I blink. “Pretending what?”
His grin fades into something deeper. Something serious and steady and unguarded. His hand slides from my hair to my cheek, thumb brushing my skin like he’s memorizing me. “That I haven’t wanted you for a long damn time,” he says quietly. “That I haven’t been fighting this every time you walk into a room. That you haven’t been living in my head rent free, Princess.”
My breath catches hard in my chest. “You’re serious,” I whisper.
He lets out a low huff of a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Dead serious. I don’t do half-measures, Brooke. If I touch you, if I cross that line, it’s because I already know what I want.”
My heart starts pounding again, but this time it’s not fear. It’s something warmer. Bigger. Scarier in a hopeful way. “And what do you want?” I ask softly.
His eyes lock into mine, unwavering. No hesitation. No games. “You,” he says simply. “I want you. I’ve wanted you. Not just tonight. Not just the physical. All of you. Your smart mouth. Your stubborn streak. The way you pretend you’re tougher thanyou are. The way you look at me like you’re trying not to fall and falling anyway.”
My throat tightens. Emotion swells fast and unexpectedly.
“You think that scares me?” he continues, his voice low and steady. “It doesn’t. It feels right. It feels like something I’ve been waiting on without knowing it.”
I swallow, my fingers curling into his shirt like I need the proof of him there. “You’re not worried this changes things?”
His smile comes back, softer this time. Certain. “I’m counting on it changing things.”
My chest feels too full. My heart trips over itself, trying to keep up with the weight of what he’s saying. I study his face again, looking for cracks, for doubt, for the familiar escape routes men usually keep tucked in their back pockets. I don’t find any. “That’s a lot,” I murmur.
His thumb traces slow along my jaw. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “But you’re worth a lot.”
Something inside me finally loosens. The last tight knot of uncertainty softens into something warm and terrifying and beautiful all at once. I lean into him without thinking, resting my forehead against his chest, breathing him in. His arms wrap around me instantly, solid and protective and sure, like this is exactly where he wants me.
He shifts again, one arm tightening around me like he’s making a decision.
“Get some sleep, Princess,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice low and steady and already heavy with fatigue.
Before I can argue or overthink it, he reaches down and drags the covers up and over us, tucking them around my shoulders with a care that makes my chest ache. The mattress dips as he settles in more securely behind me, his body curved protectively around mine, one arm anchored across my waist, his chin resting lightly near the back of my head.
“Sleep,” he repeats softly, more command than suggestion.
The steady heat of him seeps into me. The slow rise and fall of his chest becomes a rhythm I can follow. His hand stays warm and solid against my stomach, fingers flexing once like a subconscious check that I’m still there. The last of the adrenaline drains out of my body in quiet waves. My thoughts blur. The tension finally loosens its grip. I fall asleep wrapped in him.
Morning creeps in gently.
Soft light spills across the room in pale gold strips, catching dust in the air and warming the edge of the bed. For a moment, I’m disoriented, caught between sleep and waking, my body heavy and relaxed in a way that feels unfamiliar.
Then I register the weight behind me.
The warmth. The arm around my waist. The solid presence pressed into my back.
Javier.
My eyes open fully as the memory of last night rushes back in a quiet flood. The kiss. The way he looked at me. The words hesaid. The way he pulled me close and told me to sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My chest tightens in a soft, aching way.
He’s still asleep, breath slow and even against the back of my neck. His arm is draped over me like a promise, his hand resting low on my stomach, possessive without being heavy. The sheets are tangled around our legs, the room faintly smelling like him, warm and familiar and grounding.
I stay still for a few seconds, just listening to him breathe, letting the reality of waking up here settle into my bones.
It feels… intimate in a different way than anything we did last night.
Quiet. Real. Domestic in a way that sneaks up on me.
Careful not to wake him, I shift slightly so I can glance back at his face. His expression is relaxed in sleep, the sharp edges softened, the usual intensity eased into something almost peaceful. It makes my heart do a small, traitorous flip.
