Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brandee
I ’m quiet on the way home. It was a strange night. It’d started out amazing, and for the most part, it was great. However, Brew’s mood changed once the fight broke out. He seemed apologetic, as if he felt it was somehow his responsibility.
“You okay back there?” Avie says, turning in her seat to face me.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry about what happened tonight. I promise this isn’t how our nights out usually go,” she says with a frown. “I guess Sandcastle Cove didn’t leave the best impression.”
I laugh. “Are you kidding? That’s just what happens when you go out. Sometimes, you wake up with a black eye, and other times, you wake up in your neighbor’s bushes, wondering how you got there.”
Sebastian chuckles. “I guess we’re not that different from your local crowd, huh?”
“Not at all. Sandcastle Cove is literally the coast’s answer to Balsam Ridge.”
“That’s nice. We’ll have to bring Leia up to see your mountains one day,” Avie says.
“I’d love that.”
Once we arrive, I say my goodbyes and head back to Aunt Ida’s house.
I peel off my clothes and jump into the shower before putting on an oversize T-shirt and panties.
I grab a pillow and the comforter from the guest bed and carry them to the couch.
Felix peeks out from under the armchair, his golden eyes full of curiosity.
“I’m sleeping out here with you tonight,” I tell him. “I’m waiting for our favorite person.”
The cat lies back down on the hardwood floor and closes his eyes. Snowflake pads in from the kitchen and jumps on top of me once I’m settled under the covers. She circles a few times, kneading the perfect spot with her paws, and then plops down.
I turn the television on, hoping to stay awake, but my eyes are heavy, and exhaustion pulls me under.
The last thing I remember is the flicker of the TV and Snowflake’s purring snore lulling me to sleep. I tried—I really tried—to stay awake. But I lost the fight. But now the tendrils of consciousness are wrapping around me as I roll over. The couch is too soft, too small.
And I feel him.
Not see, not hear—feel.
Like the air has changed, warmed by his presence.
Then his touch.
A hand brushes my hair back. Slow. Gentle. Familiar in a way that seems crazy because it’s happened so fast.
I don’t move. Not right away. I want to stay in this moment, caught in that tranquil space between dreaming and waking, where everything feels a little softer. Safer.
“Hey,” Brew murmurs, voice low, husky with exhaustion and affection.
His fingers skim along the side of my face, tucking a curl behind my ear. I finally crack my eyes open.
He’s crouched beside the couch, still wearing that dark T-shirt, his flannel overshirt loose and sleeves pulled up to his elbows. His eyes meet mine, and they’re darker than usual in the low light, but full of heat. Heat I’m starting to crave.
“You left the door unlocked,” he says, not scolding. Just noting.
I smile, sleepy and slow. “I was waiting for you.”
He brushes his thumb along my cheek. “I know.”
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “What time is it?”
“Late,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”
“You just got here.”
“I don’t want to wake you up.”
“Too late for that,” I whisper.
He leans in, presses his forehead on mine. I breathe him in—cologne and sweat and the faint scent of beer and whiskey. God, he smells like comfort and danger, all at once.
I let my eyes flutter closed again.
“You should’ve gone to bed,” he says softly.
“I didn’t want to miss you.”
His hand slides down, over my collarbone, across my shoulder, slipping under the comforter. The pad of his thumb grazes my breast, and my breath hitches.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he says reverently.
“Like what?”
He smiles. “Soft. Sleepy. Wrapped up in a blanket, waiting for me like I’m something worth waiting for.”
I tug on his hand until he lets me pull him onto the couch. He stretches out behind me, curling his body around mine, pressing his chest against my back, arm sliding around my waist.
“I missed you,” I admit, feeling his lips press to the back of my neck.
“I’m here now.”
I turn in his arms, facing him. His fingers trail along my thigh, tracing lazy circles, slipping under the hem of my sleep shirt, slow and careful, like I’m made of fragile glass.
My pulse kicks up. My body is wide awake now, and it’s not just because of his hands. It’s because of him. The way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Brew …”
“Yeah?”
“What are we doing?”
He pauses. Just for a second. His thumb traces patterns on my hip.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I don’t want to stop.”
His mouth finds mine then. The kiss is warm and insistent. Not rushed. Just slow-burning heat. The kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name.
I shift under him, letting him settle between my legs. The couch is narrow, but we fit.
His hands slide up under my shirt. His fingers trail over my ribs, and my breath stutters.
“I liked you better in my shirt,” he murmurs.
I smile against his mouth. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Seeing you in it this morning did things to me,” he says as his hand continues to slide up inch by inch.
I lift my arms and let him pull it over my head, pitching it behind him without looking. The look in his eyes when he sees me—hair messy, no makeup, bare-chested in the dim light—makes my whole body ache.
“Fuck, Brandee,” he breathes.
His mouth is everywhere—my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder, the swell of my chest. He takes his time, like he’s been waiting all day just to worship me with his tongue.
I tug at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on mine.
He obliges shrugging out of the flannel and pulling the tee over his head in one fell swoop, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tosses it to the floor.
I bite my lip and trail my fingertips down his chest to his abs, loving the way he shivers at my touch.
He brings his mouth to my throat and lays a kiss against my pulse. Before slamming his lips to mine. This kiss is much more intense.
When we disengage, he brings his eyes back to mine before sweeping them down my torso, like he’s memorizing every curve.
With a growl, he crawls down my body. Peppering kisses as he goes.
I writhe underneath him as he wraps a hand around one breast and kneads lightly.
“Gorgeous,” he mutters before sucking a nipple gently between his teeth.
I groan and run my fingers through his hair as he bites down gently. He gives the other breast the same attention before dropping his hands and running them up the inside of my thighs while continuing to nip at my skin.
He makes it to my belly button and runs his tongue around it.
“You taste so sweet,” he says as his lip skims the lacy material of my panties.
My hips rise in response, and I whimper in anticipation as he feeds a finger into the lace and tugs them down my legs. He presses a kiss into the dark curls at the top of my thighs, and my legs fall open, giving him unfettered access.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as he swipes his tongue across my core in one deliciously slow lick.
My breath catches, and I sink my fingers into the couch cushion beneath me.
He does it again, and I let out a tortured moan. I begin to circle my hips to meet his mouth as he tucks his hands under me and palms my ass, lifting me to him.
I bring my arms up over my head and clasp the arm of the couch to steady myself as he devours me like he’s a starving man and I’m his favorite meal.
He wraps his lips around my clit and sucks it deep as he finds my opening with his finger.
“Yes,” I cry and start to ride his face slowly.
He presses another finger inside, and I arch my back and buck against him wildly, moving faster and faster, riding his tongue.
I feel my muscles begin to contract as his thumb comes to my clit and rubs gentle circles over the bundle of nerves.
“That’s it. Let me see you come apart, baby,” he beckons as our eyes lock.
That’s all it takes. I explode around his fingers as his name is wrenched from my lips.
He continues to lap at me tenderly until the trembling subsides and I pant to catch my breath.
After the shudders calm, he releases his hold and stands. Then he lifts my limp body into his arms, and I rest my head against his sweat-slick chest as he carries me to bed.