Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
A gasp flies from my lips as I step inside, the cold tiles a shock to my now overheated system. I leave the door cracked, needing the dwindling light from the fire to make out my surroundings. I use the bathroom and clean up as best as I can with my limited resources, then make the walk of shame back to our makeshift bed.
I try to avoid eye contact, but I can feel the weight of Holden’s stare as I situate myself on the floor, leaving a few feet of distance between us. When I finally look up, it’s to find him staring at me as if he’s trying to figure something out.
“What?” I ask, sliding under a stack of three blankets. The adrenaline is fading fast, and the cold is already settling back in. Where are my pants, anyway? When Holden doesn’t answer, I pull the covers up to my shoulders and turn away. Even with my back to him, I can sense him watching me still. What is going through his mind? What could have possibly happened within the two minutes it took to use the bathroom to warrant that scowl? As far as I’m aware, both of us should be very…sated.
I hear Holden shuffling around behind me, and then his arm is around me, scooping me up and pulling me firmly into his chest. He molds his body against mine, his forearm banded around my ribcage, my head tucked under his chin.
This isn’t a good idea. Cuddling under the guise of keeping each other warm is one thing. Cuddling after earth-shattering orgasms when that pesky little oxytocin hormone is running rampant is another thing entirely. His bare chest is hot against my back even though the fire is almost non-existent at this point. I know that without him, I’ll inevitably wake up freezing in an hour or two.
“Stop thinking and go to sleep,” Holden says into my hair, cutting off my internal warring. Deciding that falling asleep in his arms isn’t the worst way to fall asleep, I give in, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. The last thing I hear before I slip into unconsciousness is something that sounds a lot like “stubborn as fuck,” mumbled into my ear.
I don’t know what wakes me or what time it is. It takes me a second to place my surroundings, but the steady rise and fall of Holden’s warm chest under my cheek reminds me of what happened earlier. Or last night? I peel myself away from the comfort of his body heat, looking out the window for a clue of what time it is. My eyes widen, stomach sinking, as I take in the sight. I stand, slowly making my way toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, rubbing my eyes, convinced they must be playing tricks on me, but when my vision comes back into focus, it’s confirmed. The snow is stacked at least a few feet high. It makes me feel trapped. Like the walls are closing in on me. Taking a deep, calming breath, I remind myself that it’s temporary.
I glance back at Holden’s sleeping form before I tiptoe upstairs. I’d rather not do the whole morning-after thing with him. Once I’m in my room, a sliver of light draws my attention to the closet. I pluck the dark red throw blanket from the end of my bed and wrap it around my shoulders before walking into the closet. I look up at the ceiling, finding one of those pull-down ladders, but it’s slightly ajar, the sun just barely filtering through the crack. I didn’t notice that before. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I tug on the string before my brain has made the conscious decision to do so.
I pull it open, pausing, my face screwing up into a wince when it creaks loudly. When I’m sure it didn’t wake Holden, I pull it the rest of the way down. The room is dim, dust particles dancing in what little light there is. Holden must have grabbed all the blankets from up here and left the door open. The floor is cluttered with board games, cardboard boxes, and what appears to be old video game consoles. One entire wall is made up of built-in bookshelves packed full. Reading used to be my preferred form of escapism, but I don’t think I’ve read anything that wasn’t required since my freshman year of high school.
An emerald green tufted armchair with a small side table and lamp sits in the corner next to the shelves, but what really catches my interest is the wooden ladder leading up to a small, triangular loft. I step onto the third rung of the ladder, the wood cold and smooth beneath my bare feet, reminding me that I need to go get a pair of socks out of my suitcase—and a pair of pants while I’m at it.