He hums softly. “Fair.”
I keep tracing, slow and absentminded, grounding myself in something real and solid and here. That’s when I notice the shift in his body. The subtle change in the way he’s holding himself. The tension that wasn’t there a second ago.
I look down and his very hard cock is standing at attention. Jesus, he’s huge. I freeze, my hand still on his stomach, suddenly very aware of exactly how close we are and how little we’re both wearing. “I—” I start, then stop, not even sure what I was about to say.
He exhales slowly through his nose. “Fuck me, just ignore that.”
Ignore it. Right. Except now I can’t un-notice it, and my body is already a mess of nerves and leftover adrenaline and feelings I absolutely do not have the emotional bandwidth to sort through at one in the morning. “I wasn’t trying to—” I whisper.
“I know,” he says immediately, tightening his arm around me just a fraction, protective not possessive. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… my body being inconvenient.”
That would almost be funny if it didn’t make my chest feel all tight and fluttery at the same time. “I can move,” I offer, even though the idea of not being right here suddenly feels awful.
He shakes his head against the pillow. “No. Don’t. You’re fine.”
My fingers curl lightly into his skin without me meaning to, like I’m bracing myself against him. “Rev…”
“Yeah, Princess?” He goes still when I say it. Not pulling away. Not moving closer either. Just… still, like every muscle in his body is locked in place on purpose. And that somehow feels way more intense than if he’d shifted.
My fingers are still resting on his stomach, heat under my palm, and I can feel the way his body is tight, coiled, like he’s holding himself back by pure will. “Brooke,” he says quietly, and my name sounds rough on his tongue, like it costs him something to say it. “You’re not in a place where I should be pushing anything right now.”
“I’m not asking you to push,” I whisper. My heart is hammering, and I can feel it everywhere, in my chest, in my throat, in the way my body keeps leaning into his without me telling it to. “I just…” My voice shakes a little. “I don’t want to pretend you don’t feel like this. Or that I don’t.”
That does it. His arm tightens around me, not enough to hurt, but enough that I’m suddenly very aware of how strong he is, how easily he could pull me closer if he let himself. “Princess,” he murmurs, and now his voice is lower, rougher, like he’s barely keeping it under control. “You have no idea how hard it is not to pull you into me right now.”
My breath stutters. “Then why don’t you?” I ask, barely louder than the space between us.
He exhales slow and heavy, and then his hand slides from my back to my waist, gripping there like he needs something solid to hang onto. “Because you trusted me when you were scared,and I’m not ever going to be the guy who blurs that line when you’re not steady yet. I won’t take from you when what you really need is safety.”
Something in my chest twists painfully and beautifully at the same time.
“But don’t think for one second,” he adds, voice dropping even lower, “that I don’t feel this. Or that I haven’t wanted you long before tonight.”
My breath catches hard this time. “So you’re just… going to lie here pretending this isn’t happening?” I ask softly.
His mouth curves in a humorless little smile. “No, Princess. I’m lying here fully aware that it’s happening, and choosing not to act on it.”
“That sounds miserable.”
A quiet, rough laugh slips out of him. “Yeah. It kind of is.” His hand moves up to my hair, fingers threading through it slowly, grounding instead of grabbing. “But I’d rather be miserable than be someone you wake up tomorrow and wonder if you regret trusting.”
That… that breaks something open in me. I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, and his arm comes around me instantly, pulling me close again, protective and solid and very much not neutral. “Stay with me,” I whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
We lie there like that, my body tucked into his, his hand moving slow and steady over my back, and even though there’s heat and tension and so much unsaid between us, there’s also something else. Something that feels like it’s been building long before tonight ever happened.
His lips brush my hair again, softer this time, and he murmurs, almost to himself, “Anybody ever touches you like that again, they won’t live long enough to regret it.”
That shouldn’t make me feel better. It absolutely does. I cling to him a little tighter, and this time he doesn’t even pretend he’s not holding me like I belong there. And maybe I do.
I wake up to voices.
Not loud, not arguing, just… familiar. Low and steady, the kind of sounds that tell me I’m not alone in the house anymore. For a second I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing like it’s not sure if this is real or if I’m still half dreaming.
