Page 10 of Big and Brawny
Orson
Iwaketotheunfamiliar but perfect sensation of Bronte curled against me, her dark hair spread across my pillow and her soft curves pressed against my side.
For a moment, I just watch her sleep, unable to believe that this is real—that this incredible woman is in my bed, that last night wasn't just another fantasy. Then she stirs, her eyes fluttering open, and the smile that spreads across her face when she sees me is enough to make my heart stutter in my chest.
"Morning," she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," I reply, unable to keep the smile from my face. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She stretches, catlike, and I have to suppress a groan at the way her body moves against mine. "What time is it?"
I glance at the clock. "Just after six."
"Mmm, perfect timing for a workout," she says with a mischievous smile, sliding her hand down my chest.
What follows is even better than last night—slower, more knowing, now that we've learned each other's bodies. I take my time with her, worshipping every curve and valley, drawing sounds from her that I'll remember for the rest of my life. When we finally come together, it's with a perfect synchronicity that leaves us both breathless and dazed.
"I think that counts as cardio," Bronte says afterward, her head on my chest and her fingers tracing patterns on my skin.
I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest. "Definitely. Though I still owe you pancakes."
"Pancakes can wait," she says, looking up at me with a softness that makes my pulse spike. "This is nice."
We stay in bed for another hour, talking and touching and occasionally dozing. It's the most peaceful morning I've had in years, maybe ever. There's something about Bronte that centers me, that makes me feel both strong and gentle in a way I never have before.
Eventually, hunger drives us to the kitchen. I make good on my pancake promise while Bronte perches on the counter, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts, which falls almost to her knees.
"So," she says as we eat at the kitchen island, "what happens now?"
The question is casual, but I can hear the uncertainty beneath it. I set down my fork, giving her my full attention.
"What do you want to happen?" I ask carefully.
"I want..." She pauses, seeming to gather her courage. "I want more mornings like this. More nights like last night. More of you, Orson."
Relief and joy flood through me. "That's exactly what I want too."
"But?" she prompts, clearly sensing my hesitation.
"No but," I assure her, reaching across the counter to take her hand. "I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into. The Hartwell men have a reputation in this town—when we commit to something, we go all in. I'm not built for casual, Bronte."
Her smile is slow and beautiful. "Neither am I."
"Good," I say firmly. "Because I'm already falling for you, and it would be awkward if you were just in this for the excellent pancakes and convenient gym access."
She laughs, the sound bright and joyful. "The pancakes are a bonus. The gym is a nice perk. But you, Orson Hartwell, are the real prize here."
"I have to go to my cousins' engagement dinner tonight," I tell her. "Would you... would you want to come with me?"
Her eyes widen slightly. "To meet your family? Officially?"
"If it's too soon—"
"No," she interrupts, rising on her toes to press a quick kiss to my lips. "I'd love to. As long as you're prepared for the inevitable teasing from your cousins."
I feel something settle in my chest—a certainty I've never experienced before. I've spent years building my body, creating a physical strength that made me feel safe and in control. But Bronte makes me strong in a different way, a better way.
My phone buzzes with a text from Boone:So? Festival details please. Did you finally make a move?
