Page 68 of The Cuddle Clause
I forgot how to breathe.
Every thought in my head disappeared. Every drag of his tongue, every press of his mouth sent sparks up my spine. He was patient and thorough, finding what made me tremble, what made me bite down on a gasp, what made my fingers clench tight in his hair. When I whimpered his name, he moaned against me.
I tipped my head back and bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Pleasure surged through me, but it was the emotion that wrecked me. The care in his touch. The way he held my thighslike he was holding on for dear life. The way he worshiped me with every stroke of his tongue as if this wasn’t a mistake, but something he’dchosento do.
I tried to hold on, tried to ground myself in the moment, the room—anything.
But I couldn’t.
I came apart with a sound I didn’t recognize, a cry I didn’t mean to let loose. My hips bucked against his mouth as a wave of heat crashed over me, shattering everything I thought I was holding together.
He let me ride it out, his touch steadying me as I shook.
I sagged back against the wall, chest heaving, vision blurring. Roman was still on his knees, looking up at me like I was the sun.
That was what undid me. Not the pleasure, not even the orgasm, but thatlook. The desire in his eyes said I was something he wanted. Not for show. Not for the pack. Not because we were pretending.
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t break the spell or ruin the moment or call it what it was.
But maybe it was already too late. I had the sinking, unbearable sense that I’d just let him see the real me, and he didn’t leave.
Hewantedme.
I left the room first.
My cheeks were on fire. My hair was a disaster. Roman’s touch was still burning on my thighs. No matter how hard I tried to pull my dress into place or smooth down the wrinkles, I might as well have been walking in wearing a neon sign that readJust Got Oral in the Guest Room.
Behind me, I heard Roman’s unhurried footsteps. The soft whoosh of his palm running through his hair, the tug of fabric as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. I glanced over my shoulder. He was so casual, as if he hadn’t had his head between my legs five minutes ago.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to keep walking.
When we stepped back into the crowd, it was like the air got sucked out of the room. Conversations stalled. Someone dropped a fork. My skin prickled. Everyone was trying to look like theyweren’tlooking at us.
My gaze landed on the wives—perfectly styled, impeccably dressed, half-pinned curls still holding strong in the humid air. One raised her brows and whispered to the woman next to her. Another made no effort to hide her smirk. Across the table, someone nudged her mate with a look that could only meanthey finally did it.
Seraphina choked. It wasn’t a little cough—it was a full-on, eye-watering, champagne-down-the-wrong-pipe moment. She slammed her glass down and blinked hard, as if trying to make sure we were real.
I wanted to crawl under the table. Or fake a fainting spell. Or slip out the back door and never come back. Roman took my hand and intertwined our fingers like it meant nothing.
Or maybe like it meant everything.
My stomach somersaulted. My brain was still somewhere back in the guest room, refusing to reboot. The only thing I could focus on was the warmth of his palm against mine, the quiet certainty with which he guided me back to our seats as if we hadn’t just taken our entire fake dating strategy to a sky-high level.
I should’ve let go. I should’ve said:What the hell did we just do?Or:We can’t act like this now.But I didn’t. I let him hold my hand. I let him pull my chair out for me. I let him tuck me backinto the crowded table and pretended I wasn’t unraveling in real time.
I sat there, a little dazed and a little high from whatever the hell had just happened between us.
My gaze caught on Seraphina again.
She was frozen. Pale. Fingers clenched tight around the base of her glass like it was the only thing anchoring her to Earth. Her lipstick was smudged, a faint line bleeding at the corner of her mouth.
With deliberate, agonizing slowness, Roman picked up his cloth napkin and dabbed the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t even bothering to hide his smirk.
The table went still.
Seraphina’s face crumbled. Her throat bobbed, her nostrils flared, and for half a second, I thought she might throw the glass.
