Page 29 of The Cuddle Clause

Maggie

I was wrapped in three and still couldn’t shake the chill. The apartment held that brittle cold that didn’t just bite at your skin but settled deep, like it was trying to carve space inside your bones. Every breath I took came out in a fog. Every limb felt heavy.

The only space heater sat humming beside the bed, its soft orange glow making it look like the world had died down to embers.

Roman had insisted I take it.

And by insisted, I meant he’d said, “This is how I die, Maggie. Alone. Blue. Tragic. Tell my story,” then dramatically collapsed on the hallway floor until I gave in and dragged the heater into my room.

So now I was warmer than Roman. And alone.

I was just starting to drift off, caught in that floaty, in-between space where dreams stretch into real things, when I felt the mattress dip behind me. I caught the scent of pine and skin and something undeniably Roman. It was familiar. Grounding. And warmed me faster than the heater ever could.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he murmured, voice shaking with cold and exhaustion. “But I’m fucking freezing to death. Can I sleep in here with you?”

I didn’t have time to answer. He was already halfway under the blankets, like sharing my bed had always been the logical next step. His bare chest met my back, and suddenly the cold wasn’t my main concern anymore.

The heat of him soaked through me instantly. He shifted behind me, tugging the blanket higher over both of us, then slung one arm across my waist. Not tight. Not pushy. Just there.

But oh, it was there.

I was wearing one of his old T-shirts—his clothes kept mysteriously mixing in with my laundry.

No bra. Just underwear and this threadbare cotton that smelled like him.

His breath warmed the back of my neck. His chest pressed against my spine with every inhale.

I could feel him—all of him—close enough to send a shiver down my back that had nothing to do with the cold.

I told myself it was fine. We were simply keeping warm.

Except his fingers were splayed gently on my waist as if they’d always belonged there. Like my body was familiar ground he was afraid to disturb but couldn’t stop touching.

I shifted slightly. Just enough to close the last inch between us.

He stilled.

So did I.

We were playing a dangerous game with no reset button, and I didn’t want to stop.

His hand moved, slow and deliberate, sliding across the fabric of my shirt—his shirt—down to where the hem rested against my hip. His fingertips skimmed under the edge, warm on my bare skin. I exhaled shakily.

His lips brushed against my ear. “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned to face him, heart pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it. His eyes caught mine in the dark—soft, serious, waiting. He was giving me a chance to back out.

That was all it took.

We moved at the same time, crashing together, mouths hungry and clumsy and perfect. It wasn’t smooth. Wasn’t choreographed. But it was desperate, and God, it was real.

He kissed me like he’d been starving for it, like he couldn’t believe I was finally letting him have me. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into my mouth. His hands slid down my spine, pressing me closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

I tugged impatiently at the waistband of his sweats.

He broke the kiss only long enough to rip my shirt over my head, eyes raking over me like he was memorizing every inch.

His palms skimmed up my ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts before sliding lower.

When he gripped my hip, I arched into him without thinking.

We stripped each other in a mess of limbs and blankets—no finesse, no pause—until we were bare, skin to skin.

Until there was nothing between us but heat.

He kissed me like he needed to taste every sound I made, and cupped my jaw like I was something worth worshipping. I gasped when his fingers trailed between my thighs, stroking me in slow, filthy circles until I was rocking into his touch.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured against my neck, his voice thick with desire. “You’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I panted. “God, yes.”

He lined himself up with me, eyes locked on mine, and when he entered me, the air punched out of my lungs. My back arched, my legs locking around his waist as I moaned his name.

“God, Maggie…” His voice was wrecked, like he could barely hold it together. “You feel so fucking good.”

He started slow, deep, like he was mapping every inch of me from the inside. Every thrust made me gasp and dig my nails into his back. He groaned when I rolled my hips up to meet him, and the pace shifted—faster now, harder, like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Just like that,” he praised, his mouth brushing mine between breaths. “Take me… that’s it. My perfect girl.”

I didn’t even realize I was begging until the words tumbled out—his name, please, more—over and over. His mouth caught mine again, swallowing every sound as he slid his hand down between us to circle my clit.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his forehead pressed to mine. “I want to feel you fall apart on me.”

My whole body tightened and trembled. Pleasure shot through me so fast it left me gasping. I shattered, crying out as my walls clenched around him, dragging a curse from his lips.

He didn’t let up, driving into me through my orgasm until he suddenly pulled out and flipped me onto my hands and knees. I barely had time to register before he thrust into me again, deeper and harder, hitting a spot that had me screaming into the pillow.

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, pushing back into him. “Right there—”

“Greedy girl,” he growled, gripping my hips. I never wanted him to let go. “Gonna make me lose it.”

Our bodies slapped together, the sound filthy and addictive. He reached around and pressed his thumb against my clit, and the sensation made me come a second time.

That undid him. He thrust deep, groaning my name like a prayer, and came hard, pulsing inside me as his grip tightened, holding me flush against him.

We collapsed sideways into the tangle of sheets, his arm locked around me like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“I wasn’t going to touch you like that when I came in here,” he said hoarsely, lips brushing my hair. “I swear I wasn’t.”

“I wanted you to,” I whispered, still dazed, still pulsing around the fading echo of him.

His laugh was low and warm against my skin. “Good.”

We lay there, skin damp, the space heater humming somewhere in the corner. But all the heat I needed was already wrapped around me.

I started to relax, muscles unclenching, mind quieting. The rhythm of Roman’s breathing had synced with mine, slow and steady, like maybe our bodies had finally decided we were allowed to rest.

His arm was draped over my waist, heavy in the best way, anchoring me to him. His chest pressed against my back, every rise and fall a whispered reassurance that I wasn’t alone. That I was wanted.

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers curling around the blanket.

Then the thunder cracked, sharp and sudden like a whip cracking through the sky, and my whole body jolted. My breath caught in my throat. Every muscle seized tight again. My eyes snapped open, staring into the dark as panic crawled up my spine.

It wasn’t rational. It never had been. But storms always hit me the same way. The noise. The pressure. That feeling of something coming you couldn’t stop.

Roman’s arms tightened instantly, like he felt the change before I could speak.

His hand moved up my side, slow and steady, not to restrain but to remind me that I wasn’t alone.

His chest pressed closer to my back. I felt the soft scrape of his stubble against the back of my neck as he dipped his head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice deep and quiet, like it belonged to the night itself. “You’re safe.”

My throat burned. I didn’t answer.

I turned into him, burying my face in his chest, and let the scent of him—pine, warmth, that faint smoky note that clung to his skin—wrap around me until the noise outside didn’t seem quite as loud.

His hand slid up to my shoulder, holding me close without pressing too hard. Just enough to say: You’re safe.

And for a few seconds, I almost believed it. But somewhere underneath the comfort, a flicker of doubt stirred.

He felt so real like this. So close and warm and… here. I wanted to let myself fall into that. To believe it meant something. To believe that maybe I wasn’t crazy to think this connection was real.

But the voice in the back of my mind—the one I’d been carrying around since childhood—wasn’t done with me yet.

What are you doing, Maggie? Why are you letting yourself think he sees you?

He’s Roman Velasquez. A brooding, dramatic, supernatural force of chaos and charm who gets into fights with rival shifters and makes girls blush with a single raised brow. He lives in a world of ancient rivalries and power plays and pack politics.

And you? You’re normal. Boring. The girl who hides under blankets during thunderstorms, who still flinches when doors slam, who second-guesses everything she says three times before letting it out.

What could someone like him possibly want with someone like you?

I swallowed hard. My cheek was pressed against his skin, and I could hear the soft, steady thump of his heart. It felt too perfect. Too fragile.

If I let myself believe this was real and it wasn’t, I didn’t know how I’d recover.

But then Roman’s hand trailed down my spine. Gentle. Reassuring. Like his body was trying to speak the things he never said out loud.

I thought about the way he’d defended me. She’s the love of my life. The way he’d stared Seraphina down as if daring her to question it. The way he’d pulled me into that alcove, looked me in the eyes, and asked if I was okay.

I pushed the doubts down, letting them drift to the edge of my mind and out of reach. I couldn’t unravel it all tonight. I didn’t want to.

Not when I was wrapped in his arms like this. Not when the storm rumbled outside and his body was warm against mine and his thumb brushed the curve of my shoulder like he couldn’t stop touching me even if he tried.

I let out a shaky breath, and Roman tightened his grip slightly.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, this time quieter. Like a promise.

I believed him. Just for tonight, I let myself believe him.

I closed my eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat guide me under. I didn’t feel alone.

I felt safe and wanted.

As sleep finally took me, I let myself wonder if maybe I’d always belonged right here.

Wrapped in warmth. Curled against chaos.

Falling quietly into something I couldn’t take back.