Page 92 of That: Taylor & Brooks

Brooks’ thumb traced circles on her skin, patient yet expectant. “And what is it? This thing between us?” His voice was low, rougher now, with an edge of something that might have been hope. The question hung between them, weighted with all the things they’d left unsaid.

“You’re my man,” she said, voice steady. “Not my situationship. Not my maybe. Mine. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

Brooks was quiet for a long moment, studying her face. She forced herself to maintain eye contact, to let him see everything, the fear, yes, but also the love, the certainty that had been growing beneath the surface all this time.

Then he exhaled slowly, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you really want? Or is this because of last night?”

She understood then that this wasn’t just about labels for him. He was asking if she was choosing this, choosing him, fully and without reservation.

“I want you,” she said quietly, moving to stand between his legs, her hands framing his face. “Not because of last night, but because of every day since you picked me up. I want this life we’re building. I want to wake up with you and argue about dinner and make up afterward. I want all of it, Brooks. All of you.”

His hands settled on her waist, drawing her closer. “Then say what you mean, Tay Marie. No more hiding and stalling. What am I to you, really?”

Her heart thundered against her ribs, but she held his gaze. “Everything,” she whispered, the word carrying the weight of a vow. “You’re everything to me, Brooks. My safe place. My second chance. The man I want to try something new with.”

The smile that spread across his face was like sunrise breaking over the horizon slow, radiant, transformative. He stood, lifting her effortlessly and setting her on his desk, moving between her legs.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “Titles, timelines, I don’t care. I just need you in this with me.”

“Blake helped me see some things,” she admitted, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “About how I’ve been acting.”

“She did, huh?” Brooks’ eyebrow arched, though amusement danced in his eyes. “Remind me to thank her meddling ass later.”

Brooks' expression became more serious. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, leaving no room for doubt. His hands slid to her thighs, gripping firmly as he pulled her to the edge of the desk. When they broke apart, both breathless, his eyes had darkened with desire.

“My office door got a lock on it, you know,” he murmured against her neck. He was sick about going home alone last night but he had to put his foot down. He wasn’t some secret, she was going to keep in the shadows.

Taylor laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as his hands moved higher. “Is that your subtle way of telling me we’re not done with this conversation?”

“Oh, we’re definitely not done,” Brooks agreed, standing, moving backwards to flip the lock. “I figure we got plenty more to say to each other. Just might need to use something other than words.”

Brooks sauntered back to her. His hands roamed. Their mouths tangled. She moaned into him, and he groaned against her skin like he’d been starving and finally found his favorite meal. They were speaking each other’s language now.

And neither of them was holding back.

Chapter 24

A Week Later

Peace came in whispers now. Long enough to think this might be real. The morning sun filtering through painting stripes against tossed sheets, had become a common visual. She loved her daily reminder that she had another day. Taylor stirred, consciousness slowly returning as she registered the solid weight of Brooks’ arm draped across her, anchoring her to him even in sleep. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light, taking in her surroundings, the sleek furniture, the high ceilings, the black and gold accents that screamed Brooks Bishop in every detail.

She was at his place.

Again.

A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the past week, after their dinner at Blake’s, the walls had finally come down. No more pretending this wasn’t exactly what it was. No more running from what they both wanted.

Taylor shifted carefully, trying not to wake him as she checked the time on her phone. 7:15 AM. She had morning service at 10:30. Plenty of time, but she needed to start moving if she was going to make it home to shower and change.

She tried to slip out from under Brooks’ arm, but his grip tightened reflexively, pulling her back againsthis chest. His voice, rough with sleep, rumbled against her ear.

“Where you think you’re going?”

“Church,” she whispered, unable to keep the smile from her voice. “It’s Sunday, remember?”

Brooks groaned, burying his face in her neck. “It’s also early as hell.”

“Not for church folk,” she teased, turning in his arms to face him.

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