Page 43 of On Thin Ice

Something unclenched inside me at the admission, a tightness I’d carried for so long I’d almost forgotten it was there.

“Good,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling and the tension around his mouth easing until it curved into a shy smile. “Because that was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and I can’t wait to do it again.”

I let out a breathless laugh. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bossy bastard in bed? ” I asked, trying to sound light and teasing without revealing just how much I craved it, how his commands had lit me up from the inside.

Bell just grinned wider, completely unrepentant. His hand squeezed my knee gently. “It’s okay. You can tell me later how much you loved it.”

I flushed even harder, the heat spreading down my chest, but I couldn’t argue—because he was right.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice filling the small room.

I nodded, suddenly conscious of my nakedness beneath the thin, scratchy towel and how vulnerable this moment was now that the passion had ebbed.

Bell reached out his hand to me, palm up in invitation, his fingers slightly curled. Such a simple gesture, yet it felt monumental—like he was asking for a connection that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with comfort.

After only a moment of hesitation, I placed my hand in his.

He gave it a gentle squeeze, tugging me toward the door. “Come on,” he said softly, his eyes holding mine. “Let’s get some sleep.”

When we stepped out of the bathroom, the reality of what we’d done crashed back in. The room was a wreck. My bedsheets were twisted and damp, thrown half onto the floor in our frenzy, and the unmistakable scent of sex hung heavy in the air, deep and musky.

As I stood there staring out at the mess, another new realization washed over me.

I didn’t want to sleep alone. Not after the way Bell had torn me down and put me back together again. I didn’t think I could bear it.

I turned to him, my heart hammering and my mouth as dry as Texas dirt in July. “I know this is just fucking,” I said, my voice cracking slightly on that last word and betraying my nervousness. “But um … can you sleep with me tonight?”

The question hung in the air between us, fragile and terrifying. I held my breath, waiting for rejection, for him to remind me of our agreement.

But then his face went soft, something unguarded and genuine crossing his features. The sight of it was a sweetness that hurt worse than any pain.

He didn’t say anything. Just dropped his towel and strolled over to the clean bed, peeled the covers back, and climbed in. “Come on, then,” he said, holding them up so I could settle in beside him.

I practically dove in after him, abandoning my towel on the floor next to his. I pressed my back to his chest, his warmth enveloping me.

He tucked the blanket around us and pulled me in tight, his arm a welcome weight across my waist. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together in a gesture that felt more intimate than anything we’d done before.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured against my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My eyes drifted closed, heavy with exhaustion and emotion. The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the steady beat of his heart against my back, strong and sure and real.

CHAPTER11

ETHAN

I woke up slowly, the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped heavily over me, low, even breaths gusting against the side of my neck, and heat seeping into muscles that ached pleasantly.

I hadn’t ever shared a bed with someone, so I hadn’t known what to expect. I was convinced I would toss and turn all night, hyper-aware of every sound, every breath, every movement. But instead, I loved it. Loved how right it felt to have Bell curled around me, his heart beating steadily at my back, his leg thrown casually over mine, pinning me to the mattress.

It was addictive, this feeling. And so fucking terrifying.

Bell shifted closer, nosing sleepily against my neck, his stubble grazing gently against my skin. “Stop thinking so loud,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

I huffed out a breath, fighting a smile at how easily he read me, even half-conscious.

“Wasn’t thinking,” I lied.

His hand wandered lower, his palm splaying over my belly, pinky finger tracing the trail of hair pointing south. “Liar.” His voice had lost its drowsiness, edging toward a smug purr. “Bet I can guess what you were thinking about.”

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