Chapter 14
Tim’s POV
Watching her step out of the bathroom, shattered and vulnerable, feels like something inside me is breaking apart. In such a short time, this woman has woven herself into my thoughts, stirring emotions I haven’t felt in years. Holding her, comforting her as she cried, wasn’t just an act of kindness-it became something deeper, more raw. I try to keep myself steady for her, the way I always do for my mum or sisters when they need a shoulder to lean on. But Brielle stirs something different, something far more consuming.
When I return her kiss, a warning flares up in my mind: she’s hurting, desperate, and fragile. She might regret this later. Yet, against reason, my body betrays me, pulling her to the bed. My only thought becomes soothing away her pain, making her feel something other than the sadness weighing on her.
She whispers, “Please, Tim, take the pain away,” and her broken plea cuts deeper than I know how to bear. My mind protests, screaming that this is wrong, but my hands move of their own accord, undressing her gently, kissing her with intention, exploring her body as her gasps and moans fill the room. Her responses ignite something reckless in me, and my restraint fractures. What begins as an effort to give her comfort slips into selfish need, a burning desire to push further, to lose myself in her entirely.
She urges me-“More, Tim, please, I need you”-and I find myself surrendering. Naked and completely hers in the moment, I can’t stop. The lines blur as I lose myself in her, my hips meeting hers in urgent rhythm. Any thought of why this started fades away, replaced by the overwhelming drive to bring us both to the brink. Her climax carries my name, shouted from her lips as her body pulses around me, but I’m still chasing my own release. Adjusting our position, I feel her legs wrap tighter around me, driving me deeper, faster. Her moans build again, and her body answers me one more time, just as mine follows. Clenching inside the condom, I spill into her, the pleasure surging until exhaustion overtakes me.
Spent and satisfied, I lie beside her, holding her close. As her breathing slows, she nestles into me, her warmth lulling me. My hand traces soft circles over her stomach, and before I know it, she’s asleep, her body completely unwound in my arms. A tender smile touches my lips-I wasn’t ready to let her go, and now I don’t have to. Quietly, I clean up before slipping back into bed. Sleep claims me, but fragile sobs pull me awake.
Brielle hasn’t moved, still cradled against me, but she’s crying softly, buried in her dreams or trapped in some painful memory. I press gentle kisses along her ear and neck, murmuring, “You’re safe, sweetheart. No one will hurt you.” She shifts, pushing back against me, and I fight a physical reaction. Desperate to calm my body, I try to imagine I’m holding my sister, the thought instantly cooling me down. Her sobs fade, and she relaxes into my embrace once more.
Soon, she stirs. “Bathroom,” she mumbles groggily when I try to keep her close. Reluctantly, I let her go, my arms falling to the empty sheets as she leaves. Waiting for her return, sleep sneaks back over me. When I wake, the bed is cold, and she’s nowhere in sight.
Disappointment weighs on me as I shower and dress, wondering if I crossed a line that’s irreversible. The thought gnaws at me, eroding the joy of last night. But as I step out into the hall, a sound catches me off guard-a soft, cheerful hum wafts from the kitchen.
There she stands, dressed in my shirt, her bare legs catching the morning light as she prepares
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breakfast. She looks utterly radiant, confident and at ease, as if she belongs here. Her hair spills down her back, almost reaching the edge of the shirt. When she stretches to grab a cup from the cupboard, the shirt rides up, revealing bare, smooth skin beneath. My body reacts instinctively; my jeans tighten painfully, and I have to stifle a groan.
She hears me, turning with a smile so dazzling it steals my breath. Her sparkling eyes and carefree energy are nothing like the broken woman from last night. “Morning,” she chirps, holding up a plate. “I wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs, so sunny side up it is. Hope that’s okay.”
Her smile doesn’t falter as she turns to pour coffee, the single button of my shirt barely keeping her covered. Flashbacks of last night fill my mind, and I feel like a teenager battling hormones all over again. She’s effortlessly beautiful, and the sight of her in my shirt-unapologetic and glowing-hits me like a sucker punch.
Lifting the coffee, she arches an eyebrow, silently asking if I want it. I step forward, taking the cup, but before I can lean in for a kiss, she shifts her attention back to the stove, tending to the bacon with graceful ease. Seeing her like this-comfortable and commanding in my space-stirs an unfamiliar ache in my chest. It shouldn’t feel this natural, this right, but it does. And it terrifies me.
We eat together, her laughter and small talk filling the room, but the clock demands I leave for work. A task weighing heavy on me awaits-a critical surgery for a high-profile patient. No excuses, not even the temptation of more time with her, can deter me.
Before I go, I steal one last kiss, lingering as long as I dare. Brielle promises to clean up before heading home, her casual assurance leaving me with hopes of seeing her again soon.
11:07
