B R E N

The sun woke me. It blinded me, actually. Rolling over with a groan, I flung my arm across the bed. All I hit was a tangled mess of blankets and pillows.

I opened one eye.

What the hell?

"I'm over here."

I flipped over to lay on my back and found Madie looking at me from across the room, a soft morning smile on her face. She was buried beneath a woven blanket, curled up on the corner sofa with a steaming mug in one hand. The other hand held a little notebook.

"Come back," I complained. She was never in bed the mornings I wanted her in bed.

She didn't move—except for her smile. That delicious curve grew.

"What are you even doing over there?" I continued to whine.

"I couldn't sleep, so I was writing in my journal," she said, holding up the leatherbound book.

"Oh," I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "I didn't know that was something you did."

She shrugged.

"I started in high school. I had some anxiety, just about everyday things. I was worried a lot. About everything. I went to a few doctors. They suggested I take a low-dose med, but my mom..." 

Madie broke off, sighing. Which made me frown and bite my tongue. 

I scooted up in the bed. The comforter fell down, finding a resting place along the waistband of my shorts. Sun filtered through the windows and hit the skin on my chest, warming it. It felt good.

Madie sighed again. "But one doctor suggested that journaling might help. They said to rank my mood on a scale of zero to five and then write about what I'm feeling. Or whatever has been going on. The idea was that it might help to see how different things made my days better or worse."

"And did it? Does it?"

"I think so." She shrugged again, this time only lifting one shoulder. "But sometimes I don't like to write down things that have happened. Because it's just too hard. So I write my silly little thoughts or poems. But I think those paint a good enough picture without actually saying what's happened. The emotions are still there. I have a lot of those. Emotions. Feelings. Journaling gives me a place to put them."

"That makes sense," I muttered, nodding.

"Some of the things in here are ridiculous now that I look back on them, though," she said with a faint laugh.

"Like what?" Knowing her, it probably wasn't that ridiculous. She seemed to downplay everything.

"Oh, I don't know." Madie flipped through the pages in the journal. "Like...you know how I played soccer?"

I nodded. Of course I knew. 

She shook her head, looking at one page in particular, running a hand over the paper. "I had the tendency to get too worked up in games."

I lifted a brow, unable to keep a laugh from slipping out.

Madie smiled, too. "Nothing bad. I was just over enthusiastic, I guess. I was a better cheerleader on the sidelines than the actual cheerleaders I knew, that's for sure."

"What's wrong with that?" I asked, continuing to grin at the image of Madie screaming on the sidelines of a soccer field.

She shook her head. "Not sure, but coach would always yell at me for it. And then I'd be kinda pissed." Madie set the journal down on the coffee table next to the sofa. "Then there was stuff with my parents, of course. They hated how much I complained. They thought I was dramatic." She looked away, out of the window for a second. "So I learned to keep my mouth shut if anything happened at school. Or with my friends. Or Quinton."

I didn't want to say anything, but I really didn't like Madie's parents.

"And if I ever tried to talk to Quinton about how stuff, well..." She trailed off and leaned into the comfort of the sofa.

Suddenly, I was pissed again. "So basically," I said, "anytime you've shown any emotion, shown any bit of how you felt, you've been punished for it."

Madie bit her lip and gave a reluctant nod.

"That fucking guy," I grunted beneath my breath.

Surprising me, Madie sat up, shaking her head.

"I don't think it's just something that happens to women who've been...." Her eyes shifted away, downcast.

"Admitting it doesn't make you any less," I reminded her quietly. I'd heard my mom muttering shit like that to herself, mantras from some self-help shit she'd been reading. It was probably what convinced her to leave. Fuck that. She needed more than a mantra. But still, maybe it'd help Madie just a bit.

Madie inhaled, drawing my attention back to her. "...abused." She paused. "Bren, I think that's just what it is to be a woman. It's like... you're judged for having emotions because somehow they make you flawed and weak. Especially in an time when women are all vying to be the strongest."

She laughed, but it was dry and coarse. "But god forbid if you come across too strong. Because then you're overreacting at best and a bitch at worst."

Pointing to her notebook, she smiled softly. "That's why I like the journal. I can feel things without being judged."

Well, shit. It all made sense now—Madie's insistence on showing a brave face. The push and pull between her brazenness and shyness. Her resolution on being okay despite everything she'd been through. Her worrying that I'd think she was weak when all I wanted was to make sure she was okay.

I didn't know what to say. How could I change that? 

"I won't judge you," I said. It was all I could think of.

"I know you won't, Bren."

I pursed my lips. "Do you?"

Madie nodded, and I supposed I'd have to accept that for now. I hoped she was telling the truth.

"I was looking back at the journal this morning." Her voice dropped. It was quiet, considering. "So much of it revolved around Quinton. I should have paid more attention to the numbers and the words like my doctor told me to. I would have noticed the trend, the pattern."

I wish she would've paid more attention, too. But it wasn't like I could say that. 

"What do they look like lately?" I asked instead.

The smile reappeared on her face. Her gaze roamed over me, making me feel warmer than the sun that hit my chest. She tucked a hair behind her ear, and the whole thing was bashful and cute.

"Madie?"

"The numbers are higher," she whispered. "It's more about me, but sometimes I write about you."

I tilted my head to the side, wondering if I dared to ask what she wrote.

"I've also jotted down quotes from The Awakening," she added.

"Really? The Awakening?"

"Yeah." She set her mug down beside the journal and rubbed the back of her neck. "I like how she sort of frees herself. Feels fitting."

Well, I hoped it wasn't too fitting. The main character returned to her unhappy marriage at the end of that book. "The conclusion is...sad," I said, rather lamely trying to probe for more information on what she meant.

Madie pushed the blanket off of her, standing up. For the first time, I noticed that she was wearing a silky white robe, which made her look angelic in the morning light. Where had that come from? She padded across the room, lingering near the door of the ensuite bathroom.

A pointed glance got thrown in my direction. "Only because she was a woman of her time, Bren. And I think I'm a woman of my own time. Where women can actually have happy endings, ya know?" She drew her arms around her, outlining her perfect figure against the shiny garment.

"Is that what you wrote about in your essay?" I asked, realizing she never told me how that went. Those days sitting in The Grounds working on homework seemed so long ago.

 Madie nodded. "I wrote about how happiness is the one thing we're allowed to feel."

"Madie..." I flung the covers off and crawled from the bed. Crossing the room, I searched for something to say as I approached her. "I think you can absolutely have a happy ending. But there is also more to life than happiness."

"Oh, I know that," she snapped, and I grinned at her sass. She turned away from me, looking in the bathroom mirror as she smoothed down the gentle waves of her strawberry-blonde hair. Did she see how pretty she was? Did she know? I needed to make sure she knew. Later.

"I know you do," I said with a chuckle, coming up behind her. My chin grazed the back of her head, that hair of hers getting caught in my stubble. My own hair was wild, but I didn't bother trying to tame it. "What I'm trying to say is that you won't always be happy. It's a part of living. So you just gotta promise me something."

"What?" Her arms dropped to her side as she blinked into the mirror, watching me with careful eyes.

"Use that journal and write your heart out. But remember that we've all got some kind of fire that burns within us, Madie. Yours might be stronger than the rest of us, and there's nothing wrong with that. Stop taming it. Let it out. And please, don't let anyone put it out."

It couldn't go out again. Because she needed to stop drowning in the darkness of what other people had put us through.

The words washed over her, and I swear her eyes flared. And that was all I wanted to see. People needed to fucking quit telling my girl that she couldn't be fiery because that was my favorite part about her.

"What about you, Bren?" her small voice asked.

"Me?" When would she realize this wasn't about me?

I placed my hands on her shoulders, and she leaned back into me. The silkiness of her robe was a foreign caress against my bare chest. "Me?" I repeated, murmuring into her ear. My lips caught on her earlobe, and Madie released a soft moan. I traced my fingers over her exposed collarbone, letting them graze the edges of her robe, silk and skin mixing. We both shivered.

"You," she confirmed. It was breathy as she studied the way I was touching her.

The quickening rise and fall of her breasts beneath my hands urged them downward, following the trimming of the satiny robe until I reached the knotted sash around her waist. "The fire that burns within me," I murmured, brushing my lips over her neck, "is all for you, baby."

Flicking my gaze up to catch hers, I slowly untied her robe. I dropped the sash to the marble floor. Letting the robe fall open, I immediately groaned into her shoulder. "Oh, fuck me."

Madie stood there, hand on one hip, wearing the skimpiest lingerie I'd ever seen. And then her lips curved upward as she said, "Planning on it."

At that retort, all the blood in my entire body rushed to my dick like it was the only part of my anatomy I needed to live—like having her was all I needed to survive.

Meanwhile, Madie seemed unphased. She slid the robe off her shoulders, letting it slink down her arms and trail to the floor. Well, it would have made it to the floor if it didn't get stuck between our bodies, literally dangling off my erection like my dick was a goddamn hanger.

I grabbed the fabric and tossed it back into the bedroom with a curse. It flitted to the floor. Where it belonged. Turning back to the girl in front of me, my jaw went slack at the sight of her. Madie cocked her head to the side, resting it back on my shoulder while she kept an eye on my reaction through the mirror.

My fingers trailed over the sheer black lace on her breasts before dropping to the stringy, barely-there piece of fabric that somehow qualified as underwear. I played with the upper hem, flirting with a million ideas of how to touch her.

But my brain was too muddled for this. "How the hell do you continue to find new ways to tease me?"

My soft stroking flitted back to her stomach, making lazy circles with my thumbs while I took her in.

She didn't say anything in response, merely gave me a slip of a smile. Her lips parted. A pink tongue darted out, licking peach lips. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth before slowly releasing it. I knew what that mouth tasted like now, and I groaned as I thought about it.

Madie's eyes danced. Oh god, we were going to dance today.

I found the curve of her ear and slid the tip of my tongue down it. A quiver ran through her. And stayed.

"You're trembling. Is it because you're nervous?"

Inching downward again, I used one finger to ghost over the lace between her legs.

"No," she gasped, widening her stance to prove that point.

I felt where she opened for me and ran my finger back and forth across the wet fabric above it. I smirked down at her. "I didn't think so."

Madie squirmed against me. "Bren."

I kissed her bare shoulder, tasting her. My fingertips pressed harder as I massaged her slit through her underwear. "Hm?"

She flexed against my hand, trying to get more from me. I didn't give it. "What are you doing?" she panted.

I ran my kisses up her neck until I reached her ear again. "Just teasing you back."

I'd never had the urge to play with a woman's body before. Never before Madie. Sure, I liked making a girl scream my name as much as the next guy. I loved that shit. To be honest, I was a fumbling mess at it in the beginning, but eventually I figured it out. And then I learned that there was something about being able to give someone what they needed that was satisfying as hell.

Sex was just a give and take. Everything before Madie was always quick and dirty—not this slow, bold exploration that seemed to continue between us.

I guess I just didn't know that there were different ways to want something.

"Cut it the fuck out."

Well, maybe Madie was done with slow. I laughed, relishing in the attitude. And then, at the same time, I cupped my entire hand over her sex, jerking her back so she could feel how hard I was. I felt, more than heard, her sharp intake of breath as her ass pressed into my throbbing erection.

"Come on. You've spent an entire night taunting me before." Releasing her, I found the hem of her panties and edged beneath it. But I still didn't give her what she wanted. I brushed my touch upward to her hips. I twisted my fingers in the gauzy, lacy strings that held the fabric together and gave a little yank to see if I could get her to gasp even louder.

I could. I did.

Madie flung her arms up, tangling them around my neck. "You're playing with fire, Bren Hadaway," she breathed, our heated stares colliding in the mirror.

"Oh, I know." I pulled on her panties again, letting the lace slide slowly between her legs, dragging against her clit as I tugged upward. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

She lifted up onto her toes, following the movement as she arched against me. Her breasts threatened to spill from that see-through bra of hers as she twisted and moaned, and fuck, it was hot. With a groan, Madie rolled her head back and tugged on my hair at the same time. And suddenly, with that one groan, I needed her to come. And I needed to watch it.

Madie exhaled as I stripped her panties off, flinging them behind me. They landed in the tub.

Circling her waist with my arm, I anchored her to me as I dipped my fingers between ample thighs. Soft cries met my ears as I began to rub her slick nub, brushing it lightly at first. As I increased the pressure, Madie's weight sank onto me while she tightened her grip on my neck. "Bren, I'm going to fall."

But I was holding her, and there was no way of that happening.

"I've got you." A smile played on my face; I saw it in the reflection. I was grinning like a fool at holding her in my arms.

"I like seeing you happy, Madie," I muttered, maybe talking more to myself than her. "But I also like seeing you like this. Stripped down with every emotion playing out for me to see." She whimpered. "And I think you like seeing it, too." Her eyes flicked over us, and I knew she was listening.

I couldn't look away from the mirror as Madie arched against my hand while I touched her. Eyes barely holding focus, fighting to stay with mine. The hint of a rosy nipple grazing against black lace as she writhed. Every teasing freckle on her body, waiting to be kissed. This wasn't a hazy reflection like it had been that first night we were together in bed. This wasn't a testing of boundaries or a crossing of them. Everything was clear now.

Shit, I needed her. And I needed her now.

"Madie," I murmured, kissing her hair. "Come for me."

"Bren!" She erupted into shudders beneath my touch and sagged against my chest as she came back down.

I waited for the trembling to subside and for her to look at me with those soulful eyes. Then I whispered, "Time to turn around, baby."

🖤
I honestly didn't realize how long this got. But this chapter was pretty much my whole heart, and I hope you enjoyed it.
xoxo amelie