Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 85

She’s asleep again.

I think.

Her breathing’s steady now. Slower. Softer. One hand still clutches the fabric of my shirt like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she lets go. I’m not sure what she thinks I am—some anchor? A shield? Something temporary?

She’s not wrong.

But it’s starting to feel like I’m something else too. Something I shouldn’t be.

I stare at the ceiling in the dark. There’s nothing to see, just shadows and the quiet rhythm of the fan blades spinning above us. The moonlight slices faintly through the edges of the curtain, not enough to brighten the room, but just enough to highlight the contrast between her softness and my very not-soft self.

My fingers are still moving. Absently tracing circles on her lower back, where her shirt rode up a little while ago. I should stop. I should’ve stopped twenty minutes ago. But she didn’t pull away. And when she shivered, I didn’t think of letting go. I only thought of pulling her closer.

God, I’m in deep shit.

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know how I watch her. Not always. Not in ways that would make me hate myself. But just... when she’s laughing with Ty. When she’s stretching on the living room floor. When she’s cooking like she’s afraid the spatula might bite her. She makes me feel—things. Stupid things. Dangerous things.

She shifts a little. Her knee bumps against my thigh. Her skin is warm. That little brush feels like a shot of adrenaline to the chest.

I need to stop this.

But I don’t.

She murmured something in her sleep earlier—my name. Not loud. Not like she was dreaming of me. Just… a whisper. Maybe a slip. Maybe nothing.

But I heard it.

And it cracked something open in me.

I pull her in a bit more. Just an inch. Just enough so that her forehead is buried under my chin again. It’s reckless. I know that. I could blame the darkness, or the fact that she called me when she was terrified, or the way her voice sounded when she told me it was Tyler who left that mark on her.

But it’s not any of those things.

It’s her.

It’s just her.

There’s something about Penny Vales that crawls into your bloodstream and stays there. Something about the way she’s always trying to hold herself together. The way she apologizes for needing anyone. The way she tries so damn hard to be good, and kind, and careful.

And then there’s the way she touched my scar earlier. Like it mattered. Like it meant something.

I didn’t mean to say anything.

But when her fingers brushed the jagged part, the memory was already there. The tension. The heat. The fucking smell of smoke and sweat and blood and confusion. And then her touch—gentle and soft and deliberate—like it could undo the pain that came with it.

It won’t go away even if you rub it, princess.

She froze when I said it. I knew she would. But I didn’t stop touching her either.

I’m losing control.

I don’t lose control.

Not when it matters.

I shift a little now, trying to ease the tight coil of heat at the base of my spine. Her leg shifts against mine in response and I nearly curse aloud. Not because she’s doing anything. But because she isn’t. She’s just asleep, tangled in me like I’m some safety net. And I feel like I’m a second away from becoming someone I don’t want to be.

My hand moves to her hair. I stroke it gently, watching the way it catches in the faint moonlight. She smells like vanilla and sleep and something warmer underneath. I could stay here. I want to.

But I can’t.

She’s Tyler’s girl.

Even if he doesn’t treat her like she should be treated.

Even if I want to protect her from everything, including him.

Even if I’m not sure how much longer I can lie this close to her and pretend she doesn’t make my pulse race and my control fray at the edges.

I sigh quietly. Brush my lips against her hair.

Just once.

Just a whisper of a touch.

Because I know the moment she wakes up, all of this—this softness, this nearness—will end.

And I’ll have to go back to pretending.

That I’m not falling for my brother’s girl.

Her fingers twitch again, soft against my ribs, and I wonder if she’s dreaming. I hope she is. I hope whatever her mind is conjuring feels warm and safe, because that’s all I ever wanted her to feel tonight. After everything.

My hand moves before I can stop it.

Slow. Careful.

I brush her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, even though it falls right back a second later. Doesn’t matter. I wanted to touch her. Needed to.

She shifts slightly, and her shirt lifts just a little more, the smooth skin of her back pressing closer against my fingers. I trail them down her spine, light enough to be mistaken for a breeze. She doesn’t move. Just breathes.

God.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But I don’t stop.

This might be the only time I get to have her this close. The only time I get to pretend she’s mine. Just for a night. Just for a few heartbeats in the dark when nobody else is watching, and she’s asleep and soft and hasn’t pulled away.

So I trace her spine again. Slower. I count each vertebra under my fingertips like a rosary I don’t deserve to hold.

She sighs.

My heart stutters.

I shift just enough to press my lips to the crown of her head. Barely there. Just a ghost of a kiss. A promise I can’t make. A wish I’m not allowed to say out loud.

She’s warm against me, and the feel of her chest rising and falling with each breath is enough to make me ache.

My hand moves again, skimming the bare strip of skin at her waist. I let it linger there for a moment, feeling the way her body curls closer to mine like it belongs here. Like she belongs here.

I close my eyes.

God, I’m in so deep.

I want to memorize her like this. The way she tucks herself into my chest. The way her fingers curl in my shirt like they’ve always known this fabric. The way her breathing slows when I hold her tighter.

I wonder if she’d let me do this if she were awake.

No. I know the answer to that. She’d pull away. Because she believes Tyler’s still the boy who chased her heart down and held it up like a trophy.

I don’t know when he stopped being that for her. I don’t even know when I started wanting to take his place.

All I know is I’m here now.

And I can’t stop touching her.

My hand glides from her waist up to her ribs, fingers splaying wide, holding her like she’s something breakable. Because she is. And I would never forgive myself if I added even a hairline crack.

She shifts again. Presses her forehead tighter into my chest and lets out a soft little whimper that nearly shatters me.

“Shh,” I murmur, soothing instinctively. “I got you.”

She settles. My fingers move in slow, careful circles on her back again.

It’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

Because I’ve never held someone like this. Not like I mean it. Not like I could stay like this forever and never want more. And I’ve definitely never wanted more like this before.

I’m going to wake up tomorrow and hate myself.

But for now?

I hold her like she’s mine.

Because tonight, in the silence and the dark, with her breath on my neck and my fingers on her spine, she is.