Wanting him
1305 Words
MILLIE'S POV
I should have pulled away.
Should have put distance between us after that kiss, should have retreated to the guest room and pretended my entire body wasn't still humming from his touch.
Instead, I stood there in his living room, my fingers still twisted in his shirt, staring up at him like he held all the answers.
"Millie," he said softly, and the way my name sounded on his lips made something inside me ache.
"I need to know something," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
His hands were still on me…one in my hair, one at the small of my back…but he didn't pull away. "Anything."
"The money." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "All those years I was gone, every six months, money appeared in my account. That was you, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
The confirmation should have made me angry. Should have felt like another chain, another way he'd kept me tied to him even across the ocean.
But all I felt was... confused.
"Why didn't you stop? I asked you to in that letter. I asked you to let me go." I pulled back just enough to see his face clearly. "Did you even see the letter?"
Something flickered across his expression… pain, maybe, or regret. "I got your letter. I read it so many times the paper started to tear at the creases."
My chest tightened.
"I stopped searching for you like you asked," he continued, his thumb brushing absent circles against my lower back. "But I started sending the money, Millie. I needed to know you had resources if something happened. That you and Leo would be safe, even if you never wanted to see me again."
"You also sent a message." The words came out sharper than I intended. "Threatening me to return. And I'm sure you pulled strings on my mother's property rumors too."
His jaw tightened. "It wasn't intended to threaten you. It was a reminder that there were people here who missed you…. Who wanted you home." He paused. "But no, I didn't pull strings on your mother's properties. That wasn't me."
I studied his face, looking for any sign of deception. Found none.
"How long have you known where I was?" I pressed further, "That I was in Spain. When did you know?"
He was quiet for a moment, and I could see him weighing his answer. Finally, he said, "I knew all along."
My breath caught. "What?"
"I knew." His hand cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "But you asked me to trust you, so I did. I promised I'd turn the world upside down to find you, and I would have…but you deserved the chance to come home on your own terms."
"Four years," I whispered. "You waited four years."
"I'd have waited longer." His voice was rough, raw. "I'd have waited forever if that's what you needed."
"Why?"
"Because I know you, Millie. You're not a coward. You were never going to let them keep what was yours." His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, catching a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "I just had to wait for you to be ready."
Another tear slipped free. Then another.
"Hey," he murmured, pulling me closer. "What is it?"
"No one's ever..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't find the words for what I was feeling.
No one had ever waited for me. No one had ever trusted me to find my own way back. No one had ever believed I was strong enough to survive on my own.
Until him.
"Millie." He tilted my chin up. "Look at me."
I did.
"I love you."
Time stopped.
The words hung in the air between us, impossibly heavy and impossibly light all at once.
"What?" I breathed.
"I love you," he repeated, and there was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty. "I've loved you since that night. Since before that, probably. I know it's too soon, I know you're not ready to hear it, but I'm done hiding it. I love you, Millie."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at him.
"You barely know me," I whispered.
"I know enough." His other hand came up to frame my face, holding me like I was something precious. "I know you hum when you're nervous and you check on Leo three times before you sleep. I know you speak Spanish when you're angry and English when you're scared. I know you bite your lip when you're thinking and you cry when you think no one's watching."
How did he know these things? How had he seen so much of me when I'd tried so hard to hide?
"I know you haven't let yourself want anything in four years because wanting things got you hurt," he continued, his voice dropping. "But Millie, I want you to want this. Want me. Even if it scares you. Even if it feels impossible."
A sob caught in my throat.
"I'm not asking you to say it back," he said quickly. "I just need you to know that this..." he gestured between us, "...isn't casual for me. It never was."
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I don't know how to trust someone again. How to let someone in. How to…"
"Neither do I." His lips brushed my forehead, soft and reverent. "But we'll figure it out. Together."
"What if I run again?"
"Then I'll wait for you again." He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "Every time. For as long as it takes."
The tears came freely now, and I didn't try to stop them.
This man. This impossible, patient, infuriating man who'd waited four years without complaint. Who'd sent money without expecting anything in return. Who'd let me go even when every instinct must have screamed at him to hold on.
Who loved me.
"Braham," I whispered.
"Yeah?"
I didn't have words for what I was feeling. Didn't have the courage yet to say what he'd just said to me.
So I kissed him.
Not tentatively this time. Not carefully.
I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air. Like he was the only solid thing in a world that had been spinning out of control for too long.
He made a sound low in his throat… something between a groan and a growl… and suddenly his hands were everywhere. In my hair, on my waist, sliding up my back.
"Millie," he breathed against my lips, and my name had never sounded like that before. Like a prayer. Like a plea.
"Take me upstairs," I said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "Please."
For a moment, he just stared at me, and I saw the war happening behind his eyes. The restraint. The need.
"Are you sure?" His voice was strained. "Because if we do this again... if I have you again... I won't be able to let you go."
I reached up and pulled him down to me, my lips brushing against his as I whispered, "Then don't."
Something in him snapped.
He swept me up into his arms like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped myself around him as he carried me toward the stairs. Our mouths never separated, the kiss growing deeper, more desperate with every step.
By the time we reached his bedroom door, we were both breathless.
He kicked it shut behind us and carried me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the hunger burning in his eyes.
"Last chance," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
I reached up and started unbuttoning my blouse, holding his gaze the entire time.
"Don't you dare stop."
- Writer
