Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 99

**Charlotte**

*He’s worried for us,* Shanti all but purrs, *soothe him. Go to our mate.* I move before I can think too hard about it. Before fear or doubt or whatever is left of the old me can get its claws in and make me hesitate. The bed dips under my knees as I crawl across it to kneel behind him. Blake is standing rigid beside the bed with his back to me, shoulders hard under his shirt, his hands opening and closing at his sides. The moonlight through the window catches on the line of his jaw and the edge of his cheekbone, and even from here I can see the strain in him, the rawness of it. The rogue’s words unsettled him more than they did me. I reach out slowly and let my hands settle on his shoulders. He goes still beneath my touch. “Blake,” I say softly. “Hey. Look at me.” His head drops slightly, just enough that I know he heard me, but he does not turn. “I can’t.” The words come out rough, low, dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest. One of his hands comes up and rubs against the centre of his sternum. “Lotty, if I look at you right now…” His voice catches. “I’m not sure I can control myself.” There’s so much rawness in his words. “Lex and I… we can’t.” He drags a breath into his lungs, and I feel the tremor of it under my hands. “It’s too much, Lotty. You’re ours. The thought of anyone trying to hurt you is already hard enough to deal with, but every rogue? Every bloody one of them?” He laughs, but there is no humour in it. “Lotty, I…”

I don’t let him finish. My hands slide down from his shoulders to his arms, and I move around him slowly until I am standing in front of him. He keeps his head turned away from me, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder. I touch his face, brushing the line of his jaw. “Look at me,” I whisper. His eyes lift and drop once, quickly, helplessly, down the length of me before they come back to my face. The look in his eyes is pure hunger, wrapped so tightly in restraint it almost hurts to see. “Lotty,” he says again, and this time my name sounds like prayer and pain and love all at once. I step closer until there is no air left between us. “I’m right here, Blake.”

My hands stay on him, one at his jaw, one sliding down to the centre of his chest where his heart is pounding hard. He shudders once beneath the touch. “I’m yours,” I say. “You’re not going to let anyone hurt me, right?”

His answer comes instantly, fiercely. “Right.”

“Then it’s you and me against the world.” His eyes search mine. “Yeah?” I ask him. 

His throat works. “Yeah.” I let my hand slide from his chest down his arm until my fingers thread through his, and I hold on. “Kiss me, Blake.”

Everything in him stills. His eyes stay on mine, searching again, giving me one last chance to step back, to laugh it off, to tell him I did not mean it the way I clearly do. I stay where I am and let him see every bit of it—wanting him, choosing him, and accepting him. His hand lifts slowly and comes to the side of my face. It’s broad and warm and rough from hockey and training and every physical thing he puts his body through without complaint. His thumb strokes once along my cheekbone, and the tenderness of it nearly breaks me. Then he leans in with a kiss that is so soft it steals the air from my lungs. His mouth brushes mine, and the world narrows to that single point of contact. I revel in the warmth of his lips and the quiet sound he makes when I lean into him rather than away.

My fingers clutch at his shirt. His other hand comes to my waist and draws me in closer, and the second my body presses fully against his, Shanti rises through me with a deep, contented purr. Lex answers her instantly. I do not hear words, but I feel them all the same. His mouth moves over mine with more confidence, still tender and careful, but fuller, and I soften in his arms completely. The fear that usually sits somewhere in the background of every new thing, every good thing, every moment that feels too precious to trust, does not survive here. It has nowhere to stand.

He kisses me like he is holding the whole world in his hands. His hand slides from my waist to the back of my neck, holding me there gently while he rests his forehead against mine again. I can feel the wildness in him ease, the fury, and panic. “Mine,” he murmurs. The words go straight through me. “Yours,” I whisper back. 

Slowly, one hand slips beneath my knees, the other curves around my back. I wrap my arms around his neck instinctively, and a small, surprised laugh escapes me. His eyes find mine in the moonlight, dark and searching. “This okay?” he asks, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “Charlotte… tell me if it’s too much.” The way he uses my full name makes warmth bloom low in my belly. I nod, then remember he needs the words. “Yes,” I breathe. “I want this. I want you, Blake. All of you.” Something raw and beautiful flickers across his face. He turns slowly, carrying me the few steps to the bed. The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the distant hush of the night beyond the window. Moonlight spills silver across the covers as he leans down and lays me gently onto the mattress, his body following with careful grace.

He settles above me on his forearms, bracketing my face with his hands. His gaze drifts over me then, boldly drinking in every detail. There is no rush in him, only a deep, steady hunger held in perfect check. “Tell me again,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me you want this.” 

I reach up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lower lip. “I want you,” I say softly, clearly. “Every part of you. Make me yours.”

His eyes close for a heartbeat, as if the words physically touch him. He lowers his head and kisses me once more, achingly slow, his lips moving against mine. His hand slides down my side, mapping the curve of my waist and the dip of my hip. Every touch is a question I answer by arching closer, by threading my fingers into his hair, by whispering his name like it’s the only word I remember. Blake pulls back just enough to look at me again, his breathing uneven, eyes heavy-lidded with want and wonder. “You’re everything,” he says, so quietly. “My whole world, Lotty.”