Page 36 of Leverage & Obedience

The lock turns, and the door swings open.

Holy fuck, Rachel was right. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is wet from a shower. He’s in gray sweatpants and a plain t-shirt—I’ve never seen him out of a suit unless he was naked. His jaw is dark with four days of stubble. His eyes are dull, and he looks numb. On any other man, it would read as a rough week. On Bren, it guts me.

The last four days in my apartment suddenly feel like a luxury spa compared to whatever he’s been living through.

He stares at me.

“Lily.”

Just my name. Every line I tried to compose this morning disappears. My brain hands me the only line I didn’t rehearse.

“I want this. Not just the arrangement or job. You.”

He goes very still and drags in a breath. Then he steps back and opens the door wider. I walk through before he can change his mind.

His condo smells like coffee. There are dishes piled on the coffee table, a blanket and pillow shoved into the corner of the couch like a nest. He’s been sleeping out here. The same way I’ve been sleeping at home.

The door clicks shut behind me. Three feet between us, and he isn’t saying anything. He isn’t saying anything, and if I stop talking, I’ll run. I’m never doing that to him again.

“I shouldn’t have left on Wednesday.” The words tumble out. “I—sorry. I heard everything you said. I did. I just couldn’t take it in because I kept running every word through every time I’ve been the temporary person before, and that’s—that’s the whole list. Every job. Every—and when you told me you were choosing me, my brain kept saying he’s confusing good sex for realfeelings, because that was easier than—” My voice catches, and I make myself say the rest. “Easier than believing I was worth keeping.”

He brings a hand up and brushes his fingers along my cheek like he can’t believe I’m real.

“I’m here,” I blurt. “And staying. I—sorry, I’m doing this wrong. I almost didn’t get out of the car. I sat there for—and then I almost didn’t knock, and then I did, and you opened it, and you haven’t said anything, and I—I’m staying. If you’ll have me. I’d understand if you—”

My hands won’t stop shaking. I press them flat against my thighs to hide it. Here I am, panic-spiraling at the man I walked out on. I’m a disaster.

His jaw unlocks, and he closes the gap in one move. He grabs my shirt and yanks me into his chest. His other hand cups the back of my head, and his mouth comes down on mine.

Four days of nothing slams into me at once. I make a sound against his mouth I don’t recognize. His lips are hard against mine, and I’m kissing him back like I can erase the time I was gone. My fingers fist in the front of his t-shirt. He tastes like coffee. He tastes like Bren.

He slows the kiss down. His lips move against mine until my whole body aches. I press into him, my hands flat against his chest. His heartbeat under my palm is hammering, and underneath it he’s trembling.

The kiss deepens again. His tongue slides against mine, and time blurs. Four days was an eternity.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breathing is unsteady and his eyes are closed, his hands still on my face.

“I was going to let you go,” he says. His voice is rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “If that’s what you needed.”

“I know.” My hands slide up to his shoulders. “That’s why I’m here.”

His eyes open, and his expression is so naked it makes my chest go tight. His expression says he didn’t think I’d come back.

He kisses me again, softer this time. His hands slide from my face down my neck, thumbs tracing my collarbones, then lower, skimming my waist through the cotton of my shirt. Every brush of his hand says he can’t quite believe he gets to still touch me.

I push up the hem of his t-shirt, and my fingers fumble. Of course they do—they shook through the whole drive over. Why would they pull it together now? He covers my hands with his and helps me get it over his head. The shirt drops to the floor. I press my mouth to the center of his chest. He smells like his citrus soap, and I could eat him up right now. A flush starts below my collarbone, and wet heat flares between my legs.

“Bedroom,” I say against his skin.

He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. His mouth is back on mine before we get there, harder this time, and my back hits the wall in the hallway. We stumble into the bedroom, but I don’t see the room. I see him.

He yanks the hem of my t-shirt up, and I lift my arms. The shirt goes. The bra goes—my hands or his, I’m not sure. I’m reaching for the waistband of his sweats when he catches my wrist.

His mouth drops to my breast.Oh god. His mouth on me after four days of nothing is almost too much. His stubble rasps against the sensitive skin and his hands slide around my waist, pulling me hard against him.

Then he sinks to his knees in front of me, and he presses his forehead against my stomach. His arms wrap around my hips and hold on. The gesture is so unguarded that my hands go to his hair on instinct, fingers threading through the dark strands. I hold him against me while he breathes deeply. I don’t say anything, I just stroke his hair.

When he stands, the frantic part has passed. His hands are steady as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down. My panties too. He strips off the rest of his clothes quickly.