Carter catches it one-handed and shoots him a look. “You’re so lucky I’m the emotionally stable one.”
I walk over and tug on Carter’s sleeve gently. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I loved it.”
He softens immediately. “I’ll cook again tomorrow.”
“You better.”
He heads to the living room, still pouting a little, but not mad. I hear him flop onto the couch dramatically as Tate and I disappear down the hall and into my room. My bedroom is dim, the light from the hallway spilling in faint and golden as I sit on the edge of the bed.
Tate closes the door behind him and stretches, cracking his neck. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I feel like I’m about to collapse.”
He chuckles and toes off his shoes, dropping them by the wall. “Turn around.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Because your posture’s shit and I know your shoulders are screaming. You want to sleep or lie awake overthinking until sunrise?”
I hesitate, but do as I’m told. I scoot to the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged, back to him.
He kneels behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He pushes my hair to the side, lets his palms rest on my shoulders for a moment, just heat, just pressure before he starts to move.
His hands are rougher than Carter’s. More deliberate, but gentler than I expected. He kneads tension from my neck, thumbs dragging down into the tight space between shoulder and spine, and I groan without meaning to.
“That good, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He laughs softly, and I feel it, warm against my back. He keeps going, slow, firm circles, the heel of his palm pressing into places I didn’t realize were holding stress. I melt under his touch, my body going loose and warm and heavy. “No one ever did this for you?” he murmurs.
I shake my head.
He grunts. “Idiots.” His hands slide lower, rubbing long lines down either side of my spine, careful not to push too far, too fast. He’s not trying to turn me on. He’s trying to take care of me. “Lay down.”
As I do he stretches out beside me, strong arm sliding beneath my head, guiding me down to his chest. My cheek presses against his sternum, the steady thump of his heart beating beneath my ear. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. One hand rests lightly on my waist.
The other brushes slow, lazy lines down my spine. Neither of us speaks. For the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe longer, my body lets go. I close my eyes.
Before sleep finally drags me under, I hear him whisper it, barely loud enough for me to catch.“I’vegot you Haven.”
The room is quiet when I wake. It’s late, I glance at the clock on my desk, three am. My body’s too warm. I blink once, twice, disoriented in the dark.
Tate is still asleep beside me. One arm slung over my waist, breathing steady and deep against the back of my neck. His body heat is a furnace behind me, and everything feels… heightened.
I shift, just slightly, and the ache between my legs pulses hard enough to make me gasp. God. I’m soaked. Every nerve is on edge. Every breath feels like a tease, the ache doesn’t go away it builds. I squeeze my thighs together, of course it doesn’t help.
I try to roll onto my back without waking him, slow and careful. His arm slides down, loose now across my hip. My fingers slip under the hem of the oversized shirt I’m wearing, his shirt that he gave me after the massage and I bite my lip as I trail them lower.
Just a little. A light press between my legs, testing. My breath stutters, the first touch sends a jolt through me. I drag my fingers in slow circles, barely brushing over my clit, just enough to push the ache higher. My hips shift against the mattress, desperate and slow.
The softest sound escapes me. That’s when he moves. I freeze but it’s too late.
He stirs behind me, lifts his head. His voice is sleep and shadow. “Pretty girl, are you touching yourself right now?”
I don’t answer, can’t. The room is pitch black. But I feel the way his energy shifts, the way stillness evaporates like smoke.
“Fuck, Haven.” His hand slides under the covers before I can stop him, it finds mine. Pushes it away and replaces it with his own like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I gasp softly and he covers my mouth with his palm.