Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 40

The hot water stings at first.

It needles my skin, sharp against muscles stiff from hauling Penny through the storm, from bracing against wind that felt strong enough to tear the street up by the roots.

But after a minute — after the initial shock — it starts to feel good.

The kind of good that seeps into your bones, makes the world narrow down to nothing but heat and breath and steam.

I lean my head against the tile wall for a moment, letting the water drum against the back of my neck, shaking off the last icy edges of the night.

And — yeah.

The thought crosses my mind.

That Penny’s doing the same right now, two doors down.

That her hair’s wet and clinging to her back,

that her skin’s flushed from the heat,

that she’s wearing nothing but a towel, or maybe nothing at all.

The thought punches low and strong, making my dick impossibly hard. I stroke it once, twice...

I grit my teeth and shove the thought away, taking my hand off.

Not the time.

Not the place.

Not the girl.

I kill the water before my brain can get any stupider, dry off fast, and yank on clean clothes — sweats, a dry hoodie, bare feet padding quiet down the stairs.

The house feels different now.

Still lit, still warm — but quieter.

Like everything’s holding its breath.

I drop onto the couch, stretching my legs out, waiting.

And a few minutes later, I hear it —

the soft sound of bare feet on the stairs.

I glance up.

And for the second time tonight, the air knocks out of my lungs.

There she is —

Penny, her hair brushed out and hanging damp down her back, her skin pink from the heat of the shower, swallowed whole by my clothes.

The black t-shirt hangs down to her mid-thighs, the sleeves flopping past her elbows.

The jogging pants are so big she has to hold the waistband up with one hand just to keep them from puddling around her ankles.

She scowls at me the second she catches the look on my face.

"You’re a giant," she accuses, tugging the pants higher.

I smirk — small, involuntary.

"Not my fault you’re tiny."

She huffs and stomps — as much as someone her size can stomp — across the room, flopping onto the couch next to me.

Not close enough to touch.

But close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her skin.

I glance sideways at her —

at the way the neckline of the shirt dips just enough to show the pale line of her collarbone,

at the way her hair’s dripping little spots of water onto the stretched fabric,

at the way her lips are finally pink again.

And the thought that she's naked under my clothes —

nothing but my t-shirt against her skin —

makes my hands curl into fists against my thighs.

Not allowed.

Not mine.

The floor creaks again and I sit up straighter automatically, trying to will my boner away.

It’s just Mom and Dad, carrying two steaming mugs of tea.

They both beam when they see us.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Mom says, handing Penny a mug.

"And for you, Ash," Dad says, dropping the other into my hand with a grin.

Penny wraps her hands around the mug like it’s a lifeline.

"Thank you so much," she says, voice small but steady. "For letting me stay here. For everything."

"You’re family, honey," Mom says immediately. "You’re always welcome."

Dad nods, clapping my shoulder once in a quick, rough gesture of pride.

"We’re heading up," he says. "You two good down here?"

"Yeah," I say.

Penny nods, smiling tiredly.

"Okay. Sleep if you can," Mom says, fussing one last time before she and Dad disappear upstairs.

The house settles around us — quiet again, just the low hum of the generator outside and the faint drumming of rain against the windows.

Penny sips her tea slowly, the steam curling around her face.

And then she frowns.

Looks around.

Shifts a little on the couch.

"Where’s Tyler?" she asks, almost too casually.

I lift an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs one shoulder, staring into her mug.

"He texted me earlier. Said he was home. Chilling."

I sip my tea, letting the heat scald my tongue before I answer.

"He left a few hours ago," I say. "Said he was meeting some friends."

She stiffens.

Just a little.

Just enough that I notice.

She pulls her phone out of the giant pocket of my jogging pants and types something quickly, thumbs moving fast.

I look away, trying to give her privacy.

Not that I have to look hard — I’m taller, sitting higher, and the angle of the couch lets me catch the message without even meaning to.

**You okay?**

A second later, the reply pings back.

**Yeah still chilling at home might sleep soon.**

I watch the way she flinches — barely a ripple, barely there.

But it’s real. She puts her phone down slowly, confusion etched across her face.

I keep my expression blank, my voice low and even.

"You okay?"

She blinks, caught, and then forces a smile.

"Yeah. Just tired."

Liar.

But I let it go.

She looks too small already —

curled in my clothes, clutching the tea like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

She doesn't need a third person pushing right now.

She needs rest.

She needs warmth.

She needs to feel safe.