When he finally stills, his chest heaving, he stays close, resting his forehead against mine. As both of us breathe in the same ragged rhythm, I realize I've just let him see every part of me, and I don't regret a single second.
“Stay,” he murmurs against my hair. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Yes,” I whisper before pressing a kiss to his chest. “Yes, I'll stay.”
thirty-one
. . .
Brandon
I wakeup to sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows and the most incredible sensation I've ever experienced—Stella Rhodes curled against my chest like she belongs there. Her blonde hair spills across my pillow, catching the morning light, and her breathing is soft and even against my skin. For a moment, I don't move, don't even breathe, terrified that any sudden motion might shatter whatever magic happened between us last night.
But then she stirs, her body stretching languidly against mine, and I remember. This is real. She's here. She chose me.
“Morning, beautiful,” I say, my voice rough with sleep.
She tilts her head up to look at me, and Christ, she's gorgeous. Her blue eyes are soft and unfocused, her lips slightly swollen from my kisses, her cheeks flushed pink.
“Morning.” She stretches against me again, deliberately this time, and my control evaporates as her body moves against mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Like the luckiest man alive,” I say simply before pressing a kiss to her forehead. It's the truth. After years of keeping things casual, of never letting anyone get too close, I finallyunderstand what all the fuss is about. This feeling of rightness, of completion, of finding the person who makes everything else make sense.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, though part of me is terrified of the answer. What if she regrets this? What if the harsh light of morning makes her realize she's made a mistake?
“Like I finally understand what all the fuss is about,” she admits, and her words echo my thoughts so perfectly that I have to laugh.
“Good,” I say, rolling her beneath me and enjoying the way her breath catches. “Because I plan on showing you a lot more of what the fuss is about.”
This time, we go slow. Whereas last night was desperate and consuming, this morning we explore each other with a reverence that feels sacred. I map every inch of her skin with my hands and mouth, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her arch against me, what makes her whisper my name like a prayer.
When I reach for a condom, she watches me with heavy-lidded eyes that make my hands shake slightly as I tear open the wrapper. The trust in her gaze, the way she looks at me like I'm everything she's ever wanted, nearly undoes me.
When I slide inside her, slow and deliberate, we both go still. The sensation of being with her like this is overwhelming, and the way she looks at me—like I'm her whole world—makes my chest tight with emotion I don't have words for.
“Brandon,” she whispers, her hands fisting in my hair, and I know I'll never get tired of hearing my name on her lips like that.
“I've got you.”
We find a rhythm that's unhurried and perfect, our bodies moving together like we've been doing this for years instead of hours. When she comes apart beneath me, her back arching and my name spilling from her lips, I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck and breathing her in.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together in the morning light, her head on my chest, both of us trying to process what this means. But eventually, reality intrudes—I have a meeting that could change everything for my career, and Stella has clients to call. We move around each other in the bathroom and kitchen with a new kind of intimacy, stealing kisses while I shave and she makes coffee, like we're testing out what this domestic thing might feel like.
“Good luck today,” she whispers against my lips as I'm heading out the door. “You're going to be amazing.”
“Can I see you later?”
“Definitely.”
An hour later, I'm across town, trying to focus on the biggest opportunity of my professional life.
The FlixPix offices in Culver City are sleek and modern in that way that screams, “We have money, and we're not afraid to spend it!” I'm sitting in a conference room on the fifth floor, waiting for Helena Voss, trying not to feel like I'm interviewing for my future. Which, let's be honest, I probably am.
Helena sweeps in five minutes later, all energy and purpose, moving with the kind of intensity that makes you understand how she sold a high-budget racing series to a streaming platform.
“Brandon, thank you for coming in,” she says, settling across from me with a stack of scripts and what looks like a tablet full of storyboards. “I'll be honest, when I heard you were interested in transitioning to coordination work, I was intrigued. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
