Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
brOOKE
My lungs are still dragging in air like I’ve just run a marathon.
My body feels loose and shaky and too full all at once, nerves buzzing everywhere.
I’m still catching my breath when Javier shifts and pulls out of me.
Then he gets out of bed and panic spikes sharp and immediate, slicing straight through the hazy warmth.
Oh god. Does he want me to leave? What the fuck did we just do?
My chest tightens like a fist closing around my ribs.
I stare at the empty space beside me, my heart starting to race again for all the wrong reasons.
My brain spirals fast, grabbing at every ugly possibility.
Too much. Too intense. Too messy. Maybe I crossed some invisible line.
Maybe I scared him off. Maybe this was just heat and now reality is crashing back in.
I was just a casual fuck for him and now he wants me out of his bed and for us to go back to where things were before.
I curl my fingers into the sheets, trying not to let the panic show on my face even though I’m alone in the bed.
My throat burns like I might cry, and that somehow scares me even more.
A couple minutes pass. Or maybe ten seconds.
Time feels warped when fear gets its claws in you. Then the mattress dips.
I suck in a breath as he comes back, and before I can even look up, warmth presses gently between my thighs. A warm damp washcloth. My breath catches hard in my chest.
“I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs softly. “I didn’t mean to be so rough with you.”
His voice is low and sincere and threaded with something tender that punches straight through my fear. He slides the cloth slowly, soothingly, cleaning me with patient care that feels almost intimate in a different way than everything that came before.
My body reacts anyway, a small involuntary shiver chasing up my spine.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip as my eyes sting.
Tears flood fast and hot, blurring my vision.
I refuse to let them fall. Not now, not when I finally feel safe again.
I swallow hard, trying to get control of the messy knot in my chest. God, I’m such a mess.
He finishes, sets the cloth aside somewhere I can’t see, then climbs back into bed beside me.
His arm comes around me immediately, pulling me into his chest like he’s anchoring me there.
His hand rubs slowly up and down my back, steady pressure along my spine that makes my breathing start to even out without me meaning it to.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he says quietly. “You haven’t said anything and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”
My throat tightens again. I open my mouth and nothing comes out at first. Too many feelings stacked on top of each other. Relief. Vulnerability. Fear. Aftershock. “I…” My voice cracks and I have to pause, swallow, steady myself.
His arm tightens just a little. Protective. Present. “Do you regret it?” he asks carefully. “Want me to take you home?”
That hits harder than anything else. The idea of leaving his arms right now feels wrong in a way I can’t even explain.
I still against him and tilt my head back to look up at his face.
His eyes are searching mine, worried, raw in a way that makes my chest ache.
“No,” I say immediately, the word tumbling out fast and honest. “Javier, I could never regret what we just shared. It was so intense. So… it was everything.” My voice softens on the last word.
Emotion swells too big for my chest again and one stupid tear escapes anyway, sliding down my cheek before I can stop it.
He leans in and kisses it away gently, like it matters. Like I matter. And something inside me finally loosens, the fear bleeding out of my system as his arms tighten around me again and the world feels steady instead of sharp.
He doesn’t pull away far. Just enough to look at me.
Then he kisses me again, slower this time.
Softer. Reverent. His mouth lingers against mine like he’s imprinting the moment instead of consuming it.
His hand cups the back of my head, thumb brushing my temple, grounding and gentle in a way that makes my chest ache.
When he pulls back, his forehead stays pressed to mine. The way he’s looking at me does something dangerous to my heart. His eyes aren’t dark with hunger now. They’re open. Warm. Steady. Focused on my face like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
I search his expression, trying to read whatever just shifted between us, trying to find the words for the way my pulse still feels tangled up in his. “What did we just do?” I whisper.
It’s not an accusation. It’s awe mixed with uncertainty. Like I’m standing at the edge of something big and unnamed.
His mouth curves into a slow grin, that familiar flash of confidence breaking through the softness. “We finally stopped pretending,” he says easily.
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 than you 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 he said. 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.
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.