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"God, you feel so good," he murmurs against the crook of my neck, his breath hot on my skin. The world fades away until there's nothing but the two of us, tangled in a web of urgency and longing.
His hands are everywhere, relentless in their exploration. I arch into him, desperate for more contact, craving the pressure of his palms against me. Brennan answers with a possessive grip on my hips, pulling me closer as if trying to merge our bodies into one.
"Mine," he claims between ragged breaths, the word both a declaration and plea. It sends a thrill through me, a dark promise that resonates with the deepest parts of my being. I'm lost in him, the intensity of our connection blotting out any semblance of reality.
"Yours," I gasp back, surrendering to the whirlwind of sensations he evokes within me. Pleasure spirals, building and cresting like waves crashing onto the shore. Brennan's touch ismy anchor, the only thing keeping me grounded as everything else slips away.
Eventually, the fervor subsides, leaving us both panting and spent. We lie entwined, a tangle of limbs and shared warmth, the aftershocks of our passion rippling through us. But the respite is fleeting.
We dress in silence, the air still charged with the electricity of what passed between us. As we step back into the chaos of the party, the shift is jarring. The music pounds, a stark contrast to the rhythmic beating of our hearts just moments ago.
I can feel the change in Brennan immediately—his body tense, his jaw set. When a group of guys from the football team saunter over, slinging casual greetings at us, his demeanor darkens. The hand resting on the small of my back tightens, his fingers digging in possessively.
"Hey, Autumn, you disappeared for a while there," one of them comments, eyes skimming over me with poorly veiled curiosity.
Before I can answer, Brennan pulls me flush against him, his gaze fierce as it locks onto the other guy. "She was with me," he states, the subtext clear.Stay away.
The warning hangs heavy in the air, a silent assertion of ownership that brooks no argument. Part of me bristles at the possessiveness of it, but another part—the part he's awakened and claimed—relishes the protection, the singular focus of his attention.
"Alright, man, no problem," the guy says, holding up his hands in mock surrender before backing off, leaving us encased in an invisible barrier of Brennan's making. I lean into him, my body still humming from his touch, my heart conflicted by the intensity of his claim.
Brennan's arm snakes around my waist, a steel band that leaves no space for doubt or for anyone else to wedge their wayin. I watch his face, the sharp cut of his jaw as he scans the room like a hawk, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The intensity of his gaze sends shivers down my spine, both thrilling and terrifying me.
"Mine," he murmurs, so low it’s almost lost in the bass thumping through the floorboards. That single word resonates within me, echoing through the cavernous spaces of my desire. His possessiveness is a live wire, zapping straight to my core, and I'm torn between leaning into the current or running from the storm brewing in his eyes.
Guys glance over, some with smirks, others with clear intentions written on their faces—they want to challenge him, test his grip on me. But they only need to meet Brennan's glare once before they back off, laughter hollow as they retreat. I'm caged by his arms, shackled by a possessiveness that is both a shield and a shroud.
"Am I another conquest to you?" The question slips out, a whisper meant for him alone. My voice is a fusion of fear and longing, betraying the complexity of my turmoil.
"No, Autumn, you're everything," he says fiercely, pulling me closer still. His breath fans hot against my ear, his words searing into my flesh. "But I can't stand the thought of anyone else touching you, looking at you like you're theirs."
His desire wraps around me like a second skin, heavy and intoxicating. I'm caught in the riptide of his passion, sinking deeper into the abyss that is Brennan Spears. And yet, the edge of the cliff looms close—I teeter on the brink, wondering if surrender is akin to falling or flying.
As we drift back into the throng of bodies, the heat of his possessiveness remains a brand upon my soul.
Brennan's dominance is a force of nature—mesmerizing, powerful, potentially destructive—and I'm standing in the eye ofthe storm, unsure whether to brace myself or to simply let go and be consumed.
One thing is for sure. After tonight,everythingis changed.
CHAPTER
SIX
Autumn
I perchon the edge of Brennan's chair, my fingers tracing the cool mahogany of his desk. It's too quiet in here, the silence broken only by the soft whisper of fabric against wood as I sift through my scattered belongings. Vulnerability wraps around me like a second skin, the dissonance of being alone in his sanctuary sending shivers down my spine.
My hand delves into the shadows of an open drawer, rummaging for the misplaced pendant he'd borrowed, the one with delicate filigree that always rests against the hollow of my throat. A stack of papers teeters precariously at the edge of the desk. My fingers, clumsy with haste, brush against them unwittingly, sending them fluttering to the floor in a cascade of whispers.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath, my heart thudding unevenly as I scramble to gather the strewn sheets. The room feels colder now, the air charged with the electric hum of a secret just beyond my grasp. Images flicker in my peripheral vision,glimpses of ink on paper, but I shove them away, focusing on restoring order to this unexpected chaos.
My heart hammers a frantic rhythm as I kneel on the cold floor, papers clutched in my hands. The room's air feels like ice against my flushed skin, each breath a sharp intake as I try to make sense of what's sprawled before me. A photograph, stark and unyielding, holds my gaze hostage—it'sme, mid-laugh with sunlight tangling in my hair, a moment of unguarded joy I don't recall being captured.
The floor is cold beneath my knees, a harsh contrast to the heat flushing through me as I spread out the photos like a tarot reader seeking answers in cards. Each image is a snapshot of me, unaware, unguarded. My life laid bare across Brennan's carpet, and it screams with silent accusation.
"Fuck," the word escapes me, a whisper lost in the storm that begins to rage within. My pulse throbs in my temples, a drumbeat to the chaos unfurling in Brennan's room—his sanctuary now a stage for my unraveling.
I gather another picture, and then another, each snapshot a violation of privacy I never consented to. It's all me—me at the coffee shop, head bent over a novel, me strolling through the park, leaves crunching underfoot, me through the seasons, unaware and watched.
