Fuck.
“The cocoa thing?” I ask.
“Same principle. Smell is grounding. Steam makes her breathe slower. Plus it’s a ritual. She needs rituals.”
“She has rituals.Conchiglie al burroevery morning. Apple slices after school. Bedtime story.”
“Those areroutines,” Jess corrects. She looks up. Her eyes catch mine. “Rituals are different. They’re about connection. About feeling safe with another person. That’s what was missing.”
The words land heavy. Because she’s right.Fuckingright.
I’ve been running Ben’s life like one of my kitchens. With precision. Control. No room for error.
But I forgot the part where she needs to feel connected. Where routines aren’t enough if they’re empty.
“The Frederick thing was genius,” I say, because I need to say something and that’s the safest option.
She smiles. It’s small but real. “I got lucky. She likes snails.”
“You did research.”
“I asked Ethan. He told me about the shell collection.”
Right. Ethan. Her brother. My best friend.
The guy who has no idea I fucked his sister and then hired her and am currently sitting here trying not to imagine doing it again.
This is such a bad idea.
Jess is still talking. Something about transition plans. How we should prep Ben about what to expect. I’m nodding along but I’m not really hearing it because she’s leaning over the notebook now and her shirt dips and I can see the edge of her bra.
Black. Definitely lace this time. Not the cotton from her apartment.
My fingers curl against the counter. I remember that bra. Remember peeling it off her. Remember the weight of her breasts in my hands. How her nipples peaked when I sucked them. How she arched into my mouth begging for more.
Jesus Christ.
“Marco?”
I blink. She’s watching me. Those warm brown eyes that see too much.
“Sorry. What?”
“I said we should keep the Brave Rules consistent. Same squeeze pattern. Same breathing count. So she can use themanywhere.”
“Right. Yes. Good plan.”
We’re both leaning over the notebook now. Closer than we need to be. Close enough that I can smell her. Lavender and something sweet. Close enough to see the pulse in her throat. Close enough to remember exactly how that skin tastes.
The room shrinks. Or maybe we’re just moving closer. I’m not sure which.
Her shoulder brushes mine. Just barely. But I feel it everywhere.
My pants are way too fucking tight. My cock is straining against my zipper, yearning to break free.
She’s looking at me now instead of the notebook. Her lips part slightly. I watch it happen in slow motion. The soft inhale. The way her pupils dilate.
I could kiss her right now. Just lean in. Close the distance. Taste her again.
