Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 132

By the time we make it back to the cabin, my pulse is still a little off.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. But I know damn well I won’t stop. I can’t.

I kick the door open with my boot and hold it for her, watching as she steps inside, her cheeks pink from the cold, eyes still a little glassy from everything I told her. She peels off her jacket and boots, setting them by the door before rubbing her hands together. The cabin’s cold, the fire only embers now.

“I’ll get that going again,” I say, moving toward the fireplace.

She follows me, kneeling beside me on the old, creaking wood. “Can you show me how to do it?” she asks.

I glance at her, one eyebrow raised. “I can just do it.”

“I know,” she says, lips curving into a tiny, teasing smile. “But, you know, for the day I don’t have my own personal survivalist with me.”

A quiet, sharp exhale escapes me. Something like a laugh, but darker. “Alright, princess,” I mutter. “Pay attention.”

I crouch beside the stone hearth and reach for the iron poker. “First, you want to break up these embers a bit. Not too much, just enough to let the air flow through.” I do it, the embers glowing brighter, crackling softly. “Then you take some kindling—small, dry stuff like this—” I reach for a handful of the thin, dry sticks we collected the first night, “—and you lay it in a loose pile. You want it to catch quickly, so don’t suffocate it.”

She nods, eyes sharp and focused on my hands.

“Then, you add the medium stuff. Not the thick logs yet. Something in between. Give it a little structure.” I stack the sticks, making a small pyramid over the embers. It catches almost immediately, the flames licking up through the gaps.

Her mouth parts slightly as she watches, a soft, breathy little sound escaping her throat. Like I’ve just done a magic trick.

“See?” I say, glancing at her sideways. “Simple.”

She looks up at me, her eyes still glowing with the fire’s reflection. “You make it look easy,” she whispers.

I look at her. Really look at her.

The way the fire casts shadows along her jawline, the curve of her throat, the delicate arch of her collarbone beneath her sweater. Her fingers are still clasped together in her lap, a little fidgety, like she’s holding herself back. I know the feeling.

“Now,” I say, my voice lower, rougher, “you let it breathe. Feed it slowly. Don’t smother it.”

She shivers, and I pretend it’s from the cold.

When the fire is crackling steadily, filling the cabin with its warmth, I force myself to stand and step back. Distance. I need distance.

I walk to my bag, unzipping it and pulling out the laptop I packed. “Wi-Fi sucks, but I’ve got a few movies downloaded.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

I walk back to where she’s sitting on the edge of one of the beds and place the laptop in her lap. “You pick.”

She takes it, pulling her legs up beneath her and curling into a more comfortable position. Her hair falls over her shoulder, framing her face as she scrolls through my list of downloaded movies. She glances at me from the corner of her eye, a little crease forming between her brows.

I tilt my head. “What?”

“Did something happen back at the lodge?”

I pause. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, eyes flicking back to the screen. “Just… when you came to sit with me, you looked… off.”

I grit my teeth. Of course she noticed.

“Nothing important,” I say, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed.

She frowns, still scrolling. “You sure?”

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. I should lie. I should keep this to myself. But I know she won’t let it go if I don’t say something. “Some girl cornered me in the hallway.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal. “Just some girl. She was… persistent.”

Her lips part slightly, her eyes going a bit distant. “Does… does that happen to you a lot?”

I can hear the way her voice has tightened. The way her throat bobs when she swallows. She’s imagining it. Some girl pressed against me, her hands on my chest, her lips on my throat—

My jaw tightens.

I shake my head. “Sometimes,” I say. “But I hate it.”

She blinks, surprised. “You… hate it?”

I smirk, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t like being touched by strangers. And I don’t… I don’t fuck just to fuck.”

Her cheeks go pink. She drops her gaze back to the laptop, pretending to be very interested in the movie titles. I let myself watch her for a second longer, the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.

She picks a movie at random, her voice a little too bright. “Okay, um, this one?”

I glance at the screen. Some thriller. Dark, intense. She clearly didn't even look at the genre because she'll hate this one.

I nod, moving to sit behind her, my back against the headboard. I spread my legs, giving her room. “Come here.”

She hesitates, biting her lip again, but then shifts back, settling between my legs. Her back rests against my chest, her head just below my chin.

I reach forward, grabbing the laptop and setting it on her legs. But as I do, I let my hands linger. One on her waist, the other on her hip. I pull her back against me, aligning her spine with my chest, feeling her warmth seep into me.

“You good like this?” I murmur into her hair, my lips dangerously close to her ear.

She nods, and I feel her shiver.

The movie starts, but I’m not watching. I’m too aware of her, of the way her shoulder blades press against my chest with every breath, the way her hips fit perfectly between my thighs.

Her fingers start to move. Tracing slow, gentle lines along my calf, absentminded. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

But I do.

I feel every single stroke. Every whisper-light touch through my joggers. It’s torture.

She makes it about halfway through the movie before her head tilts back, her body goes slack, and her breathing evens out.

I stare down at her, at the way her lips part softly in sleep, the way her fingers still cling lightly to my leg, the way her head rests against my chest.

I let my hands move. Over her waist, her ribs, her thighs. I’m a starving man, and she’s the only thing that could ever sate me.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

I exhale sharply, forcing my hands to still.

When the credits roll, I carefully gather her in my arms, lifting her with ease, and set her in the other bed. I pull the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders, my fingers lingering in her hair a moment too long.

Then I sit back on my own bed, rubbing a hand over my face, forcing my pulse to slow.

It’s going to be a long night.