Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 162

I wake up to warmth. Soft, smooth, perfect warmth.

Penny.

She’s draped over me, her bare body tangled with mine, her head on my chest, her legs entwined with mine, her breath soft and warm against my skin, her fingers curled around my shoulder, her hair a mess of golden waves spilling over my chest and down my ribs.

Her cheek is pressed against my heart, and I can feel the slow, steady beat of hers against my ribs, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the delicate, perfect curve of her spine, the soft, warm press of her thighs against my hips.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, my fingers slipping into her hair, my other hand resting on her lower back, my thumb brushing over the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, my mind a slow, hazy blur of heat and satisfaction and contentment.

I close my eyes, let myself sink into the feel of her, the warmth of her, the weight of her, the soft, slow rhythm of her breath, the gentle, perfect press of her body against mine.

Perfect.

That’s what she is. In every sense of the word. Perfect.

And I’m... happy.

It’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Foreign, even. I can’t remember the last time I felt this. I can’t remember if I’ve ever felt this.

Happy.

I tighten my grip on her waist, my fingers pressing into her soft, warm skin, my breath coming out in a slow, deep, satisfied sigh.

God, she’s perfect.

Last night...

I close my eyes, my mind flashing back to the way she looked beneath me, the way she sounded, the way she clung to me, the way she whispered my name, the way she trembled, the way she shattered, the way she breathed, the way she begged, the way she...

*Fuck*.

I feel myself stir beneath her, my whole body going tight, my breath coming out in a slow, shaky sigh, my fingers tightening on her waist, my other hand slipping down to the curve of her thigh, my thumb brushing over her skin, my mind a slow, heated blur of memories and need and reckless, desperate want.

At some point last night, Tyler called again. I remember the shrill, irritating sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand, the way her brow furrowed, the way her lips twisted into a pout, the way her eyes went wide and confused and annoyed.

I grabbed the phone, chucked it across the room.

She gave me the cutest, most confused little frown, her lips parting, her eyes narrowing, her breath catching, and it was so damn cute I had to grab her face, tilt her head up, crash my lips against hers, feel the soft, desperate clench of her body around mine, feel the way her breath hitched, the way her nails dug into my back, the way her thighs tightened around my hips, the way she whimpered against my mouth.

Fuck, she’s perfect.

I slip my hand up her spine, my fingers tangling in her hair, my other hand slipping down to her thigh, my thumb brushing over her skin, my mind a slow, heated blur of her, of us, of last night, of her breathless moans, her soft, desperate whimpers, her sweet, addictive gasps.

And then my mind shifts.

Because the storm is still raging outside, the wind howling against the cabin walls, the snow whipping against the windows, the cold seeping into the cracks and corners and edges of the room, the fire crackling low and steady in the fireplace, the whole world wrapped in white, silent and endless and frozen.

Which means we’re still trapped here.

Which means she’s still mine.

Which means I still have her.

*Good*.

Because I don’t trust myself to let her go.

I’m not a good man. I’m not a kind man. I’m not a patient, gentle, forgiving man. I’m a soldier, a weapon, a killer, a ghost. I’m a man with blood on his hands and death in his eyes and violence in his veins.

And I’ve never felt more dangerous than I do right now.

Because this girl—this perfect, beautiful, impossible girl—is mine.

And I don’t trust myself not to go to insane, reckless, terrifying lengths to keep her.

Eventually, the storm will pass. The snow will stop. The wind will die. The world will thaw.

Eventually, we’ll have to leave this cabin.

Eventually, we’ll have to face Tyler.

Eventually, we’ll have to go back to the real world.

But not now.

Not today.

Today, she’s still mine.

And I’m not letting go.

I feel her shift a bit, a soft, sleepy murmur slipping past her lips, her fingers tightening on my chest, her breath coming out in a slow, sleepy sigh.

I slip my hands down to her waist, tighten my grip, lift her a bit, pull her higher up my body, settling her more comfortably against my chest, her soft, warm skin pressing against mine, her hair falling over my face, her breath brushing over my neck, her thighs slipping a little higher around my hips.

God, she weighs nothing.

And if it weren’t for the fact that I already emptied myself inside her at least three times since last night, I’d be hard and ready to go again.

But for now, I just want to watch.

I want to memorize every little detail. The way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, the way her lips part slightly in her sleep, the way her fingers curl around my shoulder, the way her breath hitches every now and then, like she’s dreaming of something, the way her legs tangle with mine, the way her whole body molds against mine, like she was made for this, like she was made for me.

She mumbles something, a soft, breathless sound, her fingers tightening on my shoulder, her hips shifting a little, her whole body pressing closer to mine, her chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths, her skin warm and soft and perfect against mine.