My eyes fly open, and I only barely hold back a scream at the next surprise I find. Curled up on the pillow beside my face, like I’m the one lying inhisspace, is that damn rat.
What the actual fuck?
His whiskers twitch in his sleep, and a tiny rat snore escapes him.
I twitch hard, and Luc grumbles behind me. His arm tightens around my waist like it’s instinct, and even unconscious, he can feel I’m slipping away. The motion pulls me flush against him, grinding his morning wood right into the curve of my ass.
“T’es chaude,”he murmurs, low and slurred, lips brushing the skin just behind my ear again, making me shudder. The words melt into the heat already curling low in my stomach, the warmth of him seeping through every layer between us.
Then he shifts again.
A lazy, unconscious grind of hips, just enough friction to make my toes curl and send a surge of heat racing down my thighs. I try not to move, but I do anyway. My hips tilt invitingly, ever so slightly, but he notices. His breath catches, a soft hiss dragging against my skin.
“Mmm….” His hand on my stomach shifts, fingers spreading, flexing, claiming the space between us inch by inch.
Fuck.
My heart kicks against my ribs like it wants out, but I’m frozen in place as his breath deepens behind me, chest rising against my back, and I can feel every hard inch of him pressed to me now, every beat of his pulse syncing with mine.
His fingertips trail lower, skating the edge of my waistband, a silent question written in touch, and when I still don’t protest, when I lean into it instead, he slips his pinky beneath the elastic.
Nope.Nope, nope, nope.
I bolt.
Like,actually bolt.
One second, I’m in his arms, the next I’m rolling out from his embrace in a flurry of blankets, panic, and hoodie strings. My feet hit the floor with a thud, the sudden chill from leaving his arms cools my overheatedeverything.
“What the fuck?” Luc mumbles, somehow still half-asleep. He props up on an elbow, his hair a mess and eyes bleary. “Petit, come back to bed. I wasn’t done cuddling.”
Sure,you weren’t.
I yank my hoodie down over my hips like it can scrub away the memory of his finger in my boxers. He was about thirty seconds away from discovering my dick is made of rolled-up socks. Would he have stopped? Flinched? Freaked? Or would his sleep-fogged, horny brain have just gone on autopilot and fucked me anyway?
Why is that thought so hot?
Jesus.
I press my thighs together against the ache between them and scoop my phone off the bed where it’s fallen from my hoodie pocket. The screen flashes to life, and my heart sinks. “Shit.We’re late for track walk.”
He groans and flops back down dramatically. “Fucktrack walk. C’mere. We were making progress. I was about to emotionally support you into next week.”
“I gotta go.” I’m already sliding on my shoes. “This is not how I get kicked off the circuit. Not by skipping a mandatory track walk to make out with a French himbo in bed with a rat.”
“Wow. Rude to Toulouse and me. That was premium-grade cuddling.” Luc lifts his head again, blinking at me. “Wait, did you just say we were about to make out?”
Yes.And if I stay in this room one second longer, Iwillcrawl back into that bed and make somevery bad decisions.
“No. See you later, Delacroix.”
“Coward,” he calls after me as I yank open the door and nearly collide with a chest.
“Whoa,” the guy says, blinking down at me with his hand raised in a fist, mid-knock. Otis Fisher, top ten rider and one of Luc’s teammates, probably here to drag his fearless leader out of bed.
We both freeze.
He stares. I stare back and watch how his brows lift. “I was looking for Delacroix…”
