I screamed into the bedspread, my release detonating inside me, ripping through me with violent, consuming force.
Brooks wasn’t quiet. He groaned loudly, thrusting harder, deeper, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, his lips brushing over the back of my neck, down my spine.
The tenderness of it stunned me. Tenderness wasn’t part of the plan. Brooks collapsed beside me, his breathing ragged, his body still buzzing.
“How does it keep getting better?” he muttered, running a hand over his face, his chest still rising and falling hard.
"My ears are ringing. Seriously."
I didn’t respond. Didn’t trust myself to say anything that wouldn’t make me sound wrecked. Because I was. Because I couldn’t ignore the way he kept his hands on me, even after. Because I couldn’t ignore the way he smoothed my hair from my face, like he wasn’t done touching me yet.
"You still with me?" he asked, pulling me back to the moment.
"I’m awake, yes."
He didn’t buy it.
His forehead creased, his jaw tightening slightly. "Let's talk."
"Or sleep?" I tried.
He shot me a stern look, then got up, grabbing my legs, pulling me off the bed in one swift motion.
I yelped. "Uh, what’s going on?"
"We're getting back in the tub," he said, carrying me bridal style. “And talking.”
Oh.
That’s all.
No big deal.
I was fucked.
18
Brooks
Having Michelle in my arms,naked and warm from the water, might have been my new favorite thing. She fit against me in a way that felt almost too perfect, like she was supposed to be there, like she belonged. The way her body molded to mine, soft yet strong, made it impossible not to wonder what it would be like if this wasn’t just one night at a time.
But Michelle was too independent, too stubborn, too determined to outrun the weight of her past to let someone hold onto her for too long. I knew that, understood it, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to pull her closer.
She sighed against my chest, her breath warm and steady, but the tension in her shoulders told a different story. I tightened my grip around her, rubbing slow circles on her back, trying to keep her anchored here, with me, in this moment. She wasn’t pushing me away yet, but I could feel the shift—the one that always came right before she convinced herself she had to leave.
She had done this before. Two years ago, she gave me just enough before locking the rest away. I had seen the same thing in her eyes then, the hesitation, the quiet retreat into herself. I wasn’t going to let her do it again.
Pressing a kiss to her neck, I let my lips linger, let my fingers thread through hers, squeezing gently to remind her she wasn’t alone. My voice was steady when I asked, “What’s wrong, Mitch? Are you regretting us?”
Her body tensed instantly, every muscle going rigid against me. The reaction was so instant, so telling, that my stomach clenched in response.
"What? No. Why?" Her voice came too quickly, the words clipped, defensive.
I exhaled, my chest rising and falling slowly, willing myself to stay calm. "First, your body just went stiff as hell, and I know you," I said, keeping my voice even. "You've been different since we came upstairs, and I want to know why. Did I do something?"
She didn’t answer immediately, but I could feel her thoughts racing, the way her heartbeat picked up where it pressed against my ribs. Her toe tapped against the floor of the tub, the only tell she couldn’t control.
Finally, she let out a slow breath. "No," she murmured, but the way her voice wavered like it always does when she was lying. "We’re okay."
