Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 163

I wake slowly.

The kind of slow where the edges of sleep still cling to me, heavy and warm and thick like syrup. I don’t open my eyes yet. I just... feel.

My skin is too hot. My breath is shallow. My body aches, but not in a way that hurts.

There’s heat beneath me. Surrounding me. Sinking into my bones.

My cheek is pressed to skin. Bare skin. The kind stretched tight over hard muscle, ridged and unyielding and warm. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the thump of a heart beating just below the surface. Strong. Calm. Anchoring.

I don’t have to look. I already know.

Asher.

I shift just slightly, and the muscles beneath my face ripple. My leg is thrown over his hips, my thighs tangled with his. His hand is heavy on my lower back, fingers splayed wide, warm, possessive even in sleep. My breasts are pressed flush to his chest, my skin touching his everywhere—completely, unforgivingly bare.

Oh god.

The memories crash into me all at once—sharp and vivid, and so real I feel them like echoes in my bloodstream.

The way he kissed me like he was dying.

The way he touched me like he could burn through every part of me that had ever been scared.

The sound of his voice when he groaned my name.

His hands. His mouth. His body, hot and rough and desperate.

His words.

The way he said I was his. Over and over. Like saying it enough times would make it so.

I shift again and feel it—an ache low in my belly, between my thighs, sweet and sharp and lingering. My skin tightens. My breath stutters. That ache has shape. Texture. Memory.

The soreness is unmistakable. So is the way my nerves still buzz under the surface, like they’re waiting for him to touch me again.

I’m naked. Still.

He’s not much better—just a T-shirt, riding up his torso, exposing the sharp cut of his abs, the V of muscle that disappears below the waistband of his boxers. His arm tightens around me in his sleep, and I press my palm to his chest to steady myself.

I feel his heartbeat under my hand.

Slow. Steady. Mine is anything but.

I tilt my head, hair spilling across his chest, and finally open my eyes.

God.

He looks... not real. Like something out of a fever dream. The sharp lines of his jaw shadowed with stubble, his lips parted just barely, lashes resting like ink across his cheekbones. His features are harsh and beautiful and a little wild.

A little dangerous.

No. A lot dangerous.

Because Asher isn’t gentle. He’s never been safe. He’s been fire from the start—too hot, too close, too consuming. And last night?

Last night he burned.

He made me burn.

I move a little, just trying to get comfortable, but my hips shift against him and—

Oh god.

He stirs.

His hips twitch beneath mine. His breath deepens. A low, gravelly sound rumbles in his chest. His arm flexes around my waist, and his other hand shifts on my thigh, dragging a warm line across my skin.

I freeze.

And then his voice—rough, low, still thick with sleep.

“You trying to kill me, princess?”

My entire body locks up.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” I whisper.

He doesn’t open his eyes, just exhales a breath that brushes hot across my neck.

“I like waking up with you like this,” he murmurs.

His hand moves lower, fingers tracing the curve of my spine. I feel everything. Every breath. Every inch of where our bodies meet.

“I like you like this.”

I should move. I should roll off of him. I should say something normal. But instead I lie there, heart racing, skin flushed, a thousand emotions surging through me like a storm I can’t outrun.

My breath hitches.

“You’re still naked,” he says, finally opening his eyes—dark and sharp and entirely awake now.

I try for a smile. “So are you.”

His mouth quirks.

“That’s not helping,” he says, voice lower, heavier. He shifts his hips just slightly and oh god I feel him.

“Sorry,” I whisper, but my voice is unsteady.

“You don’t sound sorry,” he murmurs, eyes on mine.

I lower my gaze. “I should get up.”

He doesn’t let me.

Instead, he flips us—suddenly, effortlessly. I’m on my back, and he’s over me, every inch of his body pressing into mine. My breath catches. His shirt brushes against my chest, and the sensation is too much and not enough all at once.

His face hovers inches from mine. His eyes are shadowed with want. His jaw tightens.

“Penny,” he whispers, like my name is both prayer and curse.

“I—”

But the words die in my throat when he dips his head, brushing his lips just once against mine, soft and slow. His breath shakes. His hands tremble.

Then he pulls back. “Shower.”

I blink. “What?”

“You need to shower.”

“I can do that alone.”

He raises a brow.

I try to roll away, but he cages me in.

“You think I’m letting you walk out of this bed without making sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He tilts his head. “You’re still shaking.”

I am. Damn him, I am.

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Come on.”

Before I can respond, he scoops me up into his arms, like I weigh nothing.

I squeak. “Asher!”

He’s already walking.

I bury my face against his shoulder, and I feel his breath hitch as my skin brushes his collarbone.

He sets me down in the bathroom and turns on the water. Steam begins to fill the room.

I pause. He doesn’t look at me.

“Are you coming in?” I ask, quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Is it the scars?” I whisper.

His whole body stills.

I reach for him.

“I don’t care.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I care that they’re you,” I say. “I care that you’re here. That you’re real.”

And finally, finally, he looks up.

And his face—oh god. It’s not just hunger there. It’s pain. Love. Fear.

“Shower with me,” I whisper, breathless. “Please.”

His voice is rough when he answers.

“I’m not going to be gentle.”

My heart stutters.

“I don’t want you to be.”

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. He takes one step forward and closes the door behind him.

And I swear, the look in his eyes could shatter me into a thousand trembling pieces.