Chapter 53 53- Do Not Flirt With Anyone Who Smirks Like That
LEXI
When I don’t back away, a huge, incredibly smug smile spreads across Blake’s face. His right hand shifts from its place at my waist to my lower back, broad and steady, settling there like an anchor. It’s not rough, not hurried, but it’s unmistakably firm. Protective. Like he’s bracing me between his chest and his arm on purpose, making it very clear that he’s got me. The good news is, I no longer feel unstable, like I might fall off the wall. The bad news is, my knees feel a little weak anyway. I lift my hands from the stone, trusting him without even thinking about it. For a second, my hands hover uselessly between us, uncertain, almost shy, before they settle against his chest. The fabric of his shirt is warm beneath my palms, sturdier than it looks. I can feel the raised embroidery beneath my fingertips, intricate and deliberate, the gold thread textured where it traces its patterns. My fingers curl slightly, not gripping, just resting there, as if touching him grounds me as much as his hand grounds me. He doesn’t react, doesn’t tighten his grip or adjust his stance. He already accounted for my weight. Already decided that I am not going anywhere. The certainty of that settles into me, warm and heavy. The heat of him seeps through the thin, floating fabric of my dress, spreading slowly, deliberately. He’s so warm. Steady. Solid. I should feel grounded, but instead I feel hyper-aware of every inch of space between us. Or rather, the lack of it. He waits. Not because he’s unsure, but because he’s watching me. His gaze tracks my face closely, reading every flicker of hesitation, every breath, every tiny shift in my expression. He’s giving me time to change my mind. Time to pull away. I don’t. That’s when he leans in. The kiss starts softly, his lips brushing mine first, warm and unhurried, like he’s testing the moment instead of taking it. It’s barely there at first, a question more than an action. When I don’t pull back, when I tilt toward him instead, he deepens it, enough to steal my breath away. I inhale sharply, my hands sliding without conscious thought, one still pressed to his chest, the other drifting up, fingers brushing the edge of his collar. His kiss is slow, intentional. He kisses me like he’s memorising me. His thumb presses lightly into my lower back, a silent reminder of how easily he could pull me closer… And how carefully he isn’t. The thought sends a shiver through me. My fingers flex against his shirt again, this time a little tighter, before I consciously force myself to relax them. I don’t want to clutch. I don’t want to rush. I want to stay right here in this suspended moment. His restraint makes my heart stutter. The contrast between his strength and the way he’s holding himself back is dizzying. I can feel his breath when he exhales, controlled and steady, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me. There’s a tension in him, coiled and deliberate, held in check by choice rather than doubt. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the quiet certainty of his hands, the way time seems to stretch and blur.
When he finally pulls away, it’s slow. Reluctant. My hands don’t immediately move. They stay where they are for half a second too long, as if my body hasn’t caught up to the fact that the kiss has ended. I can still feel the warmth of him through the fabric, the faint rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms. He lingers just close enough that I can still feel his warmth, like he’s giving me time to follow him back to the present. The smugness is gone. His smile now is something else entirely, quiet. Content. All the defensiveness and wariness that usually lives in his expression has vanished. His shoulders are loose, his jaw relaxed, his eyes open in a way I’ve never seen before. He looks… Unguarded. And knowing that I did that to him is oddly empowering. I hold his gaze for a moment longer than I should, until the intensity of it all starts to overwhelm me and I look away, suddenly very aware of how close we still are.
“Well…” I trail off awkwardly, my voice softer than I mean it to be.
“That was… Something…” I don’t even know what I’m saying. Surely I could come up with something better than that. Amazing, stunning, reassuring? Because it sort of clarifies what Blake wants. I was already fairly sure that he had… Romantic interest in me. But it’s reassuring to know that I wasn’t imagining it. Still, the words feel woefully inadequate. He doesn’t tease me for it. Instead, he says, calmly and without hesitation,
“You are precious. A perfect treasure.” He says instead, voice low and absolute. I blush red, the intensity of his statement is increased by the fact that I know he isn’t lying. He really means that.
“Uhm… Thanks.” I answer, looking off to the side over his shoulder. I have no idea how to respond? Am I supposed to compliment him back? I’m not great at thinking of sweet things to say like he does. Sensing my discomfort instantly, because of course he does, Blake eases back. Blake moves back a little. Steadying me until he’s sure that I won’t fall. Only then do I let my hands drop. Then he takes a single, large and very pointed step backwards, giving me some space. The air feels a lot colder without him next to me.
I am sort of at a loss for words. Where do we go from here? Should we be having some sort of conversation about this? Do we need some kind of label? Or is it too soon for that? It was only one kiss after all… Then again, I doubt that Blake did that lightly, and I didn’t either. My thoughts spiral for a moment, chasing themselves in circles until I force myself to breathe. Okay. I need to relax. Blake isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I. Whatever this is, it doesn’t need to be decided right now. We can talk later, when we’re calmer, when it doesn’t feel like the air itself is still charged from the moment we just shared. For now, I just want to enjoy the evening.
“Can you help me down?” I ask. Blake nods immediately. He steps in and carefully picks me up by the waist again, lifting me as easily as if I weigh nothing at all. This time, though, he’s more deliberate, more restrained. He lowers me slowly, keeping a careful, respectful distance between us, his hands lingering only as long as necessary to make sure I’m steady before he lets go. Probably more distance than he realistically needs to maintain. What’s a nice way to say ‘I want a bit of space from you but not THAT much space?’
“Shall we go back to the dance?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence that’s settled between us. It isn’t awkward exactly, but it’s heavy. Blake nods, still watching me closely, like he’s memorising something he doesn’t want to forget. I turn and take a few steps toward the music when he suddenly clears his throat. I pause and look back.
“Do you regret it?” He asks. His expression is carefully, and very intentionally, blank. No tells. No tension. Just that steady, assessing gaze, like he’s trying to look straight through me and find the truth before I can dress it up or soften it. I let out a soft breath. Is that what he thought I was thinking?
“I don’t regret it at all. I’m just… Not sure what happens next.” I say honestly. My voice trails off, not because I’m uncertain, but because I don’t want to rush something that feels fragile in a good way. Blake studies me for a long moment, contemplative, as if he’s weighing every possible response and discarding the ones that would scare me off. Before he can say anything, I smile and reach out, taking his arm and stepping close to his side. It’s familiar and comfortable.
“Come on.” I say warmly.
“I want to dance some more. And there’s still meant to be some kind of challenge or game or something. I don’t want to miss that.” I remind him. His shoulders ease, just a fraction. The tension drains from him in a way that feels almost imperceptible, but I notice it anyway. He gives a single, deep nod.
“Lead the way.”