Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 203

My mind hasn’t slowed since we walked through the door.

Night’s voice still echoes in the back of my skull, pulled from old memories and the words he left behind. My chest feels tight, like my lungs are trying to hold everything in — the guilt, the ache, the goddamn helplessness.

But beside me, Penny is quiet.

Soft.

*Present*.

Her body is tucked gently into the corner of the couch, knees pulled close, one hand resting over mine. Her face is tilted toward the glow of the window, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. And there — catching in the curve of her cheekbone — is a single tear. It hasn’t even fallen yet.

And somehow that undoes me more than everything else tonight.

She’s *here*.

After everything — the tension at dinner, the way Mac looked at her like she was something disposable, the risk I took just bringing her to the base — she’s still here.

For me.

Because of me.

And I don’t deserve her. But I *need* her.

God, do I need her.

I turn toward her fully and reach out. My hand finds her waist — small, warm, soft beneath my fingers — and I pull her gently, carefully. She looks at me, eyes widening just slightly.

“Asher…?”

I lift her onto my lap, slow and certain, until she’s straddling me.

Her thighs bracket mine, her hands bracing on my shoulders, and the air between us thickens instantly. But it’s not just lust — it’s something deeper. Something raw. Something broken, reaching for something whole.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, resting one hand on her hip. “For all of it. For bringing you there. For leaving you alone. For Mac. For everything.”

Her brows knit, but she doesn’t pull away.

“I’d do it again,” she says, quiet but firm. “All of it. For you.”

That—

That *shatters* something in me.

I cup her cheek with one hand, the back of her neck with the other, and I pull her down to me like I’ve been starving for this. For her. My lips crash into hers and she melts into the kiss like she’s been waiting for it, too.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft.

It’s needy.

Her hands slip into my hair as I kiss her deeper, parting her lips and breathing her in. My fingers dig into her waist, guiding her closer. Closer. Until there’s no space between us.

Her body presses against mine and I feel the way she arches slightly, instinctively, her breath catching when I trail kisses down the side of her jaw, along her neck. She smells like vanilla and something floral — something sweet that doesn’t belong in a place as dark as tonight has been.

I grip her hips tighter and roll mine upward, just once, slow and deliberate.

She gasps into my mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against her collarbone, tugging the strap of her dress off one shoulder with my teeth.

Her skin tastes like heat and sugar and something that feels dangerously close to home.

She moans softly, her fingers dragging down my chest, tentative but eager, like she’s trying to memorize me in the dark. I tug her dress higher — not off yet — just enough to grip the back of her thighs and pull her harder against me.

She feels everything.

So do I.

I nip at the curve of her shoulder, her pulse fluttering beneath my lips, and she rocks against me, just slightly, just enough to make me feel it.

And god, I feel everything.

I press my forehead to hers, breath ragged, eyes locked on hers.

“You sure?”

Her answer is a breathless nod. “Yes.”

I don’t waste another second.

I push her dress down her back and over her thighs, slow but firm, until the fabric pools at her waist. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she shifts in my lap, her thighs squeezing around me, her breath soft little huffs against my cheek.

She’s so *small* against me. So delicate. But her hands are bold — sliding under my shirt, dragging across my stomach, tracing muscle like she wants to claim me as much as I want to claim her. She pulls my shirt up and I let her — raise my arms and toss it aside.

Her eyes drift down, over my chest, the scars, the muscles. She bites her lip.

I cup her cheek again and tilt her face up.

“You’re not scared?”

She shakes her head. “Not of you.”

God. That—

That makes everything in me *burn*.

I drag my hands up her thighs, feeling goosebumps rise under my touch. I let my thumbs sweep over her hips, around the dip of her waist, until they reach her ribs and then finally her bra. I ease the fabric aside, and hell — she’s more beautiful than I remembered, if that's even possible.

She gasps when I take one of her breasts in my hand, gentle but possessive, my thumb brushing over the soft peak. She arches into the touch, her lips parting, eyes fluttering shut.

I kiss her again. Deeper. Hungrier. Like I need to make her feel how badly I want her.

And she does — she moves against me, slowly rocking her hips over mine, dragging heat and pressure right where I need her most. Her thighs are trembling, her hands back in my hair, and I grip her ass, guiding her rhythm just the way I want it.

I pull her dress up and over her head, letting it fall somewhere behind the couch.

Now she’s just in her underwear, straddling me in the dim light, her skin glowing like moonlight, her breath shallow and quick.

She reaches down and unbuckles my belt — fingers a little shaky, but determined. She pulls the leather free, pops the button, lowers the zipper. My cock is hard, throbbing beneath the fabric, already straining toward her.

I lift my hips and help her push my jeans down just enough. The air is cooler now, and I groan softly as her hand slides beneath the waistband of my boxers, wrapping around me.

“Jesus, Penny,” I whisper, head falling back for a second.

Her hand is small, warm, tentative at first — then surer. She strokes me slowly, watching me, her mouth parted in awe or curiosity or maybe just need.

I reach between us and hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties.

“Off,” I say, voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it.

She nods and shifts back, lifting her hips so I can pull them down her thighs and let them drop beside the couch.

And now she’s *naked* in my lap.

Breathing hard. Blushing. *Perfect*.

I wrap one arm around her lower back, the other gripping her thigh, and I pull her close again. Our bodies aligned, nothing between us now but skin and heat and want.

She looks into my eyes — vulnerable and open and waiting.

I guide her forward, slowly, one hand steadying myself, the other holding her hip.

Her body is tight, warm, wet — she gasps as I press into her, inch by inch. Her nails bite into my shoulders, and I groan as I slide deeper.

She fits around me like she was *made* for this.

For me.

I hold still for a second once I’m fully inside her, letting her adjust, letting both of us feel it.

Her forehead rests against mine, and she whispers, “You okay?”

I close my eyes.

“Now I am.”

Then I move.

Slow at first — deep, grinding thrusts, letting her feel every inch. She moans softly, hips meeting mine, her breath growing louder with every motion.

My hands explore her — up her spine, across her ribs, into her hair — grounding myself in the way she clings to me, the way she gives herself to me.

She kisses my jaw, my throat, my shoulder, gasping my name in a way that makes my chest cave in.

I speed up — just a little. She moves with me, riding the rhythm, sweat glistening on her chest, her thighs tightening around me. The couch shifts beneath us, the air thick with heat and need and the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Princess,” I growl into her ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

She shudders. “Asher...”

I reach between us and find that spot — that perfect little pressure point that makes her whole body jolt. She cries out, burying her face in my shoulder, clenching tight around me.

And then she breaks.

Her body tenses, her thighs tremble, and she comes with a breathless, muffled moan.

I hold her through it — still moving, slower now, kissing her temple, her cheek, her lips.

And then I follow.

Everything crashes through me like a wave — grief, pain, hunger, her — and I empty into her with a groan, wrapping both arms around her as tightly as I can, holding her like she’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.

We don’t move for a long time.

Her cheek rests on my shoulder. My fingers trail slowly down her spine. Our breaths match.