t say another word.
The den smells like cinnamon and pine.
There’s a fake garland stretched along the mantle, half-lit with twinkling warm lights.
The Christmas tree in the corner flickers softly, covered in mismatched ornaments and tangled tinsel like it’s been decorated over years of chaos and compromise.
One of the movie channels is playing a classic—something old-school with falling snow and people yelling about love in New York. I’m not really watching it.
Liv’s beside me on the couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted toward the screen, but I can tell she’s not watching either.
She’s too still. Too quiet. Which is usually the warning sign. Her eyes flick toward me once. Then again.
I glance at her. “What?”
She shrugs. “Nothing.”
Her voice is light. Casual. Which is exactly how I know she’s absolutely up to something. I go back to pretending to watch the movie. Two seconds later, she strikes. A cold hand slips under the hem of my shirt, right against my side.
I flinch like she stabbed me. “What the hell—!”
She’s grinning already. “You’re warm.”
“You’re ice.”
“I know.” She slides her hand further against my skin. “That’s why I’m sharing.”
I grab her wrist and pull her hand out, but she’s already laughing, twisting out of my grip, practically rolling into my lap as she tries to escape.
“You started it,” I warn.
“I was cold!”
“You’re always cold!”
I lean over and try to grab her again, but she slips off the couch in a scramble of limbs and hair. Her socks skid on the wood floor, and she uses the coffee table as leverage to stand. “Coward!” she calls.
I stand too. “You’re calling me a coward when you fled like a squirrel?”
She backs up a step, still laughing. “Because I knew you’d retaliate. You’re a vengeful man, Archer Gravemont.”
“Only when I’m provoked.”
“Oh no,” she says, voice dramatic, hands raised in mock surrender. “You mean like this?” Then she lunges and flicks at my nose.
The disrespect.
I catch her hand mid-swipe and tug her toward me. She lets out a startled laugh as she stumbles into my chest, hands bracing against me.
“Got you,” I say, voice low near her ear.
But Liv doesn’t stay still. She jerks backward, twisting in my grip with a laugh, trying to break free.
She’s fast for someone so small, wiry and unpredictable.
I tighten my hold around her waist, dragging her back against my chest. She squirms, elbows flailing.
She’s laughing but determined, and I’m starting to lose my grip.
“Jesus, hold still—” I mutter, trying not to laugh as I wrestle her arm down.
She wriggles again, back to my front now, breathing fast.
“You’re impossible,” I breathe.
“Let me go,” she demands, light but fierce.
“No.”
My hoodies already laying on the couch, discard from the heat of the house. I grab it and wrap it around her, and tug her wrists together behind her back. One twist, one knot, and I’ve got her arms wrapped tight in the sleeves like soft restraints.
Her breath catches.
I nudge her toward the wall with my body, pressing her there gently but firmly, my chest to her back. Her hands are pinned behind her with my hoodie binding them, the fabric pressing into her wrists as I cage her in. She's still breathing hard, chest rising and falling under her hoodie.
I wasn’t planning on this.
Wasn’t expecting how good she’d feel like this—twisting, struggling, her body flush against mine. I feel her pause and I know what she feels. The pressure between us. The bulge in my jeans growing by the second.
She freezes for just a second and then shifts. Her hips rock back. She grinds against me once, and I feel the tension snap through me like a current.
“Liv,” I say, low and warning. “Now’s not the time to mess around.”
She tilts her head just enough for her voice to float back to me. “What if I’m not joking?”
My hand slides down instinctively, skimming over her hip, then around the front of her skirt. My fingers brush the edge of the waistband.
“I can find out real fast if you’re serious,” I murmur, breath warm against her ear.
She scoffs, like it’s a challenge. “How could you even—”
My hand slips down the length of her skirt and then up her thigh, the hem falling over my hand. My hand climbs higher until I find the edge of her underwear. I find exactly what I was expecting. Wet. Hot. Soaked. My brain fogs instantly, and my grip tightens just a little on her hip.
Liv’s head falls forward against the wall, a quiet sound escaping her throat.
My pulse pounds in my ears. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have tied her up.
Because now I’m here—behind her, flush to her back, her wrists bound in my hoodie, her skirt bunched around her waist and thigh-highs clinging to her legs like a second skin and I can barely think straight.
She’s warm and soft and pressed up against me like she knows what she’s doing. Maybe she does.
My fingers flex at her hips. I drag my hand up her side slowly, taking in every inch of her. The curve of her waist. The heat coming off her skin. The way she pushes back into me just slightly, like she wants to know how far I’ll go.
My hand travels back down. I stop at the edge of her stocking and drag my fingertips just under the band. Her breath catches. She’s still bound. Still mine in this moment. And I know exactly what I want to do.
My mouth is near her ear now. “You keep teasing me like that,” I murmur, “you’re going to see a side of me I’ve been trying really hard to keep in check.”
She makes a soft sound, something caught between a laugh and a moan. Her body presses tighter to mine like she’s testing the threat. Like she doesn’t believe I mean it.
God, she has no idea. No idea how long I’ve imagined something like this. Not with just anyone. I could’ve had sex a hundred times by now. That part’s easy. Anyone can fuck.
But this? This is different. This is control and surrender. This is her trusting me. This is mine.
I move my hand again, up her thigh more, slower this time, deliberate. I stop just below the edge of her underwear.
Her body shivers. “Archer…”
I love the way she says my name. I love that she’s not pulling away. I press my hand flat against her, right over the thin cotton, and feel how wet she is. My grip tightens and my jaw clenches.
I want to give her more. I want to tell her what to say, how to move, how long to stay still.
I want her tied and gasping, completely undone because of me.
She would let me. She already is. Every shaky breath, every twitch of her hips against mine, every quiet sound that escapes her lips. It’s all permission.
I could drop to my knees right now. Keep her against this wall and make her come until she forgets her name.
But then I feel it. A presence behind me. A hand on my shoulder. I stiffen instantly, breath catching, instinct flaring hot until I hear the voice.
“You’re really making her fall apart over here, man.” Silas says, voice low and full of amusement. “It’s kinda hot.”
I don’t look at him, but I feel my body go tense under his hand. Liv, still pinned between me and the wall, goes still too.
Silas leans a little closer, hand tightening on my shoulder trying to calm me. “But if you’re gonna finish what you started, it’s gonna have to be later. Pretty sure I heard Morella’s boots in the hallway.”
I glance toward the door, jaw tight, hand still resting against Liv’s thigh.
“And besides,” he adds, voice dropping even lower, “who doesn’t love a little edging?”
He winks at Liv over my shoulder. She lets out the tiniest breathless whine, still flushed and wide-eyed, completely wrecked without a single piece of clothing removed.
Silas, of course, is smug as hell. He plops down onto the couch like nothing’s happening, stretching his arms across the back of it like he owns the room.
I exhale hard through my nose, my fingers brushing one last time along Liv’s inner thigh before I step back, forcing myself to let go.
She looks up at me, lips parted, breathing unsteady, and I give her a look that promises one thing.
Later. And she knows it.
Her legs are still a little shaky as I untie the hoodie from around her. Footsteps approach from the hallway, then the door creaks open.
“Movie night still happening?” Morella calls as she enters, arms full of snacks and an oversized blanket.
Silas grins from the couch. “Absolutely. Gimme those snacks.”
He pats the cushion beside him, then throws a knowing glance at me. Liv clears her throat, adjusting her hair like she didn’t just nearly fall apart against the wall.
I step around her and take a seat on the floor, back against the couch. My hands rest on my knees, because now she knows what I want.
And better yet, she wants it too.