Brann
T rying to read The History of the Medieval World while listening to Beckett and Lucy go through their nighttime routine is like being stuck miles down the road from my favorite band playing with only the faintest sound of their music traveling to my ears. It’s a tease—their laughter together, Beckett singing to Lucy, the sloshing of water in the tub as Lucy plays. And then the gentle murmur as Beckett reads to Lucy.
I’ve always said I hated kids. Didn’t want them. Don’t want to be around them. They’re tiresome, smelly, loud, and unreasonable. But since Lucy wound through my legs at Moonlit Grounds, she’s somehow entwined herself into my heart. I still can’t imagine myself being a father, especially at my age. But there’s no denying that I love being Lucy’s friend. Her calling me Branny was an arrow straight to my heart.
Now I have to convince Beckett that I’m what’s right for her. I don’t know much about her past, but it doesn’t take a crystal ball to see that she’s been terribly hurt. Or that my position of authority over her scares her. I can only hope that the flame between us is enough to burn away her hesitations.
When Beckett, no—Natasha—comes out, I’ve long given up the pretext of reading, cleaned up Lucy’s soup creation in the kitchen, and am pacing the length of her tiny living room, scanning her bookshelves to understand what she enjoys, as well as studying the photos of her and Lucy on the shelves. It’s easy to focus on their matching smiles and Lucy’s effervescence. But upon further study, I see the pain and tiredness in Natasha’s eyes, and I want to rip apart limb by limb the person who caused that exhaustion and sorrow.
Natasha’s scent mingles with the lavender of Lucy’s bath, growing stronger as she approaches me cautiously. “Sorry that took so long. She was pretty hyped up because someone gave her a giant cookie right before her bath.” Her words are pointed, but there’s a small smile on her face. While she looks tired from a day of work and parenting, there’s none of the haunted, hollow eyes from the photos on the shelf.
“Sorry isn’t necessary. I’m the one invading your evening routine. You have a lot of history books.” Way to non sequitur, Brann. Why not sit down to discuss the merits of catapults versus trebuchets?
“Yeah, I studied medieval history in college. I had plans to teach. Then I discovered I loved search and rescue. It quickly surpassed the idea of teaching. But I still love reading about history. That all went away when I got pregnant with Lucy and my boyfriend, her father, decided he was too young to be a dad.” She pauses, staring at her books. “Would you like some tea?” She’s turned and walked into the tiny kitchen before I have a chance to answer.
I follow, a puppy eagerly following their person. She fills the kettle, pulls out a box of tea, and two mugs. “You didn’t have to clean up Lucy’s mess. But thank you. Now, pick a tea.”
There must be twenty types of tea in the box. It’s a collection to rival Ravena’s. I pick a cinnamon orange. “My favorite,” she says, picks the same, and prepares the tea mugs.
“Why are you here?” she asks pointedly while we wait for the kettle.
“Because I can’t get you out of my mind.”
“I work for you. I have a daughter to care for. I’m not interested in whatever this is.” She waves her hands back and forth between us. Her dark eyes are pinched as she speaks, telling me she’s holding back. “Impropriety at work is a huge no-no for me. I can’t afford to lose this job. And your stupid island has given me a sprig of hope that I haven’t had in a long time. Settling here, being a part of this community is important to me.” She huffs out a breath, then turns to shut off the heat to the whistling kettle, but I see the glisten of tears in her eyes before she turns her back to me.
“Natasha, I will do everything in my power to make sure that there’s no negative fallout for you. I’ll take any and all blame. I swear to you as the eldest Suthorn son, whose grandfather fought at the Battle of Iron’s Folly.”
With trembling hands, she hands me my tea mug. I take the mug with one hand and hold her hand with my other. Mug on the counter, I pull her into me, keeping that sliver of distance between us so she can’t feel my need for her. I need her to decide herself, not based on pure physical desire.
“That is quite the promise. I don’t think I’ve heard you say my first name before. From the first day of work, you’ve called me Beckett.” The unspoken question is in her umber eyes.
“Trying to keep all the distance between us that I could. And failing,” I admit, a smidge sheepish. A light sparks in her eyes, giving me hope.
“But not now?” Her hand rests atop mine. The feel of her soft lavender scented skin is electric.
“No, not anymore. I’ve come to terms—” I stop abruptly, unsure how to verbalize.
“Come to terms? With what? Sounds like you’ve resigned yourself to me?” Her eyebrows quirk and her posture stiffens, but her hand stays with mine. I flip my hand over to grasp hers.
“Never resigned.” I sigh. A gods-damned captain of search and rescue, I risk my life to save others. And yet, I can’t say the words? Buck up, Brann. I take a moment to sip the hot tea that burns my throat, then rub my hands over my face. My knees crack as I squat to be eye level with Natasha. “You are strong, talented, and deserve every goodness in this world. I first saw you at Moonlit Grounds, before you came into work. And I knew you were my fated mate. Knew you were to be mine, always. But, as you can see,” I ruffle my hair, “I’ve been around. Maybe too long for you. And I’ve never wanted kids, despite my mother’s protests. But you are irresistible to me. You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of. So if I sound resigned, it’s because I’ve had to upend all the things I’ve thought of myself for a long time.”
“Fated mates? How can you be so sure? Also, you think one evening winning Lucy over with cookies is enough to step in as a parent? You’ve got a lot to learn.”
The way her nostrils flare is adorable. Hands around her waist, I pick her up and set her on the counter, let my knees pop again as I reposition myself between her legs, and kiss her. Deep and passionate. Letting all my desire pour into her, letting her feel and comprehend just how magnificent she is. How I long to worship her.
She’s slow to respond. I can sense her conflicted emotions. Eventually, her hands snake into my hair, down my neck to my shoulders, clutching hard as her legs wrap around mine, tugging me into her. Natasha tastes of sunshine and cinnamon.
Pulling away for a breath, I drag my tusks along her jawline to her ear, peppering with kisses along the way, while my hands stay firmly on her hips, massaging her delicious flesh. “I don’t need to taste between your thighs to know you’re mine,” I say before kissing down her neck to her strong shoulders, then to her other side.
“I don’t assume anything when it comes to you and Lucy. Except that you’re both mine to love and care for. We can go as slow or fast as you want.” I punctuate each word with a kiss, making my way back to her mouth. She nips at my bottom lip, once, twice, pulling a groan of want out of me.
“Prove yourself to me,” she growls into my ear, a challenge in her voice.
“Gladly. Come here.” I pull her off the counter to stand, pull her curve-hugging leggings and panties down, then set her back on the counter, ripping the clothing off completely. On my knees, I pull her sweet ass toward the edge and nestle my face between her thighs, breathing deep. “Your scent drives me wild with want. Every day at work—” I pause to suckle her clit, her sucked in breath making my cock try to leap out of my pants. “It’s why I stay in my office.”
“You can’t do this,” Natasha pushes my face away from her, a hiss in her voice.
Resting my chin atop her thigh, I ask, “Why not?” Her hands tremble as she brings them to her flushed face.
“Because isn’t—I haven’t—you can’t—argh.”
“Mm, that was very clear.” Her groan of frustration is adorable. “You can say it. I’ll wait.” My finger roams up her thighs to the sweet spot at the top, massaging, teasing.
A deep breath, she exhales the words in a whoosh. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ve never been eaten out on the kitchen counter before?” She shakes her head hard.
“Or...eaten at all.”
My nostrils flare. The jerk who left her and Lucy, who couldn’t be bothered to pleasure his woman, deserves every bad karmic thing this world has to offer.
“This is what we’ll do. I’m going to pleasure you. You’re going to sit here and enjoy. If you don’t like something, tap my shoulder. I’ll stop. No pressure, no judgment. Okay.”
She nods, biting her lower lip.
I bury my face in her sweet pussy, lapping at her heat, focusing my tongue on where her breath hitches and her hands tighten in my hair. Starting slow, I work top to bottom, then back up again. A pause, no tap. I continue, soaking in her scent and taste.
“Brann,” she moans my name, stretching it out as my tongue slips inside her. A whimper, her hips buck at my face, and I smile into her folds. I love that she’s relaxing, leaning into the moment. Her body sings to me.
“Say my name again,” I demand, loving the sound of my name on her tongue. She complies as I flick her clit with my tongue. “Again.”
This time, my name is breathy on her lips as I flick faster, sending her spiraling into her climax. Her body is exquisite as she arches, then folds forward, her chest resting against my head. Every desire within me is to push her farther, show her what we’re capable of together. But I promised her we would go at her pace.
Carefully, slowly, I rise to stand and hug her into myself, resting my chin on her head. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I want you to get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll talk at work.” She tightens in my arms. “Or, we’ll continue as we have at work, and we’ll talk later. Can I walk with you and Lucy again?”
“You sure you want to leave?” she asks as she pushes herself up and off me. I nod. “But—” she gestures at my dick, which is desperate to be released from my pants.
“I’m positive. I promised we’d go slow. This wasn’t about my pleasure or reciprocation. It’s about me showing you I’m committed. And that you’re all I desire.”
If possible, her cheeks are even redder than earlier. “Okay. Yes to the walk. No to the cookies.” Her pointed mom look draws a quiet chuckle from me.
Picking her up, I carry her to her room, which is probably a mistake, as it smells so strongly of her. Her tangled sheets beckon me. “You can set me down now. My legs work,” she whispers, smiling. I do as she says, eager to leave before my defenses destroy me and I have to pry myself away.
“Goodnight, Love.” A gentle kiss on her forehead, and I make my way to the door.