Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 156

Asher launches off me, his massive frame shifting from warmth and strength to pure, coiled danger in a heartbeat. I hear the sharp inhale, the way his muscles tense, the slight rustle of fabric as his fists clench. He’s in front of the door in two strides, blocking me with his back, his whole body braced, ready to strike.

He’s... terrifying.

I sit up, heart still hammering, my mind trying to catch up to the sudden rush of adrenaline. His shadow stretches tall and broad against the wall, a living, breathing weapon.

Then I hear it.

The howl of wind. The creak of the cabin walls. The sharp, stinging hiss of snow blowing through the cracks.

It’s not a person. It’s not danger.

It’s a blizzard.

I push the blanket off and stumble to his side, my socked feet slipping against the wooden floor as I reach for his arm. He doesn’t move, his entire focus on the door, his chest heaving with the remnants of whatever primal instinct just took over.

I peek around him, my breath catching in my throat. The snow outside is no longer gently falling. It’s a wall of white, a living, moving mass, spiraling and swirling like an angry ocean, the wind shrieking as it whips past the trees.

Then, without warning, the wind slams into the cabin, and the door bursts open again, icy air blasting through the gap.

“Ah!” I yelp as snow sprays into my face, cold and biting. I stagger back, the freezing air cutting into my skin, making my wet clothes cling to me like ice.

Asher curses, shoving the door closed with his full weight, snow swirling around his feet. He grabs the heavy clothing cabinet next to the wall and drags it in front of the door, muscles bulging, jaw clenched.

I stand there, shivering, my teeth chattering, my mind spinning.

“Is that... is that a blizzard?” I whisper, my voice shaky, my arms wrapping around myself.

“Yeah,” he grunts, pushing the cabinet tighter against the door, making sure no more snow can get through. “A big one.”

I stare at the swirling snow outside, the wind howling like a thousand angry voices, the tree branches bending under the force of it. My heart skips a beat. “Will the cabin hold?”

He shoves the cabinet one last time, then steps back, breathing hard. He looks at me, his dark eyes sharp, intense, even in the faint light.

“Yeah, it’ll hold.” He glances back at the door, then at me. “But we’re not making it to the lodge in this weather.”

“*You* can’t make it there?” I ask, still shivering, my teeth chattering.

He huffs a quiet, humorless laugh, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “No. *We* can’t make it there.”

His tone is clear—he means *I* can’t make it. He probably could. Probably has, through worse.

He turns to the fireplace, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light as he bends down, trying to stoke the embers back to life. But the snow that blasted through the door soaked the firewood, and he mutters a low curse as he struggles to get the flame to catch.

“Damn it.” He shakes his head, tossing a soaked log aside and digging through the pile for something drier.

I’m still standing there, shivering, my fingers icy, my whole body trembling.

“Fuck, Penny,” he says suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at me. “You’re soaked.”

For a second, my brain stutters. I freeze, my breath catching, and my face flares hot despite the cold.

“Wh-what?”

He steps closer, his eyes raking over me, and it’s only then that I realize he means my clothes. My socks, my shirt, my pants—all soaked from the snow that blasted through the door, clinging to me, icy and wet and making me shiver even harder.

He grabs one of his hoodies from the bag by his bed, the black one he wore the other day, and shoves it into my arms.

“You need to change before you freeze.”

I try to turn on the light, but nothing works. I sigh, clutching the fabric to my chest, but when I turn to head to the tiny washroom, my shoulder bumps the wall. I try to correct my path, but then my toe catches on the edge of the bed frame, and I stumble, muttering a small, breathless “Ow.” It's too dark.

“Shit,” Asher mutters, striding over to me, his hands on my shoulders. He sighs, his grip firm, his eyes dark as they search my face. “Come here.”

He turns me back to face him, his fingers already at the hem of my soaked shirt. He hesitates, his hands warm against my icy skin, his breath catching.

“Just... just hold still.” His voice is a bit rougher now, a bit lower, the heat from his body radiating against mine.

I try to stay still, my heart racing, my pulse pounding in my ears as he slowly pulls my soaked shirt up, over my ribs, my arms, my head. The air is so cold it makes my skin prickle, goosebumps racing across my chest and stomach.

I hear him breathe out hard, his hands dropping the shirt to the side before reaching for my waistband.

My whole body tenses, my breath catching, but I lift my leg so he can slip my soaked pants down, his rough fingers brushing my bare legs, my skin burning under his touch despite the cold.

He pulls the hoodie over my head, his big, calloused hands sliding the sleeves over my arms, his fingers grazing my sides as he tugs it down to my hips, the fabric warm and soft against my chilled skin.

His hands linger on my waist for a second, his breath coming hard, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

“Go get in bed,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “Warm up.”

I don’t argue. I just back up slowly, my bare feet tingling on the cold floor, my mind still spinning from the feeling of his hands on my body, from the way he’s still looking at me, his eyes dark, intense, his chest heaving.

I crawl into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and watch as he turns back to the fire, the muscles in his back tense, his jaw clenched, his breath coming fast.

He’s not just trying to fix the fire.

He’s trying to fix his control.

And... so am I.