Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 157

I take a long, steadying breath, my hands gripping the edge of the fireplace so hard my knuckles turn white.

I need to focus.

On the fire. On the storm. On anything but the girl wrapped up in my hoodie, sitting just a few feet behind me, her legs pulled up under the blankets, her bare thighs peeking out from the hem.

She’s probably warming up now, her soft skin heating up under the thick fabric, her hair a little damp around her face, the soft scent of her soap already filling the small cabin. My hoodie swallows her, the sleeves too long, the hem almost brushing her knees.

I have to close my eyes for a second.

Fuck, I can still feel the shape of her. Her waist, her ribs, the delicate curve of her bare hips, the way her breath hitched when I brushed my hands over her legs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’ve gone through the most grueling training known to man. I’ve withstood physical and mental torture. I’ve pushed my body past every known limit and then some.

And yet, her.

Just her.

One trembling little ballerina in nothing but her underwear and my hoodie has me shaking, my pulse pounding in my ears, my hands aching to reach for her again.

I can’t even look at her.

The fire crackles weakly as I stoke it, the damp logs finally catching, small tongues of flame licking up the sides, casting the room in a soft, orange glow. It’s not enough to fully heat the place, but it’s a start.

I stand up slowly, my body still burning, my heart still racing. I turn around, and there she is, curled up on the bed, her bright green eyes peeking out from under the thick covers, her cheeks flushed, her hair a little messy from my hands.

I clench my jaw.

She looks up at me, her lips parting, her breath coming a little faster, her eyes dipping to my chest, my arms, the veins running down my forearms as I drag a hand through my hair.

I take a slow, deep breath and step closer, my eyes never leaving hers.

“Penny.”

Her lashes flutter. “Yeah?”

I crouch down in front of her, one knee pressed into the mattress, my hands braced on either side of her legs. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting in a small gasp.

“You warm now?” I murmur, my eyes dropping to her bare legs under the covers, the way her fingers twist in the hem of the hoodie.

She swallows hard, her throat working. “Y-yeah.”

I tilt my head, my gaze locking with hers.

“Good.”

My hands tighten on the mattress, my pulse thundering in my ears, my whole body coiled, tense, every instinct telling me to grab her, to push her down into the mattress, to spread her legs, to make her moan my name.

But I don’t.

Instead, I reach out slowly, my hand sliding up her bare thigh, my fingers slipping under the blanket, moving higher, feeling the soft, warm skin I just dressed a minute ago, my breath coming out rougher, my blood rushing south.

She gasps, her whole body trembling under my touch, her chest rising and falling quickly, her lips parting, her eyes wide and dark.

I lean in closer, my face inches from hers, my other hand slipping into her hair, twisting in the soft, damp strands, pulling just enough to tilt her head back, to make her neck arch, to expose that delicate, pulse-racing line of her throat.

She whimpers, the sound soft, breathless, desperate.

“Asher...”

Fuck.

I pull back, my jaw clenched so hard it hurts, my hand slipping out from under the blanket, my other hand releasing her hair, my pulse still hammering.

I watch her, the way her chest heaves, the way her eyes stay locked on me, wide and glassy, her cheeks flushed, her lips wet and parted.

I want her.

I want her so badly I can barely breathe.

But I’m not doing this. Not like this.

I stand up, my fists clenching at my sides, my whole body a live wire, my mind a blur of need and restraint and barely-contained desire.

“Go to sleep, princess,” I manage, my voice rough, ragged, broken. “Before I do something I can’t take back.”

Her eyes stay on me, wide, unblinking, her chest still rising and falling quickly, her fingers clutching the blanket.

I turn away, moving to the other bed, my back to her, my hands still shaking, my whole body aching for her.

I sit down hard, my breath coming in harsh, uneven pants, my head bowed, my fingers gripping the edge of the mattress.

I have to get a grip.

I have to.

Or I’m not making it through this storm.