Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I already have.
Molly
Brayden fell asleep holding me, and I look at the clock by his bed and give myself ten minutes before I have to go up to my own bed. Any more, and I risk falling asleep myself.
I rest my cheek against his chest and close my eyes as I soak in his heat and the strength of him. He moans in his sleep, and his hands slide around to rest on the small of my back. Joy flutters to life in my stomach. Even with all the hustle of work and preparing for Christmas with Noah, I can’t deny the last three days have been a bit of a dream. Honestly, my life was a dream before. I had an amazing job, great new friends, and Brayden’s quiet but rock-solid support through every day—at work and at home. And now I have Brayden too. His hot eyes on me, his seductive whispers in my ear.
Soon, Christmas will be over, the New Year will be here, and it’ll be time to move out. I won’t have an excuse to have morning coffee with Brayden or evenings soaking with him in his hot tub. The plan was that we’d end this when I left, and if I don’t want to end it—if I want us to try to be something—I’ll have to do it without an excuse. I’d have to be willing to admit it’s what I want, and be willing to risk it all falling apart.
Brayden’s breathing is steady and deep, and I watch the clock tick through the minutes, feeling my allotted time coming to its inevitable end. I don’t want it to. I want to stay here in his arms. I want so much I’ve never let myself imagine before this week. And because it scares me—the intensity with which I want it, and all I could lose if I make the leap and miss—I pull out of his embrace and climb off the bed.
“Molly?” He pushes himself to sitting.
“You don’t need to get up.” My thoughts sink into my stomach and twist into a knot. One end is yanked tight by everything I want—the fairytale, the unlikely happy ending—and the other by everything I know I’ve done and who I know I am.
Maybe we all make mistakes, and maybe I’ve had my reasons. Maybe I’m not to blame for being so fucked up and broken, but it doesn’t change that I am. And Brayden deserves more than a broken mess who doesn’t even know how love works.
I dip my head and press a kiss to his jaw, to the shadow of stubble there, and when I pull back and meet his eyes, I see his thinly veiled pain. He wants me to stay. To sleep with him.
I press a second kiss to his jaw, wondering if I could do it—if I could be brave enough to ask for more. I don’t think he’d deny me. I think he’d try. Even if it’s not what’s best for him, if I wanted everything, he’d do his best to deliver.
Brayden doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s what makes him so successful. And maybe it’s what scares me.
Brayden
I didn’t think seeing a woman at the stove could ever get me hard so fast, but I learn otherwise Wednesday morning when I find Molly in my kitchen. She’s in fuzzy socks that come up to her knees, a T-shirt that barely covers her ass, and a thong. Her hair is wet, like she just got out of the shower. My mouth goes dry, and my cock strains against my fly.
I’d blame my reaction on the fact that this is still new between us—so new that I locked us in her office yesterday and spread her out on her desk because I couldn’t wait to get home before tasting her. Or I could blame it on the fact that she left my room too soon again last night, that she still insists on waking up in her own bed in case Noah wakes before her. But the truth is I could have a month alone with her and never get enough.
Only when she shakes her ass to a song I can’t hear do I realize she’s wearing earbuds. I let myself stand there while she cooks her eggs, watching her dance from side to side, my thoughts torn between how much I want to touch her and how much I want . . . more. This. Her in my kitchen, in my shower, in my bed. Not just for now, and not just for sex.
But she’s made it clear what she can offer and what she can’t. I have to respect that, even if I don’t like it. And that means I can touch her, taste her, take her to my bed and try not to hope for more, or I can take nothing at all . . . and still never know what it’s like to wake up with her in my arms.