So this is what it feels like, I think. Waking up wrapped in someone who chose to keep you.
The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.
I let myself stay there a little longer, tucked into his warmth, letting the morning stretch lazily around us, knowing something in my life shifted last night and there’s no going back to the way things were before.
I shift carefully, testing the space between his arm and my waist. The movement barely registers at first. His grip tightens automatically, pulling me back against his chest in a sleepyreflex, like his body isn’t ready to let me go yet even if his brain is still somewhere in dreamland.
For a second, I let myself sink into it.
His breath is warm against the back of my neck. His arm feels heavy and solid and familiar already, like something my nervous system has filed under safe. My heart gives a small, traitorous squeeze at how natural it feels to be held like this.
“Javi,” I murmur softly, barely above a whisper. “Bathroom.”
He makes a low, half-asleep sound in his throat, more grumble than word, his hold tightening for one last beat like he’s bargaining in his sleep. His face presses briefly into my hair, a warm brush of lips against the back of my head before his arm finally loosens.
“Don’t disappear,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.
A quiet smile tugs at my mouth as I slide free of the covers and ease out of bed. The room feels cooler without his heat immediately wrapped around me. I pad across the floor and slip into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind me.
The light is softer in here, muted and calm. I flick it on and lean my hands against the counter, staring at my reflection for a second longer than necessary.
My hair is a mess. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes look softer somehow. Different.
Like someone who just crossed an invisible line and lived to tell the story.
I brush my teeth slowly, grounding myself in the normalcy of it, letting the cool water wake me up fully. My body still humswith leftover warmth and a faint, sleepy sense of being held even though I’m standing alone in front of the mirror.
When I finish and turn the faucet off, I catch my own eyes again and this time I don’t look away.
Okay, Brooke, I think quietly. That just happened.
And somehow, instead of panic, what settles in my chest feels a lot like quiet, cautious hope.
I kiss his chest softly, slow and gentle, letting my mouth linger as my hand slides down the hard plane of his torso, over his stomach, and finally wraps around his cock. I watch my fingers glide up and down his beautiful length, fascinated by the way he reacts to even the smallest movement.
My mouth waters, heat curling low in my belly as the thought of tasting him the way he tasted me last night sinks in and takes hold. I’ve never done this before. But I’ve read enough books to know what I want to try, and the curiosity burns bright and reckless inside me.
Leaning down, I run my tongue slowly around the head of his cock, tasting him for the first time, the unfamiliar heat and salt lighting something reckless inside me. Then I draw just the tip into my mouth and moan softly at the flavor of him, the sound vibrating against his skin. Getting braver, I slide farther down his shaft, my tongue flat against him as I move in a slow, curious rhythm, learning the shape of him, the way his body responds. I feel him fully come awake beneath my mouth, thickening, pulsing, and his hand slides over my back like he can’t quite help himself. A low groan breaks from his chest, rough and helpless and wrecked, and it hits me straight between the thighs. That sound belongs to me. I made that sound.
“Jesus… look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick, fingers flexing lightly against my skin. “So damn beautiful like this. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Heat floods my face and my body at the same time, praise curling through me like a spark catching dry tinder. Wetness slides between my thighs and I moan softly, instinctively shifting my legs together as if I can contain it. His hand tightens just a little, grounding and possessive.
“Don’t stop,” he breathes, almost reverent now. “Yeah, just like that. You’re perfect. You feel so good, baby.”
His words push me forward, make me bolder. I slide up and down, taking him deeper, my throat tightening around him as a reflexive gag sneaks up on me. I breathe through it, relax into the stretch, determined to give him the same kind of pleasure he gave me. He groans again, broken and needy, hips lifting slightly like he’s chasing my mouth.
“Fuck,” he mutters, a soft laugh tangled in the heat. “You’re killing me. Never knew it could feel this good. Never knew I could want someone like this.”
Then his hands grip my hips and guide me up, settling me over his face in one smooth, decisive movement. His mouth is everywhere at once, lips sealing around my clit, tongue flicking, sucking, biting just enough to make my breath hitch and my spine arch. I cry out, rocking against him, riding his face without shame, grinding into his mouth as his tongue spears into me with hungry precision. The world narrows to heat and sound and the way we’re both coming undone together, tangled in want and breath and the intoxicating realization that neither of us is holding back anymore.
“I could kick my own ass for staying away from you for so long, Princess.”
“We’re both guilty,” I say softly. “I wanted you too. I was just scared. Scared of life getting messy. Scared of stepping outside the lines I drew for myself and not knowing how to find my way back.”
I lift my eyes to his, the confession sitting heavy and tender between us like something fragile we’re both afraid to drop. My chest feels too full, breath catching on the ache of truth in it. I don’t look away. I don’t want to. His face is softer than I’ve ever seen it, all the edges worn down by honesty and the kind of vulnerability that doesn’t ask for permission before it shows up.
He studies me for a second, then his thumb brushes along my jaw, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing me. “You don’t have to live inside those lines anymore,” he says quietly. Not a command. An offering. “You get to redraw them.”
