Page 14 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

It was past midnight, and sleep wasn’t even pretending to be an option.

I’d flipped my pillow three times, shifted positions every two minutes, even tried the calming breathing exercises Maggie made fun of—inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight, whatever the hell that was supposed to do—but my mind wouldn’t shut up.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Not just her face, but also her fingers curling into my leg, the little hitch in her breath before she kissed me back.

The way her lips had moved against mine, like she’d wanted it.

It had been a practice kiss. A dress rehearsal for the fake relationship we were selling to my alpha. A lie.

So why did it feel like my whole nervous system was trying to crawl toward her room?

I glanced down and sighed. “Down, boy.”

I needed air. Space. A serious reset.

I threw on a hoodie and sweats and padded quietly through the apartment, careful not to make any noise. Maggie’s door was cracked, and I paused without meaning to. Her light was off. I could hear her slow, even breathing. She was asleep.

Good. She didn’t need to see me like this.

Outside, the world was cool and quiet, the air dense with that sticky, late-summer humidity that never knew when to leave.

I jogged across the cracked pavement behind the apartment and ducked into the trailhead at the edge of the park.

The trees closed in fast…tangled and shadowed enough to pretend it was real wilderness.

It wasn’t. But it was dark and shrouded, and that was enough.

I scanned the trees, every sense on alert. No late-night dog walkers. No smokers tucked under the stairwells. The neighborhood was asleep.

I pulled off my hoodie, then my sweats, folding them quickly and stashing them under a low branch. The shift came easily. My body bowed forward, muscles stretching, snapping, bones reforming with a crack that would’ve made anyone else scream.

The instant my paws hit the forest floor, I ran.

I didn’t hold back. I didn’t pace myself.

I let the wolf take over, lungs burning, heart hammering, paws pounding the dirt as trees blurred past. The wind brushed through my fur.

The forest whispered around me, alive with the creak of branches and the rustle of nocturnal movement. It was raw and real and mine.

Finally, I could breathe.

I tore through the undergrowth, ducking low beneath a fallen tree, leaping over a boulder slick with moss. For a while, there was nothing but the run.

No thoughts, no humans, no Maggie.

Until there was Maggie. Always Maggie, now.

Her breath catching when I touched her. Her lashes fluttering as she leaned in. Her scent—fresh linen, a little citrus, something warm and frustratingly familiar. It was under my skin now. I couldn’t outrun it.

I veered hard left, tongue lolling, and spotted a rabbit up ahead.

Perfect.

I wasn’t going to kill him, but I needed the chase. The distraction.

I lunged, muscles firing. The rabbit darted forward, white tail flashing as it zigzagged through the brush. I followed, silent and fast, weaving between trees, focusing only on its movements. Keep up. Cut it off. Stay sharp.

Eventually, I lost the rabbit in a thicket of ferns and slowed to a stop, lungs heaving. The scent of rabbit faded, replaced by damp leaves and pine. I padded to a clear patch of earth and flopped onto my back, rolling in the cool, prickly comfort of the forest floor.

Above me, the sky glowed between the treetops, streaks of moonlight slipping through the canopy.

And just like that, the ache crept back in.

Did Lucien believe us? I couldn’t tell anymore. My performances were starting to feel like skin I couldn’t peel off. I told myself the mandate was policy, not fate. My body didn’t agree.

Lucien had been too quiet after the kiss, too still. That smile he’d given Maggie had looked sweet, but I knew he was already digging. Already suspicious.

The worst part? I couldn’t even blame him.

I’d flinched like a damn rookie at every touch.

Every well-meaning glance from Maggie had been a landmine I couldn’t navigate.

Until that bench. Until I actually let myself want it.

The first time in front of Eric was before I’d really started feeling…

and now every touch from her set my nervous system on fire.

And then…fuck.

That kiss.

I’d never felt sparks like that. Not even close.

But it hadn’t been real. It had been engineered. A performance designed to fool the most dangerous man I knew. It sure was fooling me. Her lips had been soft, her hands had held me like I was worth holding, and my body had answered like it already knew the truth I was too stubborn to admit.

I rolled back onto all fours and padded toward the edge of the woods, where I shifted back, bones snapping and reshaping until I was just a guy again. A naked, tired guy carrying the weight of a kiss that shouldn’t have meant anything.

I dressed slowly, dragging the hoodie over my head and dusting leaves from my hair. My body felt better, lighter. But my chest was still tight, like I’d left something important back in the woods and didn’t know how to get it back.

By the time I reached the apartment building again, the sky was just starting to shift to deep blue, the earliest hint of morning pressing against the edges of night.

I stood outside the door for a minute. I wasn’t used to feeling this raw. I wasn’t used to wanting. And I definitely wasn’t used to wanting her.

I stepped inside, but the apartment was too quiet.

I’d tried everything. Running. Cold water. That dumb breathing exercise. Even The Sound of Music, which embarrassingly usually did the trick. Something about Julie Andrews twirling on a mountain could pull me back from the brink every time. But not tonight.

I sat there, on the couch Maggie had practically turned into a second bedroom, watching the nuns sing about solving problems like Maria, and all I could think was: how the hell do I solve Maggie?

Not fix her; she didn’t need fixing. I was the mess.

The run should’ve burned off every trace of tension, every thought of that kiss, every flash of her eyes.

But the second my feet hit the floor again, skin stitched back into place, lungs raw from the shift…

she was still there. Under my skin. Behind my ribs.

And then I walked inside. Her scent hit me like a train.

Vanilla shampoo. Lavender detergent. That cursed lip gloss she wore that smelled like sugared citrus and tasted like poor decision-making. It was everywhere. On the throw pillows. In the carpet. On me, probably.

I stood barefoot in the dark, chest tight, hand pressed to the center of my sternum like I could push the feeling down physically.

It didn’t work.

This wasn’t just want. It wasn’t just attraction. It was something else. Some raw, cellular need to be near her that I couldn’t out-shift or sweat away. It was unsettling. Infuriating.

Which brought me to the hallway.

I stared at her door like it might open on its own. Like she might already know I was here, cracked open and borderline feral. I almost turned back.

But then my brain served me a cruel little memory: Section 4, Paragraph 3. The Emotional Support Clause.

I’d written the roommate agreement before Maggie moved in.

Back when I was half-serious and half-exhausted after my third failed attempt at cohabiting like a functioning adult after Seraphina.

That section about emergency cuddling was unfortunately serious, though I thought I could pass it off as a joke.

I’d added it after a particularly bad shift had left me curled on the bathroom floor for hours, unable to re-regulate.

I figured if I named the need, it would feel less pathetic.

Less like I was broken. I never actually thought I’d use it. Definitely not with her.

Now it felt like a lifeline.

I knocked on the doorframe.

Maggie stirred, rustling beneath her blanket. Her hair was a total disaster, a curly mess against the pillow, and her hand was tucked under her cheek.

She blinked up at me groggily. “What?”

I cleared my throat. “I just shifted,” I said, which was code for: I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin and scream into the void. “I, uh… wanted to know if I could…spoon you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

I coughed. “Section four. Paragraph three. You signed it.”

She rubbed her face. “Yeah, yeah. But if you’re the one needing emotional support, shouldn’t I be the one spooning you?”

I frowned. “That would be weird.”

“Right. That’s what’s weird about this situation.”

I got into the bed slowly, like if I made one wrong move the whole night might implode. The mattress dipped under my weight, the scent of her intensifying until my head spun. I lay behind her, stiffly, unsure where to put my hands or my shame.

And then she reached back casually and pulled me closer.

Her body curved into mine like we’d done this a hundred times before. Without thinking, I slid my arm around her waist and tucked my face into the space between her shoulder and neck.

The relief was instant. My heart, which had been beating like a war drum, slowed.

My breath evened. The static in my head vanished.

I went still, every cell in my body confused.

Because this wasn’t just about regulation.

I’d done that before, with packmates, with old friends, even with paid professionals during the worst of it.

This? This was different. This was peace.

I was regulated like I had never been before. Not even with Willow.

Warm. Real. Safe.

It terrified me.

I stayed silent, eyes closed, trying to memorize every detail.

The shape of her. The rhythm of her breathing.

The feel of her fingers loosely tangled with mine.

I didn’t want anything else. Not sex. Not romance.

Just this. Just her, holding me together like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But my mind wouldn’t shut up.

Why her?

Why now?

And what happens when she realizes how intense this is for me?

I didn’t have answers. Didn’t want to think about answers. All I wanted to think about was her, pressed to my chest, anchoring me. I fell asleep like that.

It felt like home.