Braxton
Standing on the balcony, I look out at the city lights, every muscle in my body tense. I tossed and turned for most of the night, the slight chill in the air contrasting with the heat coursing through me. Loosening my grip on the railing, I bow my head.
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to keep a cool head in any situation. It’s what made me a great Navy SEAL. I never overreacted, always assessing a situation before diving in headfirst. Marcus used to tell me I was too calm, too collected.
Aurora said it made me predictable, but not in a bad way. I was the reliable constant to her rather eccentric nature. Ro, like Eliana, was a free spirit, going against what was expected of her, being who she wanted to be.
I crossed the line with Eliana tonight. She’s the job, nothing more, and I screwed up. The girl got to me, and I wanted nothing more than to watch her unravel for me, to prove that I am still in control.
She’s too young, overly stubborn, but I’ll be lying if I say I don’t want to fuck her. She’s a beautiful, unnecessary distraction. I didn’t intend to kiss her, but when she challenges me, I want nothing more than to push her limits. I can still taste her on my tongue, feel her melting against me. Craving her the way I do, jerking off to thoughts of her, none of it was part of the plan.
When the chill becomes too much, I retreat inside the apartment. Stepping into her room, I stand beside her bed, watching her sleep.
I want to touch her again, so I reach out and move the curtain of hair that covers her face, placing it behind her ear. I knew she was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her. She’s forbidden fruit, and whatever we did ends here. The last thing I want is for her father to find out about this. I walk back to the living room, laying back on the way too small couch, closing my eyes.
I hear Eliana shuffling around, and I sit up, running my hands through my hair. I’m surprised I fell asleep again. Sleep isn’t easy for me. It hasn’t been for the longest time. The night brings with it memories, not all of them good.
She’s in the kitchen, dressed in skinny jeans so tight they show off her ass, and an off-the-shoulder top exposing tanned skin I desperately want to kiss. Her hair hangs loose, and I remember gripping it last night.
“Hey,” I say as I walk toward the island, the same one I had her begging for me to touch her on last night. She turns, and as if following the train of my thoughts, her cheeks take on a pinkish tinge.
“Hi, I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“Nah, I was up a few hours ago but must have dozed off.” She hands me a mug of coffee. “Thanks?” my eyebrows quirk up.
“What, I can’t make you coffee?” She puts a hand on her hip.
“You’re usually in a bad mood when you see me in the morning,” and I know exactly why you’re not, I want to say. Is she thinking of me now?
“Right, well, I’m off to explore,” She tells me. “I hear there’s a coffee shop that sells macaroon towers.”
“Eliana, you know I can’t let you go off on your own.”
“Then come along.” she frowns.
“Give me fifteen minutes,” I say, downing my coffee.
“Sure.” I watch her with fascination as she walks past me and starts folding up the bedding on the couch. I’ve had a few relationships over the years, nothing long term, but I can’t deny that Eliana has an effect on me that none of the other women did.
* * *
Eliana moans when a macaroon passes through those lips, and I have to force myself not to imagine what I’d like to do to that mouth. I clear my throat, looking out the window we’re seated next to. The café is tiny with fancy, girly shit all over the place. I feel odd, sitting here with a gun in my holster.
“Aren’t you going to try any?” she asks, her big hazel eyes wide.
“I don’t like sweet stuff,” unless it’s you, I think to myself.
This is the kind of shit that happens when you haven’t been laid in months.
“Come on, these are delicious,” she urges, thrusting one toward me.
I cave and eat the damn macaroon. “Not bad,” I tell her. It’s shit.
She shakes her head and continues to devour the small desserts. My phone pings. A message from her father. I choose to ignore it, pushing it back in my pocket.
“Look, about last night-” I start, but she puts her hand up.
“Can we not talk about that?” she asks, looking to the street where a little girl is tugging at her mother’s hands pointing to the mountain of macaroons in front of Eliana. “I don’t want things to become awkward. I hate awkward.”
