We move together like waves meeting the shore, like thunder following lightning—inevitable, natural, meant to be.
“You’re mine,” he growls, the declaration vibrating through his chest and into mine as he gently nips at my jaw. “Mine,” he repeats.
“Brandon.” His name slips from my lips in reverence, and I shake my head, unsure of whether I can withstand the pressure building inside me like a fault line trembling, waiting for the quake.
“That’s it,” he encourages, sliding a hand between. “Let go for me.”
Chapter 32
BRANDON
The sound of running water from the bathroom stops abruptly, pulling me from the haze of memories of last night.
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow as I wait for Tatum to emerge, only for the sight of her in nothing but my jersey to knock the breath right out of me.
She runs a brush through her hair, working out the tangles with practiced strokes, completely unaware of how the morning light filtering through my blinds turns her into something ethereal. Water droplets glisten on her bare legs, and I have to physically restrain myself from crossing the room and pulling her back to bed.
“Let me take you to breakfast,” I say, my voice rough like gravel.
She pauses mid-stroke, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You don’t have to do that, really. I’m fine with—”
“A protein shake or week-old pizza? No.” I shake my head, already rising from the bed.
I grab her jeans off the floor by the bed and hand them to her, pressing a finger to her lips when she starts to protest. “I’m taking you for real food. Deal with it,” I say, doing my best to ignore the stirring in my pants.
“Okay,” she agrees with a small smile, setting the brush down on my dresser. “Just give me a minute.”
I watch as she slips into her jeans, appreciating the way she moves with unconscious grace, and noting with a wave of possessiveness that doesn’t surprise me that she makes zero attempts to remove my jersey.
“You’re staring,” she says, a flush in her cheeks.
“Can’t help it,” I admit, dragging a hand across the back of my neck. “You’re beautiful.”
A small smile touches the corners of her mouth as she gathers her hair into a messy bun while the morning light from my window spills over her, and I’m struck by how right she looks here, in my space, wearing my clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated across from each other at Patty’s Diner with the scent of pancakes, eggs, and bacon being ferried to tables around us. Our waitress, Doris, takes our orders—blueberry pancakes for Tatum, western omelet for me, and coffee for both of us. As she walks away, Tatum fidgets nervously in her seat.
She’s been quiet since we left my apartment, lost in her thoughts the whole way here. The easy intimacy we shared in bed has given way to something tense and uncertain, and with every passing second, the fear that I did something wrong grows.
“Do you regret it?” I finally ask, dread pooling in my stomach in fear of her answer.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide with surprise. “Last night?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“No.” She shakes her head emphatically, reaching across the table to grab my hand. “God, no, Brandon. Not at all.”
Relief floods through me, loosening the knot in my chest. “You sure? Because you’ve been quiet, and I can practically hear you overthinking it from here.”
She groans with a little laugh. “That obvious, huh?”
“You forget how well I know you.” I squeeze her hand, trying to find comfort in her touch even though inside, I’m freaking the fuck out. “So, if it’s not regret, what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
Tatum bites her lower lip, and I know she’s nervous when her eyes meet mine, hardening with fresh resolve. “Can I ask you a question?” she says, finally.
“Always.”
She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around mine. “This is so embarrassing,” she mumbles.
