Hate On The Ice, Mine In The Dark

4. We Need Rules

**Nathan’s POV**

I stood in the empty side room longer than I should have.

My father’s words kept repeating in my head. *Shared suite. Move in tonight.* My hands were still shaking when I finally forced myself to open the door and walk back toward the main hall. I fixed my tie, smoothed my jacket, and put the controlled expression back on my face the way I had been trained to since I was a child.

It didn’t feel as solid as it used to.

The luncheon was already in full swing when I returned. Conversations paused for half a second as people noticed me, then resumed. My father stood near the center of the room with Damian Silvermane. Miles was beside them, looking completely at ease, like he hadn’t just had his hand down my pants twenty minutes earlier.

Our eyes met across the crowd.

He didn’t smile this time. He just looked at me, calm and certain, like the decision had already been made.

The public announcement came halfway through dinner. Both kings stood. The room went quiet. Elias spoke first, voice cold and precise, about the need for stability and the cost of old grudges. Damian followed with a shorter statement about unity. Then they both turned slightly toward us.

Miles and I were expected to stand together.

I moved to his side because I had no other choice. The heat of his body was immediate even with space between us. Cameras from pack media flashed. People watched every micro-expression. My wolf was a restless, unhappy weight under my skin.

Miles leaned in just enough that only I could hear him.

“Breathe, Ashwood. You’re doing fine.”

I didn’t answer.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced conversations and careful smiles. By the time the formal portion ended, my jaw ached from holding everything in. An attendant approached me with a key card and a polite smile.

“Your suite is ready, Heir Ashwood. Your bags have already been moved. This suite has been assigned to both of you for the remainder of the Summit.”

I took the card without speaking.

The elevator ride up to the private floors felt too long. Miles stepped in after me. Neither of us said anything as the doors closed. The silence was heavier than any argument.

The suite was large and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, dark furniture, a living area that opened into a single bedroom. One large bed. A couch that was clearly not meant for sleeping. The door shut behind us with a soft, final click.

I dropped my key card on the table and turned to face him.

“We need rules.”

Miles raised an eyebrow and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over a chair like he already lived here. “Do we?”

“Yes.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “This is political. Nothing else. We sleep separately. We don’t touch. We don’t talk about what happened in the tunnel or in that side room. When this Summit is over, we go back to being what we were.”

Miles walked past me toward the window, hands in his pockets. He looked out at the city lights for a long moment before speaking.

“You really think that’s possible?”

“It has to be.”

He turned around. The soft light from the windows put half his face in shadow. “Your wolf doesn’t agree with you.”

“My wolf doesn’t make decisions.”

“It wants me,” he said simply. “Same way mine wants you.”

I hated how easily he said it. I hated that he was right.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I said. “Whatever this is—”

Miles moved closer, slow enough that I could have stepped back. I didn’t. He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He kissed me.

It was slower than before, deeper, like he already knew I wasn’t going to fight him the way I was supposed to. I made a broken sound against his mouth and felt his hand slide around the back of my neck. My back hit the wall beside the bedroom door. Miles pressed against me, one thigh sliding between mine, and the friction dragged a low noise out of my throat.

His hands moved under my shirt. I should have stopped him. Instead my own hands found his belt, then the front of his pants. Miles broke the kiss just long enough to speak against my ear.

“That’s it.”

We stumbled closer to the bed without fully separating. Miles pushed me down onto the edge of it and followed, bracing himself over me. His mouth moved to my neck, biting and sucking hard enough that I knew it would leave marks. I arched under him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

His hand slipped into my pants, wrapping around me with firm, deliberate strokes. I was already so hard it almost hurt. Miles watched my face while he touched me, silver eyes dark and focused.

“Miles—” His name came out wrecked.

“I know.”

I was so close when the fear cut through again.

I grabbed his wrist.

“Stop.”

Miles went still immediately.

For a second the only sound in the room was our breathing. He looked down at me, chest rising and falling. The unguarded expression was back — something almost soft and frustrated at the same time — before he carefully pulled his hand away and sat back.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, still shaking, still painfully hard. Shame and want tangled so tightly in my chest I could barely breathe.

“I can’t,” I said quietly. “If I let this keep going, I don’t know how to stop. And I can’t afford to not know how to stop. Not with who we are.”

Miles was silent for a long moment. Then he stood up.

“I’m not going to force you,” he said quietly. “But I’m also not going to pretend I don’t want you when we’re alone in this room every night.”

He turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I stayed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing. The fact that he had actually stopped — that he had listened — somehow made wanting him worse. I had spent my entire life being told Silvermanes were dangerous. Yet Miles was the one person in this entire Summit who had listened when I said no.

That realization sat heavier than anything else.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it with unsteady fingers.

**Father:**

Tomorrow morning. Joint breakfast with the Silvermanes. No arguments. Be ready at eight.

I locked the screen and dropped the phone back down.

The shower turned on in the bathroom. I could hear the water running for a long time. When it finally shut off, there was another stretch of silence. I knew exactly what Miles was doing in there. The thought alone made my body ache again.

Eventually the bathroom door opened.

Miles stepped out in just a pair of low-slung sweatpants, hair still damp, looking completely collected again. He glanced at the bed, then at the couch, then at me.

“You take the bed,” he said casually. “I’ll take the couch.”

I stared at him, caught off guard.

Miles’s mouth curved slightly.

“Unless you’re worried you’ll crawl into my bed in the middle of the night.”

Heat flared in my face — anger, embarrassment, and something else I refused to name.

“I won’t,” I said tightly.

“Good.” He grabbed a pillow from the bed and walked toward the couch like the conversation was already over. “Get some sleep, Ashwood. We have a joint breakfast to survive in the morning.”

He stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, and closed his eyes.

I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at his silhouette in the dark.

One room.

One bed I was supposed to sleep in alone.

And the man I was supposed to hate, only a few feet away, pretending this was easy.

I already knew it wasn’t going to be.