"Sleep," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."
My eyes drift closed. His weight grounds me. His warmth seeps through every layer.
I drift off, wondering how long his restraint will last.
And what happens when it breaks.
Chapter four
Brooks
My mouth finds the curve of her shoulder before she's fully awake.
The taste of her skin, vanilla and something uniquely Elorie, floods my senses, and desire hardens my cock. My arm tightens around her waist automatically, pulling her flush against my chest. She arches into the touch without thinking, still caught in sleep, and the unconscious trust in that movement sends possessive satisfaction racing down my spine.
Aftershave and smoke cling to her curls. She smells like me now. The knowledge brands itself into my ribs, primal and certain.
I kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, and she stirs. She turns in my arms with a soft murmur that makes my jaw clench. Her eyes flutter open, soft with sleep at first, then darkening as they focus on my face.
"Morning," I say.
"Morning." She stretches, the movement pressing her body against mine in ways that make my pulse kick hard. "What time is it?"
"Early." I brush a curl from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in ages." Her smile is small but genuine. "You?"
"Same." I cup her jaw, thumb tracing her bottom lip. "I like waking up together, knowing you're safe. That you're mine."
The possessiveness bleeds through despite my efforts to keep it under control. But instead of pulling away, she leans into my touch.
"Yours," she confirms, and the word settles over me like a vow.
I kiss her then. Slow and thorough, my hand sliding into her hair to angle her head exactly where I want it. She opens for me with that same trusting ease, and when we finally part, we're both out of breath.
Her hands are on my chest, fingers splayed over my heartbeat. "Brooks."
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to move."
"Then don't." I kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "We can stay here all day."
She laughs softly. "Sophie would kill me."
"I'd protect you."
"My hero." There's teasing in her voice but warmth underneath. She traces one of the scars across my ribs, and I catch her hand gently.
"I need to get up before I do something we're not ready for." The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. I want her badly enough that staying in this bed is dangerous. But rushing this feels wrong. She deserves better than me taking what I want without making sure she's ready to give it.
I roll out of bed with visible reluctance. Her eyes track every movement, the flex of muscle in my back, the scars that mapstories I'm still learning to tell. When I turn to grab my jeans from the chair, I catch her staring.
"Like what you see?" I ask, pulling the denim up my hips but leaving them unbuttoned.
Pink floods her cheeks, turning her skin that warm, flushed color I love. "Maybe."
"Good." I cross back to the bed and lean down, caging her in with my hands on either side of her head. My mouth hovers just above hers. "Because I like what I see too. I can think of about a million ways I want to put my hands on you. Show you exactly what I want to do to you."
