Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

He crossed the line. I realize it when I wake up to Brayden’s bare chest against my cheek, his arms resting protectively around my shoulders, and his … Oh my … his rather large cock pressing against my stomach.

I should move. I know I should. But I don’t. Instead, I relish how hard he is as I inhale his musky scent. Fucking hell, he smells good. There are the remnants of last night, a hint of tequila emanating from both our pores. But there’s also the earthy scent of him, a smell that’s like wind-rustled trees and rain on pavement, mixed with sweat and the sweet tang of his body odor, which gives me a heady feeling every time I inhale. I could bottle him up, make him my air, and dissolve into his chest.

His body rises and falls against mine with each breath, and I remain as still as possible so I don’t break the spell. It occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve ever done this. I’ve never slept with a man—like, physically fallen asleep. I’ve fucked them, and they’ve fucked me; but this is a level of intimacy I’ve never experienced in my life.

But he’s my cousin’s fiancé.

This is wrong. I know this is wrong. In five days, we’ll leave this place. He’ll go back to her, and I’ll go home alone, and it’s likely we’ll never speak of this again. If he stays with her, there’s a chance he’ll fire me from the ranch. I mean, why would he let me stay when my presence could ruin everything?

But in this moment, I can’t care. I won’t. Whatever is happening between Brayden and me, it’s been brewing for a while. Since that night he saved me from those assholes. Since I was a broken girl and wrote a list of qualities that belong to him.

Brayden inhales quickly, shifting in a way that lets me know he’s waking up. I hold my breath, unsure what he’ll do when he realizes how close we are, how his cock is still pressing against my belly.

His breathing slows, but his arms move slightly. I feel his head move, and I lift my eyes to meet his. He blinks slow, licks his lips. Then a small smile tugs at his mouth.

“Good morning,” he says. There’s a slight twitch against my belly, and I try not to laugh as I see the realization cross his expression. He pulls away, and I already miss his warmth. “Guess I’m glad to see you,” he laughs. He pulls back the covers and sits on the edge, groaning as gravity catches up with him. “Fuck, how much did we drink last night?”

I actually feel fine this morning. Even last night when we kissed, I’d been sloshed, but completely aware of what was happening. Still, I’m glad he didn’t follow through. Not while we were drinking. If he kisses me again, I want to be sober as fuck so I can remember everything.

Brayden goes to the bathroom while I remain in bed. It’s weird listening to him pee. No, not weird. It’s like we’ve done this a million times, like I wake up with him every morning and go to bed with him every night. Like we could blow off this whole day and just stay in bed, watching the ocean from our corner room.

He re-emerges but hesitates at the threshold. “We have a full plate today,” he finally says, crossing the room and sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. I know what he’s doing—completely pretending like this heat between us doesn’t exist. I have a choice; I could play along, shifting back into this game of platonic pretend we’ve been playing, or I could stall and see where this leads.

“How many hours until we need to be out of here?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow, but looks over my shoulder at the clock on the nightstand.

“We have a few hours,” he says.

“Good.” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and get up. I can feel his eyes on my ass while I move to the coffee pot. “Then we have time to enjoy a slow cup of coffee before we start talking schedules and shit.”

He chuckles, settling back into bed as I set up the coffee before I relieve myself in the bathroom. After, with two steaming cups in hand, I head back to the bed and hand him his.

“Coffee in bed,” he murmurs. “Do you make house calls?”

“I won’t even answer that,” I tease, letting the insinuation rest between us. Because I’d give him coffee in bed every morning just for the pleasure of waking up to him.

We sip in the quiet of the room, the golden rays of sunlight casting a hazy glow over the room.

“About last night,” he finally says.

I take a deep breath, then another sip of coffee as scenes from last night unfold in my mind. His tongue in my mouth. His lips on my breast. His hands everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. The sheer intoxication of him, so much more than a dozen shots of tequila. How I could get drunk on him all night long, and never grow tired.

“What about it?” I ask. I shift my gaze to him and suddenly feel the heat from his stare—the way his eyes search me, the unasked question resting on his lips. “You mean, now that it’s morning, do I feel any regret?”

He sets his cup down and turns to face me. I put my cup down too, shifting my body so I’m looking at him.

“Brayden, when it comes to you, I only have one regret. And it’s not about kissing you last night.”

He breathes in, closes his eyes, and I can see the war going on inside him. But I’m too selfish to help him make the right decision. The proper one. The only one we should make.

“What’s your regret?”

“I think you know,” I say. He says nothing, and I know he wants the words aloud. “That I didn’t meet you first,” I whisper. My heartbeat rushes to full crescendo in my ears, and I swallow my panic at finally admitting how I feel. “Do you have any regrets?” I ask.

He looks at me for the longest time. I can feel the electricity pulsing in my veins, the magnetic pull I’m losing a battle against.

“I should,” he says. “Especially about what I want to do to you, but I don’t.” Then he pushes forward. I don’t move, letting his lips find mine. He kisses me. Tentatively. Seeking. Verifying if the door is open. I part my lips, let him inside, melt into the groan that vibrates from his chest.

“Fuck Nina, you make me feel…” He kisses me again, shifting his body so that he’s on top of me. His hand finds my ass, and I lift my hips so that my groin brushes against the cloth covering his cock. He groans again. “So out of control. Just completely blitzed,” he says. “We shouldn’t…”