Chapter 36
thirty-six
. . .
Stella
Two days later, Brandon is finally cleared to go home. His arm is in a proper cast now, bright blue because, apparently, he has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, and the concussion symptoms have mostly faded. The doctor's only instruction was to rest and take it easy.
The elevator in our building is occupied when the doors open, and Mason is standing there with a tennis racket bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he just came from the courts.
My stomach does a little flip, not from attraction but from the awkwardness of running into him with Brandon right beside me.
“Stella! Brandon!” Mason's face lights up with genuine warmth. “How are you feeling, man? I heard about the accident.”
“Much better, thanks,” Brandon says, lifting his cast slightly. “Just have to take it easy for a while.”
“That's good to hear.” Mason turns to me with that easy smile I used to find so appealing. “Actually, Stella, I was going to text you again. I wanted to see if maybe you were free to meet up at the club this weekend? I'd love to get some pointers on my game. We could grab dinner after.”
I feel Brandon's hand find mine, a simple gesture of support that doesn't try to control the situation. When I look at him, there's no jealousy or insecurity in his expression, just quiet confidence in us. It makes my response feel easy and honest.
“That's really sweet of you to offer,” I say, turning back to Mason, “but Brandon and I are actually dating now.”
“Oh!” Mason's eyebrows shoot up in surprise before his expression shifts to genuine happiness. “That's awesome. Congratulations, you two. I have to say, I'm not totally shocked. There always seemed to be something between you guys.”
“We're pretty happy about it,” Brandon says simply, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“Well, I'm really happy for you both,” Mason says as the elevator reaches our floor. “Take care of that arm.”
As we go our separate ways, I lean into Brandon's side, feeling lighter than I have in months.
“That went well,” Brandon observes.
“It did. I was worried it might be awkward, but it felt good to say it out loud. That we're together.”
“It felt good to hear it.”
We settle inside his apartment and finally relax on the couch.
“Nina's been texting me nonstop,” Brandon says, scrolling through his phone with his good hand. “She wants to FaceTime tonight so the whole family can meet you properly.”
“Tonight?”
“Unless you're not ready for that level of chaos? I can put them off.”
Meeting his entire family over video chat feels like a big step, but there's something exciting about taking this next step with him.
“Let's do it,” I say. “I want to meet them.”
An hour later, we're positioned on his couch with his laptop balanced on the coffee table, waiting for the call to connect. When the screen fills with faces, I'm immediately overwhelmed by the sheer energy radiating through the camera.
“Brandon!” A woman who must be his mother appears front and center, and her face lights up when she sees him. “You look terrible. Are you eating enough? Have you been sleeping?”
“I'm fine, Ma. The cast comes off in six weeks, and I feel great.” He gestures toward me. “This is Stella.”
The response is immediate and overwhelming: multiple voices talking at once, sisters pushing each other out of the way to get closer to the camera, his father's booming voice cutting through the chaos to welcome me to the family.
“She's gorgeous!” one sister declares.
“I can't believe you finally brought someone home!” another adds.
“Virtually home,” Brandon corrects with a laugh.
“Close enough,” his mother says firmly. “Stella, dear, it's so wonderful to meet you. Thank you for taking care of our boy. When Nina told us there was a woman calling from the hospital, we didn't know what to think.”
“She's been amazing,” Brandon says as his thumb traces circles on my hand. “I couldn't have asked for better care.”
“We hear you're coming for Fourth of July,” his father chimes in.
“I'm really looking forward to it,” I say, and I mean it. Despite the chaos and the overlapping conversations, there's something warm and welcoming about his family that makes me feel instantly included.
The call goes on for another twenty minutes, and by the time we hang up, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“They're wonderful,” I say, settling against his good side.
“They love you already. I can tell.” His fingers trace gentle patterns along my arm.
He turns his head to look at me, his expression soft. “You've made me happier than I knew was possible.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my heart flutter. I shift slightly, angling my body toward his, and something changes in the air between us. The playful comfort transforms into something warmer, more charged.
“Brandon?” I murmur as my hand finds the hem of his shirt.
“Yeah?”
“I know the doctor said you need to rest, but I was thinking maybe I could do most of the work this time.”
His breath catches as understanding dawns. “Stella.”
“I want to take care of you,” I say, already moving to straddle his hips with careful precision. “Let me take care of you.”
“You don't have to convince me,” he says, his good hand sliding up my thigh. “Tell me what to do, sunshine.”
I silence him with a kiss, pouring all my love and need into it. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
“I've been thinking about this all day,” I whisper against his lips. “About how I almost lost you before I could tell you how much you mean to me.”
His thumb traces my bottom lip. “You're not going to lose me. Ever.”
“Promise?” I breathe, and something in his expression shifts, becomes vulnerable and hungry all at once.
“Promise.”
Getting undressed turns out to be a slow-motion process that borders on exquisite torture. I start with his shirt, my fingers careful and deliberate as I work the fabric over his cast and good arm.
“Sorry,” I whisper when he winces slightly.
“Don't be sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “Don't stop.”
I move closer, my hands exploring the expanse of his chest, careful around the fading bruises. The urge to kiss every mark, every place he was hurt, overwhelms me. “I hate that you were hurt.”
“I'm okay,” he says, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. “I'm more than okay.”
“Bedroom,” I murmur against his mouth.
He nods, and I help him stand before leading him slowly down the hallway. Once we reach his room, I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, my hands already tracing the edge of his waistband.
As I trail kisses down his chest, my hands map every inch of skin I can reach. When I reach his jeans, I kneel between his legs, looking up at him as I work open the button. The sight of me on my knees in front of him makes his breath catch.
“Stella,” he warns, but his voice is strained with want.
I carefully work the denim down his legs, and my knuckles brush against him through his boxers in ways that make him tense. When I look up at him, his pupils are blown wide with desire.
“Let me take care of you,” I whisper as my hands skim up his thighs.
When I free him from his boxers and take him in my mouth, he groans my name like a prayer.
He's hot and hard against my tongue, and the way he responds to every movement I make sends heat pooling low in my belly.
I work him slowly, savoring the weight of him, the way his good hand tangles in my hair, the soft sounds he makes when I swirl my tongue just right.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” he gasps, his hips lifting slightly. “But if you keep doing that, I'm going to come, and I need to be inside you first.”
“Lay back,” I say, pressing kisses along his hipbone.
“Wait.” His good hand reaches for me, helping me stand. “Undress, Stella,” he commands, his fingers finding the hem of my shirt. “I want to see all of you first.”
I help him remove my clothes, and his eyes drink in every inch of skin as it's revealed. When I'm finally naked before him, he goes completely still.
“God, you're beautiful,” he breathes, and his hand skims up my ribs to cup my breast. “I can't believe you're mine.”
“I'm yours,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. “All yours.”
I crawl over him, pushing him back gently onto the bed, and when I sink onto him, we both go perfectly still. The sensation of him inside me feels intimate in a way that fills me with emotion. He fills me completely, and the feeling of connection is so intense that it brings tears to my eyes.
“God, Stella,” he breathes, his good hand gripping my hip. “You feel incredible.”
I start to move slowly, carefully, taking control so he doesn't have to worry about his arm. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make me gasp and arch against him. The way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and powerful makes me feel beautiful.
“You're perfect,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving my face. “So fucking perfect.”
His good hand slides up my body to cup my breast, and his thumb brushes my nipple in a way that makes me moan. I lean down to kiss him, swallowing his groans as I move against him, our bodies finding a rhythm that's uniquely ours.
His fingers work expertly, circling and pressing while I move above him. The dual sensation of him inside me and his touch where I'm most sensitive builds the tension to an almost unbearable level.
“Brandon,” I whimper, and my head falls back as the pleasure builds.
“That's it,” he encourages, his voice rough with his own need. “Let go for me.”
The combination of his touch and his words sends me over the edge, and my body clenches around him as pleasure crashes through me in waves that seem to go on forever. The sight and feel of me coming undone triggers his own release, and he follows moments later with a groan that sounds like my name.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together, both of us breathing hard. I'm sprawled across his chest, careful to keep my weight off his injured arm, and I can feel his heartbeat slowly returning to normal beneath my cheek.
“I love you,” I say against his skin.
“I love you, too,” he replies, his fingers trailing through my hair.
And as he pulls me up for another kiss, I know with absolute certainty that this is exactly where I'm meant to be.