Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 26

You need proper rest,” I told him.

He sat back against the headboard, eyes tired. “I sleep better when you’re near,” he said. “You don’t have to- but stay?”

I hesitated in the doorway. Then nodded.

He was already in bed by the time I curled in beside him, pulling the blanket up to my shoulder. I lay as close to the edge as I could manage without falling off, trying to ignore how loud the quiet felt.

But the room was heavy with something else-something alive. The space between us pulsed. I could feel him breathing. I could feel myself breathing, too fast, too shallow, my senses tracking every subtle shift in the mattress, every shared inhale.

My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but my mind was racing. He was close enough that the heat from his skin bled into mine. I remembered the press of his mouth against mine like it had just happened-how firm and desperate it had been. I thought about the moment it had stopped. About what might’ve happened if it hadn’t.

His sheets smelled like cedar and something darker-like spice, like stormclouds, like the memory of wanting something I shouldn’t. I could feel the restraint coiled in my limbs, the awareness of every place our bodies didn’t touch. I wanted to lean back. Just a little. I wanted to feel what would happen if I didn’t hold back anymore.

But I didn’t move, and neither did he.

We didn’t speak. Just breathed. And that silence was louder than anything I could have said.

In the early morning hours, I stirred-restless, unsure. The blanket had shifted, and the cool air raised goosebumps along my arms. I was about to roll away when I felt it: his arm sliding around my waist, slow and deliberate.

He pulled me gently back against him, no hesitation, no second-guessing-like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand found a place low on my stomach, fingers splayed like he’d done it before, like he knew exactly where to rest them to short-circuit my brain.

It wasn’t inappropriate. But it was intimate. Too intimate. The kind of touch that made my pulse skip, that made my breath catch before it even left my lips.

His chest was pressed to my back, solid and impossibly warm, and every steady exhale from him fanned across my neck, made me shiver despite the heat. I could feel every contour of his body, the faint scratch of stubble against my shoulder blade where my shirt had ridden up, the barest tightening of his arm as he adjusted his hold like he hadn’t meant to move but couldn’t help himself.

I lay there, frozen but hyperaware-of him, of me, of everything that wasn’t being said. The restraint in the room crackled like static. I wanted to lean into it. I wanted to ask him if this was comfort or confession. I wanted to turn and see what was written on his face.

Instead, I stayed still. Let the moment stretch, too afraid to end it. Let the silence speak for us.

And somehow, it felt louder than any yes could’ve been.

I froze, heart pounding.

This wasn’t about sleep. Not entirely.

He didn’t move further, didn’t push. But the tension radiating between us was impossible to ignore. Every nerve in me was lit up, painfully aware of how easily one shift-one word-could change everything.

And still, I didn’t move.

And I let him. Let the moment wrap around me like his arm. Let myself imagine, for just a second, what it might feel like if he wasn’t holding back. If I turned toward him and saw all that heat in his eyes and let it finally spill into something real.

His thumb moved slightly-barely-but it skimmed over the hem of my shirt, a whisper of contact that sent heat crawling up my spine. It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe. But it made my breath hitch, and I could feel the air catch in his lungs too.

We were both awake. Pretending. Wanting. Not acting on it.

I didn’t dare look at him, but god, I wanted to.

Neither of us mentioned it in the morning.

As I finished dressing, I found something new under my door.

A single piece of paper. A name written in sharp red ink: Clearwater.

I stared at it, heart racing. That name.

David’s words echoed in my head-the stairwell, the warning: Then we’ll both find out what they remember.

Did David know I was sleeping here? Was the message for Nathan?

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over. Not yet.

Amelia

I snuck back in my own suite, but it didn’t feel like I’d left his bed. Not really. The heat of him still lingered on my skin, like the memory had followed me through the door and slipped into my sheets. I hadn’t meant to wake up in his arms-again. I’d told myself I was just going to lie there to help him rest, just long enough for him to stabilize.

But I hadn’t meant to sleep so close. And I definitely hadn’t meant to wake up so aroused.

The ache in my body was immediate, and it wasn’t just emotional. I felt flushed all over, my skin too sensitive, like I was still wrapped in the memory of his hand on my waist. Of how close we’d gotten without quite crossing a line.

I stripped off my sleep shirt and stepped into the bathroom, turning the shower cold enough to sting. For a few minutes, I stood under the icy spray, arms wrapped around myself, forcing my mind to blank.

But I hated being freezing. It wasn’t sustainable. After a while, my fingers went numb, and I caved-twisting the dial just enough to let heat rush in. It only took seconds for the warmth to wrap around me, and with it came the rush of everything I’d tried to push away.

The press of his chest against my back. The slow slide of his hand. The way I’d arched slightly without meaning to. The sound of his breath catching-just barely. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me.

I let myself feel it, and it felt good.

Now I sat at my desk with my hands wrapped around a lukewarm mug of tea, staring at nothing. The early light filtered through the blinds in stripes, making the dust in the air look like it was dancing. It was too quiet.

The summons came mid-morning. A private strategy meeting. Room C-9, tucked behind the council chamber.

I arrived to find Richard already there, dressed but unmistakably tired. His tie was crooked and the top button of his shirt undone, like he’d gotten halfway ready before deciding it wasn’t worth the energy. The dark smudges beneath his eyes hadn’t been there yesterday-not like this. Guilt curled in my chest.

I knew he hadn’t slept well. I could feel it in the way he held himself, slower and heavier than usual. And I hated that I’d left so early, knowing my presence made a difference. But staying any longer… I wouldn’t have just lain there. I couldn’t have controlled myself any longer. And then I’d have had to look him in the eye this morning knowing exactly what we’d done.

So I ran. Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have stopped.

He didn’t greet me right away-just gestured toward the screen. “Your remarks shifted sentiment,” he said. “The public liked your honesty.”

He tapped a few keys and several data charts blinked to life on the holoscreen. Spikes in approval, rising keywords tied to trust and transparency. “They’re calling you a moral compass,” he added, glancing at me sideways. “Which is a little ironic.”

“Why?”

He gave a tired half-smile. “Because you walked in here willing to lie through your teeth for me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t lie. I just… reframed.”

He huffed a laugh. It was quiet but real. “Regardless, they believe in you. That matters.”

I nodded, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Floating somewhere between the weight of his arm around me last night and the echo of his breath on my skin. It was hard to focus when my body still remembered the way he held me.

He was called away not long after. Some last-minute adjustment to the closing remarks. He gathered the files and gave me a long look before he left-one I couldn’t quite decode.