Chapter 107: The Rules Are The Rules

The heat in Reid’s eyes was almost heavy enough to feel against my bare skin.

My hands hovered over the scattered wooden blocks, cold and trembling slightly, while the rest of my body burned.

Take it off.

The command hung in the air, vibrating with the low, effortless authority of an Alpha who knew he had completely cornered his prey.

The countdown clock in my head didn’t just tick; it felt like it was breaking. I had less than twelve hours until Monday morning. Less than twelve hours until I was supposed to stop playing nursemaid and get my head straight on the game. And here I was, stripped down to my underwear on his living room floor, playing right into his hands.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "You got lucky, McCoy."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, Cap," Reid murmured. "But if it makes you better, they say Luck is a skill for the chosen ones," he smirked.

He didn’t move an inch, remaining leaned forward over the coffee table, his bare, broad chest gleaming faintly.

His frozen pine scent was no longer sedated; it was sharp, dark, and thick with a suffocating smugness. "The rules are the rules. Let’s go."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, desperately trying to summon the anger, the captain’s pride, anything to shield myself from the look he was giving me. But my body was a traitor. My fingers reached down, hooking into the hem of the thin white t-shirt.

Slowly, I pulled it up. The cool air of the room hit my chest, making my breath hitch, but the moment the fabric cleared my head, and I tossed it onto the pile of discarded clothes, the chill vanished.

Reid’s gaze locked onto me, his grey eyes darkening until they looked almost black in the shadows.

He traced every inch of my exposed skin with his eyes—the lean muscle of my torso, the visible tremor in my ribs that were still a little yellowish from recovery, and finally, the mark he’d left at the crook of my neck.

Seeing his work bare in front of him made his jaw tighten, a low, possessive purr rumbling deep within his chest. It was an instinctive, predatory sound that made my stomach drop.

"Satisfied?" I rasped, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to block his view.

"Not even close," Reid whispered, his voice incredibly thick.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he reached across the table, his large, warm hand wrapping firmly around my wrist. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was absolute, dragging my arm away from my chest.

His thumb pressed against the racing pulse inside my wrist, measuring the frantic rhythm of my heart.

"Look at you," he murmured, his gaze lifting to meet mine, the rookie arrogance completely replaced by a heavy, volatile hunger. "You’re shaking, Cap. Is it because you’re cold, or because you know exactly what happens now that the games are over?"

My breath hitched, my mind scrambling for an exit strategy that didn’t exist.

Usually, I’d push him away, but I was hypersensitive and hyperaware of my actions. I felt like if I pushed him away now, I’d break the illusion of normalcy I needed to maintain until morning. But if I let him draw me back into that dark, consuming vortex, I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to walk out the door when the sun came up.

I forced my jaw to lock, dragging every single ounce of my training and my pride to the surface. I couldn’t let him see the panic. I couldn’t let him smell the weakness.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I twisted my wrist against his grip. I didn’t rip it away frantically—that would show fear. Instead, I used a precise, clinical leverage point to break his hold, pulling my hand back onto my side of the mahogany table.

"Like you said, the game is over, McCoy," I said, my voice dropping into a flat tone that sounded far more like a locker room briefing than a dark penthouse at midnight. "You won. I took the shirt off."

Reid’s hand remained suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, his fingers curling inward as if grasping at the warmth I’d just denied him.

The low, possessive purr in his chest cut off instantly, replaced by a sudden, dangerous stillness. His grey eyes narrowed, the silver flecks in them sharpening like flint.

"The game might be over," Reid rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge entirely.

He slowly leaned back, but he didn’t break eye contact. The heavy, suffocating cloud of frozen pine around him turned cold—biting, sharp, and demanding. "But you’re still sitting on my floor in your underwear, Cap. Don’t act like you’re standard issue right now."

"I’m sitting here because I’m a man of my word," I replied, my chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled rhythm despite the frantic pounding underneath my ribs.

I picked up my sweatpants from the floor, not rushing, maintaining an unbothered, detached posture. "But the circus is down. I’m going to get a glass of water, and then I’m going to the guest room."

"No," he said.

​I narrowed my eyes at him, holding the sweatpants tightly in my grip.

​"Not the guest room," Reid continued, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. "You’re sleeping in my room tonight, Evans. You have to... keep your promise."

​What promise? My thoughts screamed. My mind raced backward, desperately trying to recall every single word I’d uttered since stepping foot into this penthouse, but I couldn’t remember making a single vow.

​As if sensing my confusion, Reid leaned forward, the silver flecks in his eyes glinting in the dark. "When I told you that you have to look at only me, you didn’t reply with words. But your body gave me a response. You held me close, which means you won’t run away from me anymore, right? Not only will you look at only me, but you’ll stay close to me, too. That’s why we slept together on the couch."

​I gulped, my throat going completely dry. How did he even arrive at that conclusion? It was infuriating how seamlessly he interpreted the situation however he saw fit, twisting my momentary lapse in defense into a binding contract.

​"Since we can’t sleep anyway," Reid muttered, cutting through my silence. He stood up from the sectional, bypassing his bruised ankle with a quick, fluid movement, and moved directly over to my side of the coffee table.

​He dropped back down onto the floor right next to me, his massive, bare shoulder brushing against my arm.

​"Let’s watch a movie," he proposed, grabbing the remote from the table and tossing it lightly in his hand. "Anything that will keep us close together, Cap. It’s better than staring at the ceiling all night, trying to chase sleep."

​There was a distinct, knowing glint in his eyes. I had a very odd feeling that this kid was trying to push me right into a trap I wouldn’t be able to resist. But recognizing the trap didn’t help me push him away.

​Instead, I actually found sense in his words. If I went to the guest room right now, I would just lie awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting the countdown to morning drive me insane. Distraction was safer. Keeping him calm and satisfied for the next few hours would ensure he didn’t suspect a thing until I was gone.

​"Fine," I muttered, sitting back down and pulling my sweatpants over my legs to at least cover up. "Put something on. Just don’t pick anything stupid."

But he grinned, and I knew for a fact that that grin was as hell going to do something stupid.