Page 100 of Lured By Shadows

“Why are you smiling?” I asked cautiously, already bracing myself, my mind racing ahead to all the ways he could twist it into something that would leave me flustered and reaching for him again.

“I enjoy your clingy behavior,” Culver replied, turning his green eyes toward me with a playful accusation that made me want to combust.

I scowled and tried to yank my hand away, but he didn’t even flinch. I tried again, harder, muscles tightening like I could actually win a tug-of-war.

Nothing. Not even a twitch. God, I hated how strong he was.

And by “hated,” I meant I thought about it far too much, the way his grip stayed steady and made me imagine all the ways that strength could wrap around me and never let go.

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna hold your hand,” I snapped, fully aware I sounded like a teenager getting called out for having a crush, like he could see straight through how much I craved the connection.

“Now, now,” he purred, low and dangerously soft, “why not continue being truthful with me? Your body already gives you away.”

I lit up like it was Christmas morning, and Culver was the only gift under the tree. The spark raced through me from my chest down to my core, making my skin tingle and my pulse quicken in ways I couldn’t hide. So I yanked at his hand again out of pure desperation, wishing for once I could play it cool instead of reacting to everything he said. Why couldn’t I have been born unaffected? Why did I have to be like this, wired to respond to him?

Instead of letting go, he moved with my momentum, stepping into my space until my back met the wall with a soft, startled thud. His presence closed over me like a weighted blanket soaked in want, dense and impossible to escape without choosing to. Our hands were still threaded together, and he lifted them above my head, pressing them gently but firmly against the cool wall beside my cheek.

“That’s not what I wanted,” I breathed, trying to keep irritation in my voice and failing miserably as it wavered with want. The edge of my words softened, giving away how much I was already leaning into the press of him against me. My breath tasted like nerves and something embarrassingly close to anticipation, the mix hanging heavy as I waited for whatever he’d do next.

He leaned in just enough for his chilled breath to graze mine, his thumb stroking over my palm in slow circles that traveled down my spine like a metronome.

A very horny metronome.

Each pass sent little shocks through me that settled low in my belly.

“My lovely lamb,” he whispered, the words curling around my body like smoke.

The way he said it told me he was fully back in control, steering the moment without breaking a sweat.

I practically whined when I tried shoving at his chest, genuinely surprised he had let me have at least one of my hands back. It did nothing, though. Not even a nudge. It was like pushing against a statue carved out of cold marble.

A super smug marble statue.

“You really enjoy pinning me, huh?”

“Touching you soothes me,” he said with matter-of-fact calm. “Having you beneath me, where I can keep you safe, is the greatest feeling.”

My heart tripped over itself, stuttering in my chest as the words sank deep. I attempted a scoff, but it came out breathier than intended. “Do I look safe to you?”

I puffed my cheeks out, heat prickling beneath my skin in places no one could politely acknowledge. An insistent throb reminded me just how far gone I already was, caught up in the way he made me feel both protected and utterly exposed all at once.

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he slid one of his legs between mine and hitched it just right so it nestled exactly where I had no business being that sensitive already. My thighs clenched instinctively, the automatic squeeze pulling me tighter against the solid press of him. It made it impossible to pretend I wasn’t already aching for more, even as I tried to hold onto some shred of self-control.

My eyes widened, breath catching sharply as he rolled his thigh against my pussy… slowly, like he’d timed every second of pressure to see how fast I would fall apart. Each shift built pressure low in my core until my whole body hummed with it, leaving me balanced on a raw edge of wanting him so badly it almost hurt to keep still.

“What’re you doing?” My voice cracked, landing somewhere between a complaint and a moan. I bit down hard on my lower lip to keep more sound from spilling out.

His eyes lifted to mine, hooded and focused, a predator watching the precise moment his prey realized escape wasn’t just unlikely, but pointless.

And then, as if he hadn’t just destroyed my entire pelvic floor, he stopped.

He stepped back with infuriating calm, like he was finishing a conversation instead of leaving me in ruins. His expression smoothed into polite serenity, but his eyes didn’t match. They were stormy and restless, caught in some internal war I couldn’t see, making them more beautiful and more frightening.

My knees wobbled, and I had to brace a palm against the wall to keep myself upright. Every nerve from my hips downward throbbed in slow, molten pulses that made it hard to think about things like weddings or walkable legs or dignity. Culver knew. Of course he knew, reading every shaky breath and lingering ache like he had mapped out every weak spot in me.

“Anna will come for us if we stay here,” he said lightly as he adjusted his jacket, as if the hallway weren’t still vibrating with the ghost of his thigh. “Her impatience sickens me at times.”