Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 133

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the quiet crackle of the fire. The second is the steady rise and fall of Asher’s chest, his arms folded behind his head, muscles flexed against the pillow like he’s posing for a statue of some ancient war god.

He’s still asleep, jaw sharp even in the dim morning light, lips parted just a bit, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. He looks... peaceful, which is a strange word to associate with a man like him.

I blink slowly, trying to piece together the blurry edges of last night. I remember the warmth of his chest against my back, the quiet rumble of his breath near my ear as the movie played, the way his hands settled on my waist to adjust the laptop. I remember his fingers brushing against my thigh. The heat of his touch seeping through my leggings.

And then... nothing.

I must have fallen asleep, and he probably carried me to this bed.

I find that thought sweeter than I should.

How many people see this side of him? The thoughtful, caring man behind the cold, unbreakable exterior? The man who takes me for hot chocolate, touches my hair so gently, and refuses to let me sleep on the edge of a bed because he’s terrified I'll fall again?

I breathe in deep, a hint of smoke and pine clinging to the air, and decide I need to move. My muscles are stiff from the drive, the snowman building, the fall that still lingers in my bones. I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb him, and stand in the center of the cabin.

First position. Shoulders down. Chin up.

I breathe in again, let my arms glide out to the sides, lift one foot into a slow relevé, feeling the stretch through my calves, my toes, the fine muscles along my legs. I close my eyes, find my balance. It feels good to be moving again, even if it’s just a fraction of what I’m used to.

I point one foot behind me, toes brushing the wooden floor, then extend my arms and lift into an arabesque attitude derrière. My back arches, one leg lifted behind me, toes pointed, free hand stretched gracefully in front of me. The slight pull in my back feels perfect, like I’m finally waking up parts of myself that have been dormant for too long.

I feel my body again. I feel strong. Capable.

“Impressive what you can do with your body.”

I gasp, nearly losing my balance, and drop my leg. My eyes snap to Asher. He’s still in bed, arms still behind his head, but his eyes are open now, dark and steady, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

I place a hand over my racing heart. “How long have you been awake?”

He doesn’t answer, just lets his gaze sweep over me slowly, like he’s committing every line, every angle, to memory.

I clear my throat, heat rising to my cheeks. “Have you seen half the stuff you do with your body?”

He sits up, stretching his arms, muscles flexing in ways that should be illegal this early in the morning. “My body could never fold like that.”

I let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, probably not. You’d snap in half.”

He gives me one of those slow, crooked grins that make my pulse race. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet on the wooden floor, and rests his elbows on his knees, watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the room.

I turn away, trying to hide my flushed cheeks as I move into a deep plié, letting my knees bend gracefully, back straight. When I rise, I feel his eyes still on me.

“Are you scared to go back?” he asks, voice rough with sleep but sharp with curiosity.

I pause, arms still raised. My reflection stares back at me from the window, blurred by the faint frost gathering on the glass.

“Yeah,” I admit. “A bit.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, waiting for me to continue.

I take a deep breath. “I know I can do it. Realistically, I know that. Luc and I did that lift at least nine times that day. We’ve done it perfectly for weeks. It was just... a moment of distraction. It was an accident. I know he’ll be twice as careful now.”

“But?”

I drop my arms, twisting my fingers together. “But I’m scared I’ll hesitate. Or freeze. Or tense up in the air, and that can be just as dangerous. Maybe more.”

He nods slowly, like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s had moments like this too—moments where a split second of hesitation could cost him everything.

I let out a shaky breath and shake my arms out. The chill in the room seeps into my bones again, pulling me back to the present. I can feel his gaze on me, hot and steady.

“Do you want to help me stretch my back?” I say, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He raises an eyebrow. “Last time your spine cracked.”

I giggle, my body relaxing a bit at his deadpan tone. “It’s supposed to stretch my back.”

He groans a little, like I’ve just asked him to carry me up a mountain, but he stands and steps behind me. His hands find my waist, thumbs pressing gently against my lower back, fingers splayed across my sides.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes, his hands firm but careful, and my spine stretches, a soft crack echoing through the cabin. I breathe out, relieved.

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling his hands back. “I’ll never get used to that.”

I glance over my shoulder at him, a small, teasing smile on my lips. “Yeah, because when you hear that sound, it’s because you just broke someone’s bones, right?”

I mean it as a joke, a light little dig at the soldier who can break arms and fingers without a second thought. But when I turn fully, his face has gone still.

Oh.

I feel my smile slip.

His dark eyes catch mine, a flicker of something unreadable in them. He tilts his head, just slightly, his hands still hovering near my waist, fingers flexing like he’s debating pulling me back against him.

I swallow, the air between us growing heavier, hotter.

Then he smirks. Slow. Dangerous. “Careful, princess.”

My pulse stutters.

“What?” I whisper, my voice a little breathless.

His eyes linger on my lips for a fraction too long. “You're starting to know me a little too well.”

My cheeks flare, heat spreading down my neck. I try to scoff, to brush it off, but my voice comes out thin. “Maybe a little.”

His hands move back to my waist, just for a second, just a brief, burning touch, then he steps away.

“You must be hungry,” he says, turning toward the kitchenette. “Want to head to the lodge?”

I blink, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, sure.”

He smirks, and I watch his broad back as he moves away, dark and solid and infuriatingly untouchable.