Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 164

I shouldn’t let her see this.

I shouldn’t let her touch this ruined, brutal map of skin and pain that stretches across my body — shouldn’t let her press her soft hands to this evidence of what I’ve survived and what I’ll never be free of. She’s light. She’s grace. She’s everything that doesn’t belong in this ugly, bloodstained chapter of my past.

But then she whispers it—barely louder than breath. “I want all of you.”

And just like that, everything I’ve been holding back shatters.

My last thread of restraint frays into nothing.

Because who the fuck am I to deny her?

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one swift motion. My heart is already hammering. I toss the fabric aside like it weighs a thousand pounds, like maybe if it’s gone fast enough, she won’t see what’s beneath it clearly. But I know she will.

The air bites at me—sharp and cold across the scarred, raised, discolored wreckage of my chest. I brace myself.

I keep my eyes on the floor, jaw locked tight, my breath shallow and ragged. I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to see her expression shift.

Not when she sees the scar that slices from my left shoulder all the way across my ribs, jagged like a lightning bolt carved into my skin. Not the deep lines etched across my side and hip, reminders of shrapnel that nearly gutted me. Not the twisted damage the flames left across my shoulder blades, where skin and muscle had to knit back together in unnatural shapes.

I’ve seen people flinch when they see it. Even hardened men. Even fellow SEALs.

So I wait. I brace.

Her silence is long. It tightens the noose around my ribs.

And then… her hands.

Soft, warm, trembling.

She reaches for me.

I flinch. My muscles snap tight, my fists clenched like I’m about to be hit instead of touched.

But then—

“Asher,” she whispers, and that single word undoes something in me I didn’t even know I’d locked away.

Her fingers hover just above the longest, deepest scar. The one that nearly killed me. The one that still pulls tight every time I breathe deep, every time I move wrong, every time the nightmares drag me under. I hold my breath as she touches it, like she could erase the pain just by being gentle.

She doesn’t recoil.

She doesn’t say anything.

She just… traces it. Reverent. Tender. As if she’s memorizing me.

Her fingertips glide down the line that crosses my ribs, slow and cautious, but not hesitant. Like she’s not afraid of the damage—just aware of it. Careful with it. Her eyes are locked on mine now, wide and impossibly soft, and I swear I see awe in them, not pity.

And then she leans forward—presses her mouth to the scar.

Soft. Lingering. Devastating.

I nearly break in half.

My eyes squeeze shut, a groan ripping low and sharp from my throat. My fists tremble. My breath punches out of me like a warning siren.

Fuck.

She has no idea what she’s doing to me.

She steps around me, still silent, still so close, and I feel the brush of her chest against my back. Her lips press to the gnarled scars that cover my shoulder blades, the ones even I can’t stand to look at in the mirror. Her arms wrap gently around my waist, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. Her fingers graze along the wreckage like she’s not afraid of anything she finds.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.

The way she touches me—like I’m worthy of being seen, worthy of being held—says more than words ever could.

I can’t take it.

I turn fast, my hands finding her waist, lifting her clean off the floor, like she’s nothing but air in my arms. Her gasp turns into a soft laugh against my mouth, but it dies when I crush my lips to hers.

This isn’t soft. This isn’t controlled. This is wildfire and wreckage. It’s all the hunger I’ve buried since the moment I met her crashing to the surface in a desperate, soul-hungry kiss.

She kisses me back just as hard.

Her fingers claw into my shoulders, legs wrapping tight around my waist, her chest arching into mine. I can feel the heat of her skin—every inch of her bare body pressed to mine. Her nails scrape down my back and I groan, deep and guttural, because fuck, she’s perfect.

I step into the shower, hit the water, not caring that it splashes cold before turning warm. She’s pressed against the tile in seconds, her body arching, slick and flushed and trembling.

“Penny,” I whisper her name like it’s my last prayer.

My hands roam—down her back, over her hips, across the curve of her ass. She’s gasping, clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her upright.

“You’re mine,” I growl into her throat, and she whimpers, pressing herself tighter against me like she agrees, like she wants to be.

Her legs are around me again, and the heat between us is dizzying. I press my lips to her neck, kiss a trail up to her jaw, and bite lightly just beneath her ear.

She moans.

And that sound? It’s going to live in my head for the rest of my life.

I press her harder into the wall, her hair wet, sticking to her shoulders. Water beads over her flushed skin. Steam coils around us in thick tendrils, blurring the world beyond this space. It’s just her. Just me. Just the fire building between us.

My hand slips between her thighs.

She cries out—soft and broken and beautiful.

Her forehead falls to my shoulder. Her fingers dig into my back. Her body opens for me like it was made to.

“Please,” she breathes. “Please, Asher—”

I slide my fingers inside her, feel the slick heat, the desperate tremble in her thighs, the way she clutches at me like she’s breaking apart in my hands.

“You’re so goddamn perfect,” I murmur, my lips against her jaw.

She makes a strangled sound and clings tighter, her legs trembling around my waist. I move my hand slowly, watching her fall apart, and fuck, I’ve never wanted anything this much. Never needed anyone like this.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tightens. Her muscles flutter around my fingers and her head snaps back, a cry escaping her lips.

I don’t stop.

I hold her through it—through the trembling, the gasps, the slow unraveling of her body in my arms.

And when she finally stills, I kiss her—slow, deep, reverent.

Then I lift her again, shift her hips, line myself up—and pause.

Her eyes find mine.

There’s no hesitation there.

Only need.

Only trust.

I push into her slowly, feel her stretch around me, and both of us gasp. I stop halfway, my forehead falling to hers, my hands trembling on her hips.

“You okay?” I whisper, voice thick with restraint.

She nods. “More than okay. Please.”

I push in the rest of the way, and we both moan, the sound echoing off the tile.

The rest of the world disappears.

There’s only the water. The heat. Her skin. Her breath.

And the way her body fits mine like she was carved for me.

She exhales my name like a breath she’s been holding for years. Her hands clutch my shoulders, her legs tightening around my waist as I press deeper into her, anchoring myself in the one thing that feels real.

Her.

My Penny.

I move slow at first—too slow. Every inch of her draws me in like I’m surfacing from a warzone, like I’ve been buried in the dark for years and she’s the first gasp of clean air I’ve tasted since.

“Look at me,” I murmur, lifting her chin.

Her eyes meet mine, glassy and wide, shimmering in the rising mist. And it’s not just heat between us anymore. It’s something deeper. Something that feels like coming home after being lost at sea.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Her breath shudders. Her body melts around me.

I pull back, thrust in again, slow and steady, watching every reaction ripple across her face. She whimpers, her head tipping back against the tile, exposing her throat like she’s offering it to me. And god help me, I kiss it. Bite it. Worship it.

Every gasp, every breathless moan, every twitch of her hips—it’s seared into my memory. I could live here forever, in the way her skin heats beneath my mouth, in the way her hands claw into my shoulders like she needs me inside her, like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

And maybe I am.

Maybe I want to be.

I pick up the pace, thrusts deeper now, harder, and she moans like I’ve wrecked her name into a prayer. Her body rocks with every movement, water sliding between us, our slick skin gliding, steam curling around us like smoke around a fire.

I’m losing it.

And she’s right there with me.

“Asher,” she gasps. “Please—more—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” I growl into her skin. “I won’t stop until you forget everything but my name.”

She whimpers, her whole body convulsing with each thrust, her legs locked around me so tight it’s like she’s trying to pull me into her bones. My hand slips between us again, rubbing slow circles where she needs it most, and she arches—so goddamn beautiful, trembling, lips parted, fingers gripping my hair like I’m the only thing tethering her to this earth.

“Come for me,” I breathe. “I want to feel you lose it.”

Her breath catches.

And then she does.

With a cry that breaks me open.

Her whole body convulses around me—tightening, pulsing, dragging me with her into oblivion. Her nails tear into my skin. Her head snaps back. Her thighs shake and her breath comes out in broken sobs as she falls apart in my arms.

And I can’t hold back anymore.

My grip on her hips tightens, and I drive into her one last time, burying myself deep as I lose it completely, groaning her name like it’s the only word I know.

Everything burns white.

For a moment, all I can do is hold her. Breathe her in. Feel her chest rise and fall against mine, feel her warmth pressed against my scars like a salve. My head falls to her shoulder, and I let my eyes close.

She doesn’t move.

She just stays there. Arms around my neck, head against my jaw, her heartbeat still racing.

I don’t know how long we stand there. Water raining down. Skin pressed together. My world narrowing to her breath against my neck.

Eventually, I shift, reaching for the dial. The water slows, then stops. The silence left in its wake is thick. Heavy.

I should say something.

But there’s nothing left in me but the truth.

“I’ve never shown anyone my scars before.”

She lifts her head, brows furrowed, hair soaked and curling around her shoulders.

I meet her eyes. “No one.”

Not even doctors. Not really. I flinched through every exam. Took off shirts with the lights off. Hid myself in shadows and steam. But with her…

“You don’t have to hide from me,” she says, voice small. Fierce.

I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’ve never had anyone worth showing.”

Her breath hitches.

She reaches up, brushes the water from my temple, cups my jaw like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she blinks. Her thumb strokes just beneath the scar on my cheek, and the look in her eyes…

It wrecks me.

Like I’m something worth loving. Something worth holding onto.

“I don’t care about the scars,” she says quietly. “I care about you.”

And that…

That might be what finally undoes me.

I step out of the shower with her still in my arms. Grab a towel. Dry her off slowly, gently, with reverence and care. She doesn’t pull away. She lets me.

I towel myself off second.

And for a while, we don’t talk. We just crawl back into bed—clean, warm, wrapped in a soft blanket—and lay there.

Her head tucked beneath my chin.

My hand on the small of her back.

Our legs tangled, our breaths syncing.

And for the first time in years, I feel something close to peace.

I close my eyes, my body still humming from her touch, my chest heavy with things I still don’t know how to say. I’m not a good man. Not really. I’ve done things I can’t speak of, bled in places I can’t explain. But in her arms, maybe I’m not just that.

Maybe I can be more.

Maybe I already am.