Chapter 3 #2
He slides them lower until I’m bare from the waist down. The cool air kisses my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in his eyes as he drinks me in, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every curve.
He moves over me, those massive shoulders eclipsing the flickering candlelight until all I see is him.
His palms glide up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he spreads me wide, placing one of my legs over the back of the couch and nudging the other to the floor so I’m open, angled, perfectly displayed for him.
The position leaves me deliciously exposed, my hips tilted up toward his mouth, my back arched against the cushions.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rumbles, his voice gravel and smoke.
“I will,” I say.
He starts with a single kiss to the tender skin of my inner thigh, lips warm and soft, stubble scraping just enough to make me shiver. Another kiss higher. Another. Each one slower than the last, stoking the need in my pussy until I’m squirming, silently begging.
His breath fans hot along my pussy a second before his mouth finally seals over me.
The first slow lick drags a broken moan from my throat.
He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through my clit, and then he really begins.
Long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, tasting me like he’s starved for this.
He circles my entrance, teases my clit, then flattens his tongue and licks me from bottom to top in one filthy, possessive swipe that makes my hips jerk.
His hands clamp down on my thighs, pinning me exactly where he wants me as he devours.
When he sucks my clit between his lips and flicks it with quick, relentless strokes, my hands fly to his hair, gripping tight.
He growls in approval, the sound rumbling through my pussy, and slides one thick finger inside me.
The stretch is perfect, almost too much, and exactly enough. He curls it slowly, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes my back bow off the couch, he stays there, rubbing in tight circles while his tongue lashes my clit without mercy.
“Brooks,” I sob, the plea torn from me.
He adds a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching me open while his mouth never stops. My thighs quake in his grip; the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into me and his tongue working me over fill the shop, obscene and perfect.
Old ghosts in my head try to whisper you’re too loud, too needy, too big, but he feels the tension and immediately pulls back, lips glistening, eyes searching mine.
“Hey,” he says softly, thumb stroking my hip. “Stay with me, sweetheart.”
The tenderness undoes me. I thread my fingers deeper into his hair and tug him back down. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Something feral flashes across his face.
He dives back in like a man possessed, tongue ruthless, fingers driving deep, curling hard against that spot until pleasure coils so tight I can’t breathe.
His free hand slides up my body under my sweater, cupping one heavy breast, rolling my nipple between callused fingers through my bra until I’m mindless.
“Come for me,” he growls against my clit. “Let me feel it.”
The orgasm slams into me. My entire body seizes, thighs clamping around his head as I come with a sharp cry, pulsing around his fingers, flooding his mouth. He licks me through it, softer now, drawing out every aftershock until I’m a trembling, whimpering mess.
Only then does he ease off, pressing gentle kisses to my throbbing clit, my thighs, the curve of my belly. He rises up, scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing, and settles back onto the couch with me on his lap, my damp skin against his shirt, my face buried in his neck.
His heart thunders under my cheek; his arms lock around me, one hand stroking my back in slow, soothing circles.
“You with me?” he asks, voice rough.
“Never been better,” I say.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, and holds me tighter.
After a minute, I shift, feeling the hard, thick evidence of exactly how much he wants me pressing against my hip. Guilt pricks.
“Brooks—”
“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He cups my face, forces me to meet his eyes. They’re dark, blazing, but steady. “Tonight was for you. I needed you to feel what you do to me, what you are to me. The rest can wait until you’re sure.”
He brushes a soft kiss across my lips, tasting like me and him and everything I didn’t know I was missing.
And in the quiet, wrapped in the scent of his aftershave, rain, and my arousal, I believe him.
The tenderness in his voice makes my heart swell. I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips, and the intimacy of it makes my chest ache with something I'm not ready to name.
He helps me dress slowly, his touch reverent, then pulls the throw blanket over both of us. I curl against his chest, my head tucked under his chin, and his arms band around me.
"The power's still out."
"I'm not leaving." His voice allows no argument. The certainty in it wraps around me like armor.
Outside, the storm continues, but the worst has passed. Thunder rolls distant, fading away. In here, everything is warm and safe and right.
"Brooks?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For staying. For being patient. For making me feel safe. Wanted. Seen."
"You are all those things," he says quietly and kisses the top of my head. "And more."
I fall asleep to his heartbeat, wrapped in his scent and the certainty that something has shifted. He's found his way through my walls, and I'm letting him stay.
I wake to cold seeping through the blanket.
The candles have burned low, casting barely enough light to see by. Brooks is solid and warm beneath me, but my shoulders are freezing where they're exposed to the air. The couch is too small for both of us. My neck aches from the angle, and his legs are cramped against the armrest.
This is no way to actually sleep.
"Hey." His voice is low and rough with sleep. His hand runs up and down my spine, generating warmth. "You're shivering."
"I'm okay."
"You're not." He sits up carefully, keeping me steady against his chest. "And this couch is terrible for both of us."
I blink up at him, sleep-fogged and confused. "What are we supposed to do? The power's still out."
He's quiet for a moment, his jaw working like he's deciding something. Then: "Come home with me."
My heart kicks hard. "What?"
"My cabin. I’m twenty minutes from here and not on this power grid.
A blown transformer in town won’t impact me.
I have heat, a real bed, and you'll actually be able to sleep.
" His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
"I'll take the couch there. You get the bed.
But I need to know you're warm and safe. "
The offer hangs between us. Going to his place feels significant, like crossing some invisible line from this bookstore where we've been existing in a bubble into his actual life. His private space.
But I'm freezing. And exhausted. And the way he's looking at me as though my comfort matters more than anything else makes the decision easy.
"Okay," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Take me home with you."
Something flashes in his eyes, heat and possession and tenderness all tangled together. He helps me into my jacket, grabs the blanket, and guides me outside with his hand warm against my lower back.
The rain has slowed to a drizzle. He helps me into the passenger seat and cranks up the heat.
I doze during the drive. At some point, I feel his hand on my thigh, so warm, grounding, protective. The rumble of the engine and his presence beside me make everything feel solid and safe.
When the truck stops, I force my eyes open. We're parked in front of a cabin nestled in trees, mountains rising dark against the sky behind it.
"We're here," he says.
Inside, he builds a fire while I stand in the livingroom, taking in his space.
Exposed wood beams. Simple furniture. Everything neat and orderly in a way that speaks to military precision.
But there are small touches that make it his: photos on the mantel, a well-worn book on the coffee table, the scent of pine and woodsmoke that clings to everything.
"Bedroom's through there." He nods down the hallway. "Let me grab you something to sleep in."
He returns with a soft, oversized Henley that smells like him. I change in his bathroom, and when I emerge, the fabric hangs to mid-thigh. His eyes go dark when he sees me, tracking over every inch.
"You should sleep," he says, and his voice is rougher than before.
I cross to him and rise on my toes, kissing his jaw. His stubble scrapes my lips, and I feel his sharp inhale. "Thank you for taking care of me."
"Always," he says.
I slip into his bedroom, into his bed with sheets that smell like his aftershave, and burrow under the covers. Through the open door, I hear him settling on the couch. The creak of leather. His heavy exhale.
He's out there keeping watch while I sleep in his bed.
The thought makes warmth spread through my chest.
I'm in Brooks Maddox's cabin. Wearing his shirt. Trusting him with my safety in the middle of the night.
And tomorrow morning, I'm waking up in his space, in his life, exactly where I want to be.
Except sleep won't come.
The bed stretches too empty. Every creak of leather from the living room pulls at something in my chest.
Footsteps pause in the doorway.
"Can't sleep either?" His voice is rough, low.
I roll over. He's backlit by dying firelight, shoulders filling the frame.
"The bed's too big." My throat works. "And you're too far away."
He crosses to me. The mattress dips under his weight, a full-body shift that rolls me toward him. He settles on top of the covers, fully clothed, but his heat radiates through the barrier anyway.
His arm comes around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel anchored.
I shift deeper into the curve of his body. My head fits under his chin. His chest rises and falls against my back, and after a few breaths, mine syncs to his rhythm.
The aromas of clean sweat and smoke surround me. His heartbeat thuds steadily against my spine, slower than mine, teaching my body how to settle.
His thumb traces a slow circle against my ribs. Once. Twice. Soothing, not sexual, but awareness prickles in my pussy anyway. Awareness of every point where we connect. Of the restraint humming through his muscles. Of how carefully he's holding me.
"Sleep," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."
My eyes drift closed. His weight grounds me. His warmth seeps through every layer.
I drift off, wondering how long his restraint will last.
And what happens when it breaks.