Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
REV
I don’t let her drift too far into that loose, hazy quiet before I’m nudging her upright, my hand settling at her lower back like it belongs there. “C’mon,” I murmur against her hair. “Shower.”
She blinks up at me, lashes heavy, mouth still soft from smiling. “You always this bossy?”
“…No,” I admit with a smirk, “But I’ll do anything to take care of you.” I say, steering her toward the bathroom.
She bumps into me on purpose as I turn the water on, a quiet laugh slipping out of her, and the steam starts climbing the walls almost instantly, fogging the mirror, shrinking the world down to tile and warmth and the steady drum of water.
I grab the shampoo and work it gently into her hair first, slow circles of my fingers against her scalp. She tilts her head back without me asking, eyes closing, a soft sound leaving her throat like her body recognizes care when it finds it.
“That feels really good,” she murmurs.
I rinse her hair carefully, shielding her face from the spray, then reach for the soap and a loofa. I move slowly, deliberately, washing her shoulders, her arms, her back, every inch of skin I can reach with unhurried care. Not rushing this, just making sure she’s warm, clean, and comfortable.
She relaxes into it more, her weight leaning into me, her breath evening out. At one point she rests her forehead against my chest, trusting me to keep her steady under the water.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, brushing my thumb along her arm.
She nods. “Yeah. I just… I really like being taken care of.”
The words land deep and heavy in the best way. My chest tightens, something protective and steady settling into place. I press a kiss into her hair and keep going, finishing carefully, rinsing the soap away, making sure she’s warm before turning the water off.
When we step out, I wrap her in a towel before she can even reach for one herself.
“I can do that,” she protests half-heartedly, trying to steal it back.
“I know,” I tell her, already drying her hair. “Let me.”
She stills, watching me instead, something soft and open in her expression as I finish drying her off and brush a quick kiss against her temple.
I pull one of my shirts over her head, then a pair of shorts, watching her disappear into my clothes like she belongs there. The sight hits straight in the chest.
I tug on gray sweats and reach for her hand. She laces her fingers through mine easily and I lead her into the kitchen. I lift her onto the counter, hands steady at her hips. She smiles at me, slower this time.
Coffee starts brewing, the kitchen filling with that rich, familiar smell.
I move around the space on instinct, cracking eggs into a pan, grabbing plates, settling into a rhythm that feels grounding and real.
I steal kisses whenever I pass close enough.
Her cheek. Her forehead. The corner of her mouth.
“You’re spoiling me,” she murmurs, fingers catching lightly in my shirt when I lean in again.
“Good,” I say simply.
I slide the plate toward her first and step in between her knees, resting my hands on her thighs, letting myself breathe her in for a second. The quiet hum of the kitchen wraps around us, comfortable and warm and steady.
She studies my face. “What are you thinking about?”
I meet her eyes and don’t dodge it. “That I don’t want this to be small. Or temporary.”
Her breath catches just slightly. “Me neither,” she says.
Something settles deep in my chest at the way she says it, sure and steady, like we both already know where this is going.
“Are you saying you’re mine, Javier?” she asks, eyes warm but searching.
“Baby,” I murmur, my thumb brushing her jaw, “I’ve been yours a hell of a lot longer than you realize. But yeah. I’m yours. And you’re fucking mine.”
One brow lifts slowly, that familiar spark of trouble lighting her eyes. “Am I?” she asks, all teasing challenge and wicked curiosity.
Her voice keeps looping in my head like it got lodged there on purpose.
I really like being taken care of.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just honest. Soft against my chest while the water ran over our shoulders, like she trusted me with something small that was actually big.
My fingers tighten slightly around the fork as I glance at her on the counter, wrapped in my shirt, bare feet swinging, completely at ease in my space. She’s talking about something random, some half-finished thought that makes her hands move when she talks, animated and warm and very much herself.
I spear a bite without saying anything and lift it toward her.
She doesn’t notice at first, still mid-sentence, until her eyes flick to the fork. Her words trail off. Then she looks back at me.
A slow smile curves her mouth. “You serious right now?”
I tip the fork a little closer in answer, lifting a brow like this is exactly where it belongs.
She laughs under her breath, something soft and surprised in it, but leans in anyway.
Her lips part as she takes the bite, teeth brushing the metal lightly, her gaze never leaving mine.
I catch the way her lashes flutter when she chews, the way her shoulders ease, the way something quiet settles into her expression like her body recognizes care before her mind can catch up.
“Wow,” she murmurs once she swallows. “Guess I’m being spoiled for real.”
The word lands warm and steady in my chest.
I set the fork down just long enough to brush my thumb across the corner of her mouth, wiping away a tiny smear she missed. The touch is gentle without me thinking about it.
“Eat,” I tell her quietly. “I made it for you.”
She studies me for a second longer than necessary, something thoughtful and tender flickering behind her eyes. Then she nods, that soft, almost shy smile slipping back into place, and lets me feed her the next bite without another word.
And something in my chest settles deeper, heavier in the best way.
Maybe she’s used to being the one in control. Maybe that’s what kept her standing when no one else did. But watching the way she leans into this, into being cared for instead of carrying everything alone, makes something protective and certain lock into place inside me.
I don’t just like taking care of her. I want to be the one she doesn’t have to be strong around.
There’s something in me that settles when I’m the one holding the reins, when I’m the one making sure everything is handled, safe, controlled.
I’ve always been that way. The fixer. The shield.
The guy who steps in front without asking if anyone needs it yet.
It isn’t about ego. It’s about order. About knowing exactly where my hands belong and what they’re responsible for.
And with her… it feels instinctive. Like something ancient clicking into place.
She’s used to being the one in charge. I can see it in the way she moves, the way she makes decisions without second-guessing herself, the way she carries her own weight without asking for help. Strong. Capable. Controlled.
But I don’t know if that’s who she really is. Or if that’s who she had to become to survive. The thought tightens something low in my chest.
I watch the way her shoulders soften when I brush past her. The way she leans into my touch without realizing it. The way her eyes go a little quieter when I take something off her plate, literal or otherwise.
Maybe she doesn’t want to be in control all the time. Maybe she’s just been the only one she could count on. The idea makes my jaw tighten, protective heat flickering under my skin. Not anger. Not rage. Something steadier. Heavier. Like responsibility settling into place.
I want to be the one she doesn’t have to hold herself up around.
I step closer without thinking, resting my hip lightly against the counter between her knees. She looks up at me, curious, a question already forming on her lips.
We finish eating in that lazy, unhurried way that feels like neither of us wants to rush the morning out of existence. I rinse the plates and set them in the sink, then hook a finger in the waistband of her borrowed shorts and tug her gently toward the living room.
“Couch,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir,” she teases, but she goes easily, already smiling.
She settles with her head in my lap, legs stretched out along the cushions, phone in hand as she starts scrolling.
I kick my feet up on the coffee table and flip the game on, the low murmur of the announcers filling the room.
My fingers drift into her hair without thinking, combing through the soft strands, slow and absent and steady.
She sighs quietly, nestling in closer like she’s claiming the spot.
Her phone chirps. Then again. And a-fucking-gain.
I glance down when she wiggles slightly, her mouth pressing together like she’s holding back a grin, eyes a little too shiny to be believable. That guilty little sparkle is all over her face, the kind that says she definitely knows something I don’t yet.
“What’s goin’ on, princess?” I ask, fingers still moving through her hair.
She hesitates, then sighs. “My sisters wanted to know what happened last night.”
“And?” I prompt, keeping my tone light.
She shrugs, eyes still on the screen. “And they’re being… them.”
That’s all the answer I get before I hook a hand around her side and tickle her ribs. She squeals, twisting, trying to escape, laughter bubbling out of her like she can’t help it.
“Javi, stop,” she laughs, breathless, squirming as I pull her up and into my lap instead. Her phone nearly slips from her fingers as she collapses against my chest, still laughing, cheeks flushed, hair falling loose around her face.
I catch her chin gently, still smiling when her laughter finally tapers off into soft little breaths. “God,” I murmur, unable to stop myself. “You’re beautiful like this.”
She blinks up at me, surprised, eyes warm and bright.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I add quietly, brushing my thumb across her cheek.
“You’re fuckin’ sexy all the time. But wild and free like this, laughing, not all locked into that picture-perfect control you carry around…
” My voice drops, honest and rough with it.
“Fuck. I love you best like this. When you’re just you. ”
Something soft shifts in her expression, the teasing fading into something real and tender. She settles back into my chest, phone forgotten, her fingers curling lightly into the front of my shirt.
“Yeah?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say without hesitation, my hand sliding back into her hair, holding her there like exactly where she belongs.
Her laughter is still bubbling against my chest when my phone vibrates against my thigh.
I don’t even look at it yet. Because I already know.
That guilty little sparkle is back in her eyes, lips pressed together like she’s fighting a smile she absolutely should not be wearing.
The same look she had earlier when her phone wouldn’t stop chirping.
The same look that says she’s been talking. Probably a lot.
My gaze drops to the screen anyway when it buzzes again. There’s a text from Switch, then Blade.
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “You told your sisters,” I say, not even bothering to make it a question.
Her mouth twitches. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” I lift the phone so she can see the names lighting up the screen. “And now both your brother-in-laws are coming for me.”
Her grin breaks free, bright and unapologetic. “They worry.”
“They threaten,” I correct dryly. “Different department.”
I unlock the screen.
Switch: You alive, pretty boy?
Blade: You got a minute? Or are you still busy making questionable life choices with my sister-in-law?
I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself.
She gasps, smacking my chest. “Javier!”
“What?” I grin. “That’s affectionate for Blade.”
Her cheeks are pink now, eyes sparkling. “You’re in so much trouble.”
“Worth it,” I say without hesitation.
I type back one-handed.
Me: Relax. She’s good. Real good.
Three dots pop up almost instantly.
Switch: We’re swinging by later.
Blade: Yeah. We need to talk.
I snort softly. “Fantastic. A family meeting.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, playful but warm. “They just want to make sure I’m okay.”
“I know,” I say quietly, glancing down at her. “So do I.”
I set the phone aside and slide my fingers back into her hair, eyes drifting back toward the game as she settles into my lap again, comfortable and content like the world can throw whatever it wants at us.