Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 217: _ His Body…

Chapter 217: _ His Body...

I moved lower on his body... slowly—trailing the sponge across his chest. My eyes followed the movements of my own hands, entranced by the slope of his collarbone, the slight twitch of his abdomen, and the way the water clung to his lashes like tiny crystals.

His chest rose and fell—steadily, but deeper now.

"You’re staring," he murmured.

"I’m inspecting," I whispered.

He chuckled low. "Should I flex?"

"Please don’t."

He flexed anyway. I dropped the sponge.

"You’re a bully," I groaned, reaching to pick it up.

His hand caught mine. I froze.

The atmosphere thickened around us, heavy with heat and something else I couldn’t name.

He raised my hand and pressed it to his bare chest, letting my palm rest directly over his heart. It beat strong and steady beneath my fingers.

"You feel that?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, unable to speak.

"That’s all yours."

And I broke. Not into pieces. But into feeling. Like something in me had melted and reformed.

Those three words sent my senses spiraling away. I cupped his face with both hands and kissed him gently and clumsily, like I had to learn this language with him and him alone.

He leaned into it, deepening the kiss just enough to make my heart race but not enough to scare me. Then he took the sponge from my limp fingers and handed me the shampoo.

"Wash my hair?"

He just broke our kiss right when it started to get better. Why?

Nevertheless, I gave a watery laugh. "You’re really milking this husband privilege early."

"I’m preparing you."

"For what?"

He grinned. "A lifetime of being spoiled."

Oh, Axel... if only.

So I stepped up, lathered my fingers, and began to run them through his hair. He groaned again—but this time it sounded like peace. Like home. His eyes closed, and he tilted his head into my touch.

"You’re good at this," he murmured.

"I’ve never done this before," I admitted.

"Exactly."

When I finished, he rinsed, turned off the water, and reached for a towel. But I stopped him.

"I’ll do it."

This caught him off-guard, me too. His reaction was a stiffen and an arched brow.

So I dried him. Slowly. Lovingly.

Every inch of skin I touched felt like permission I hadn’t known I’d earned. He let me take my time, let me fumble and blush and laugh when I accidentally tickled him.

After we were done in the shower, he carried me to the bedroom. There, on the bed, was one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants. They smelled like his cologne—clean and wool and just a little wild.

"I hope it’s okay," he said, setting me down gently. "I wasn’t sure what size you’d like."

"I like this," I said, pulling the shirt to my chest.

"You like smelling like me?"

My eyes darted to his. "Is this a trick question?"

He laughed and looked away, clearly pleased.

"Okay. Now you turn around so I can change." " I said, gripping the towel tighter which was foolish considering the moment we had just shared in the bathroom.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and spun. "I’m a gentleman."

"You are not," I muttered when he swerved right back to watch.

I slid into his shirt. It was so big, it fell to my mid-thigh, and I tugged the sweatpants up, cinching the waist with the drawstring. The fabric was soft, and worn, like someone had loved it for a long time.

"All done."

He nodded, grinning from ear ti ear. "You look..."

"What?"

"Like you belong here."

I swallowed. I didn’t know how to answer that.

.

.

And when we were both dressed and in bed, forgetting all about our agreement about couches, he pulled me into his chest and whispered, "Thank you."

I looked up. "For what?"

"For making me feel... like myself again."

The breath left my lungs.

And I thought: Maybe love wasn’t a grand, thundering thing. Maybe it was a sponge. A laugh. A heartbeat under your hand.

And a man who lets you see him... every inch, every scar—and still smiles like you’re the best thing he’s ever known.

I didn’t think I’d ever fall asleep with a man’s arm slung over my waist. But here we were.

The lights were off, the night air humming through the cracked window, and Axel’s chest was rising and falling behind me like the tide.

It was steady, dependable, and warm. He was curled around me like I was something precious, and his palm rested just beneath my ribs as if guarding the last bit of me that still doubted I deserved to be held like this.

"Comfy?" he murmured into my hair, his voice husky with sleep.

I shifted a little, pressing my back into his chest until our bodies aligned just so. "Mm-hmm. Shockingly, yes. I thought I’d be awkward. You know... flail in my sleep, elbow your face, accidentally kick you off the bed."

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through my spine. "Still time."

"Is that a threat or a challenge?"

"Whichever gets me more cuddles."

God, he was agonized. And yet... I liked him like this. Soft-edged. Drowsy. Unfiltered and not the ever-serious Axel I used to know.

My fingers found his and tangled together, palm to palm like I was about to begin a prayer. "You really meant what you said? That I’m beautiful?"

He didn’t hesitate. "Absolutely. With or without the scar."

I swallowed. It was stupid how much that one word; scar—still snagged in my throat. Like a fishbone, lodged into it and sharp. But he said it without flinching. Like it wasn’t something monstrous. Like it was just a part of me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He kissed the back of my head. "You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth."

"You’d be surprised how few people do."

"Well, they’re idiots."

I smiled, my cheek rubbing against the pillow. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Do you ever get scared?"

The silence descended for a moment too long, and I wondered if I’d broken the spell of our moment with my ridiculous question.

Then he said, very quietly, "All the time."

My breath ceased.

"Especially when it comes to you," he added.

When it came to me, the almighty Axel was scared.

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