Page 7 of The Cuddle Clause
I wokeup with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and a vague sense that I was being punished for something I hadn’t done yet.
My room was quiet and dark except for the pale streetlight filtering through the window. I blinked at the ceiling to clear the grogginess from my head before I rolled out of bed and padded barefoot into the hallway. All I wanted was water, then I’d go right back to sleep.
The loft was quiet. Roman’s door was closed, and his playlist had finally played out, thank God. I rounded the corner into the kitchen.
Something moved. I caught it in the corner of my eye—low, fast, wrong. Then I heard it. Heavy breathing. Slow. Close.
Too close.
The kitchen light switch was just within reach, and I slammed it.
Awolf.A giant, actual, standing-in-my-apartment-like-it-paid-rentwolf, blocking the hallway. It had yellow eyes and thick black fur with enough muscle to make me reevaluate every decision that had led to this moment.
I screamed. Not the cute kind of scream—the full-body, someone’s-about-to-die kind. I leapt onto the kitchen counter, grabbed the nearest object—a whisk—and launched it with all the grace of a panicked toddler.
The wolf flinched, flattened its ears, then bolted into the living room with a yelp.
I didn’t stop to see where it went. I jumped off the counter, sprinted to my room, and snatched my phone off the charger. I didn’t have many people I could call, though. That was the problem with making one man your entire world—you didn’t have much left when he was gone.
My hands shook as I pulled up my sister’s number. I hadn’t even pressed call when I heard athumpin the living room.
Fingers tight around my phone, I crept down the hall, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I peered around the corner.
Roman was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the rug.
Naked. Completely freaking naked.
Holy. Fuck.
His dark hair was messy and damp with sweat, and his chest was rising and falling in short, shaky bursts. His eyes were wideand a little unfocused, lips parted, skin flushed like he’d just come out of a horrific nightmare. Then he stood up.
And I found myself making direct eye contact with his… Well.
His dick. His massive dick.
My brain short-circuited. I snapped my gaze up to his face. To my horror, his bottom lip quivered.
“What the fuck is happening?” I blurted. “Are you going tocry?”
That snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. He glanced down, startled, then grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and slapped it in front of his junk. “You didn’t read the whole contract, did you?”
I frowned. “IthoughtI did.”
“You obviously didn’t,” he said dryly. “Or you’d know I’m a wolf shifter. And that you’re contractually required to support me emotionally post-shift, not scream and throw things at me like I’m an intruder.”
I backed into a potted plant, knocking a leaf loose. “What the actual fuck.”
Roman, still clutching the pillow with a stunning amount of composure, strode over to the bookshelf, retrieved a thick stapled packet, and held it out like a sacred text.
“The roommate agreement,” he said. “Section three. Enjoy.”
I tried to argue but instead started coughing uncontrollably.
Roman frowned. “You okay?”
“I—” I coughed again, breath catching. “My throat gets really dry when I’m anxious.”
“Right,” he muttered, already walking to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and handed it over with a vague expression of guilt.
