“I don’t snore.” The indignance on his face is adorable.
“You absolutely do snore.”
His eyes narrow, and there it is—the spark. The grain of shrouded mischief he keeps caged inside that kills me every damn time. He grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it around himself like a cape, grumbling, but the corners of his mouth are lifting, betraying him. He tries to stand too quickly. His legs wobble.
“Whoa.” His palm slaps against my shoulder. “Shit. My body’s… stiff.”
“No kidding. You just slept on the floor.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when the last time was that he had real sleep, in a real bed, but I don’t want him getting pissed. The implication is there, though.
He glares at me, but he’s leaning on me, his weight warm and solid.
“Come on.” I slide an arm around his waist before he topples. “Bedtime, Ice Prince.”
His cheeks flush. “I can walk.”
“Sure you can. Right after your deliciously hot muscles remember they exist.” I steer him gently toward the stairs. He lets me. That alone feels like a miracle.
“Xavier.” His voice is low, almost shy. “You don’t have to…”
“Help you?” I finish for him as we start the climb. “No, I want to. Shocking, I know.”
He stumbles on the last step. My instinct kicks in. My hand shoots to his hip, fingers gripping the firm line there. His breath catches, and we both freeze.
Oh.Oh, we’re in so much fucking trouble.
His pupils blow wide, swallowing the soft brown. His lips part, his breath warm and shaky. My hand stays exactly where it shouldn’t stay, and he doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even tense. In fact, he leans into it, intome.
“Artemis…” My voice is low enough to vibrate between us. “Tell me you just want to go back to the land of snoring.”
He doesn’t. His gaze drops to my mouth. Once. Twice. Like a magnetic pull he keeps losing the strength to fight.
“I’m…” His breath trembles. “I’m not thinking straight.” He blinks like he’s still half asleep.
I stare at his lips. “Thinking straight has never done either of us any favors.”
A shaky exhale leaves him on a chuckle. I move first—slow, deliberate. My forehead brushing his, the faintest contact, giving him every chance to run or say no.
He doesn’t. He fists the front of my shirt like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. And his pained groan is the sound of a man whose walls have hairline fractures.
I guide him backward into a bedroom—no rush, no demand, just quiet gravity pulling us along. His fingers never leave my shirt. My hand never leaves his hip. The door clicks shut behind us.
He sways into me, chest to chest, breath mingling, that charged, aching almost-kiss thrumming between us like a live wire.
“Arte…” My thumb brushes the hollow of his hip.
He shivers.
“Get in bed,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”
His chin tilts up just slightly. It’s an invitation and a surrender all tangled together. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “How to let someone in.”
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Unlucky for both of us,” I whisper against his jaw, “I don’t either, but we’ll figure it out together.”
CHAPTER 30
Artemis
It feels like my first time: my pulse is too loud, my skin is too tight, my body treacherously keyed tohim.
