An emotion flickers across his face—one that’s dark and tempting. His jaw tenses slightly before he exhales, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Selene,” he says, voice low, dangerously soft. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

No. It’s the worst idea.

I should tell him to forget it, to take the couch and call it a night. But I don’t.

“Just sleep,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Nothing else.”

He studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Okay.”

The walk to my room feels like it takes forever. My heartbeat is deafening, my entire body hyper-aware of him beside me.

Inside, I hesitate, watching as he pulls off his hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt and jeans. He runs a hand through his hair, looking at me like he’s still considering if this is the right choice.

I give him space as I walk to my ensuite to get ready for bed. I change into my favorite pajamas to give myself a confidence boost. Looking into the mirror I give myself a silent pep talk as I brush my teeth.

Steadying myself I walk back into the bedroom and climb into bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight, and then suddenly, he’s right there—warm, solid, and entirely too tempting.

He shifts onto his side and loosely draped his arm around my waist, not pulling me in but not letting me go either. His fingers brush lightly over my hip, a barely-there touch that sends a shiver down my spine.

I exhale slowly, pressing my back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“This is torture,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice husky, rough around the edges.

I let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”

We could. God, we could. The air between us is thick with unspoken desire, the alcohol making it too easy to blur lines.

But neither of us moves. Neither of us dares.

Because we both know—not like this.

So we just lie there, tangled up in emotions neither of us is ready to name until sleep finally takes us.

19

Selene

A warm, solid heat presses against me, the delicious weight of a man wrapped around me. My body hums, still tangled in the lazy pull of sleep, moving instinctively—seeking more, pressing closer.

A sharp inhale, a low groan against my back.

“Selene,” Theo’s voice is rough, strained. His fingers tighten on my hip like he’s grounding himself—or holding himself back. “You gotta wake up, Sweetheart.”

His words filter through the hazy blur of my dreams, and my eyes flutter open. It takes a second to register, to feel the unmistakable press of him against my backside. The moment I do, heat floods my cheeks, horror, and arousal clashing in a dizzying wave.