Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)

Chapter 5

Brynley

Delicious scents of a male’s cologne gently touch my nose, and I feel oddly helpless in my hopes of ignoring it.

I mean…why should I ignore it?

It’s the first thing I’ve been surrounded by that doesn’t smell like lemon or cleaner or overworked and underpaid.

Letting my eyes flutter open presents me with two surprises, both of which – like the aroma – are welcomed.

The masked male bearing one blue eye and one brown has barely finished adjusting the wordsearch booklet on my bedside when I purr, “ You smell like heaven, sir. ”

An undeniably delectable rumble is poorly swallowed prior to his stare finding my crystal one. “Do you compliment all the men in your presence?”

“Just the ones I deem worthy of it.”

Despite the black fabric that stops just below his eyes blocking his expression, I manage to catch what I believe to be the tiniest twitch of a smile.

Wonder what the mask is about.

And why he’s got on gloves too.

Hospital cat burglar?

Is that a real thing?

“This is where you say, ‘thank you’ to the beautiful, half-naked woman whose room you’ve snuck into,” I sassily tease on a salacious smirk.

“ You are beautiful, Brynley ,” leaves his mouth without hesitation. “ You always have been. ”

There’s no stopping my eyebrow from arching. “You know my name.”

“I know much more than that,” he declares before spinning on his heels in a hurried exit. “And I didn’t sneak here.”

“ Prove it. ”

The declaration successfully stops his stride.

“ Stay. ” I drag myself up to a sitting position, doing my best to ignore the aches the painkillers were helping keep at bay. “ Show me that you know me. ”

His face curls over one shoulder igniting an unexpected ache in my chest.

McCoyhavefuckingmercy, why does this moment feel eerily familiar?

We’re talking like that “Cause and Effect” episode of Next Gen .

Holy shit!

Am I stuck in some sort of weird time loop?!

Wait.

Is my brain trying to send me a fucking message like Data sent himself?!

What is it?

That I really do know this man?

That he’s looked at me like this before?

Was there…pizza involved?

Why is the word laptop coming to mind?

Laptop and porn?

Concern instantly cakes itself on his expression as he cautiously accuses, “ You’re remembering something. ”

I opt out of being completely honest by replying, “A bizarre episode of my favorite show.”

“ Star Trek: The Next Generation. ”

“Ooooo,” slips out in a playful fashion, “mystery man with the great ass might know me after all.”

Against his own volition he chortles. “I know that you’re wondering if it feels as good as it looks.”

“Well, I am now .” Giggles cause my muscles to contract, sparking additional pain, but I ignore it. Lean into the warmth that somehow feels equally familiar and foreign instead. “Way to go, Mr. Millionaire.”

“ Wilcox. ” At that, he turns back to face me. “Weston – um – Wes Wilcox.”

The name triggers throbbing in my head prompting me to wince.

Fight the instinct to cringe.

Rather than explore the new discomfort, I opt for discovering more about the tall and delightfully scented man that was skulking around my hospital room. “And what do I call you?”

His black sweats covered figure sways itself back towards me. “ Depends. ”

“On?”

“Various variables.”

“Such as?”

“If you’re flirting with me.” He scoots the visitor chair closer to the bed. “If you’re pissed at me.” Sitting in it occurs next. “If you’re teetering between the two.”

It’s impossible not to snicker. “And what do you call me?”

“ Depends. ”

“On various variables?”

This time there’s no denying he’s grinning behind the fabric barrier. “Precisely.”

“Fine.” Grabbing the word search booklet is done in tandem with me inquiring, “What’s your favorite thing to call me when we’re alone?”

“ Little Prey. ”

My thighs mindlessly push together as if my body recognizes what my mind doesn’t seem to know how to register. “I’d never let myself be anyone’s prey.”

Wes wolfishly leans forward and folds his hands firmly together. “ You’ve always been mine. ”

Heat from his words has me flicking away a loose strand of hair from my face and diverting my gaze to the unopened object in my lap. “ You sound a bit cocky there, Mr. Wilcox. ”

“ You sound like you enjoy it, Ms. Brynley. ”

“You don’t know my last name?”

“I do.” He waits until my stare finds his again. “ You don’t. ” His statement furrows my brow; however, he doesn’t leave an opportunity for me to ask questions. “The giftshop didn’t have the best choices.” Wes tips his chin to the item I didn’t realize I’m death gripping. “It was either this or Disney themed.”

My blue glare falls back to the booklet to scan the subject matter inside. “You chose correctly. This one probably has ocean creatures in it.”

“You want sharks. ”

“I always want shark shit,” I giggle again, thankful when he joins me in the light laughter. “What the fuck else would I want? Whales?”

“You hate those.” He removes a pen from his pocket to offer to me. “Particularly killer whales, which are technically dolphins not whales.”

I snatch the writing utensil out of his hold at the same time I cheekily snip, “There’s no need for you to be sexy and smug.”

“You mean smart?”

“I mean you should take off that mask and those gloves and stop hiding from me.”

There’s no denying the stiffness his frame takes.

Or the change to his breathing.

“You wanna stay in my room? Then you play by my rules, Mr. Wilcox.”

“ Why? ” Wes’s lean forward is deliberate. Defiant. “You never played by mine.”

“You never really wanted me to,” absentmindedly flows off my tongue.

Hope ruthlessly ripples through his two shaded glare as he whispers, “ You’re right. ”

Of course, I’m right.

I’m basically always right.

They really should just call me Captain Rightcard.

Wait.

No.

Rewind.

That sounds like expensive deodorant.

Which is so not the galaxy I was aiming for.

Removing the top to the pen occurs in tandem with my announcing, “You will give into my demands-”

“Oh, now they’re demands?”

“Rules can be broken, demands have to be fulfilled.”

“That sounds like terrorism.”

“Negotiatism.”

“Not a word.”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“It most certainly isn’t.”

“I just used it in a sentence.”

“You just used it in an attempt to poorly correct mine.”

“And ended the shit with a period; therefore, making it a sentence.” Firmly pointing the pen at him is attached to a crooked smirk. “Now, drop the mask, Mr. Wilcox, or catch a wave out of here.”

Additional arguments are non-existent.

He simply lowers his hood.

Slowly.

Allows me to drink in his messy dark hair and burn patches littering his ears.

Reluctance clearly rears its ugly head a second time prompting me to refuse to throw the hungry beast even a crumb of chum. “ Don’t be a twat tease. ” The corners of my lips curl upward as the pen soars to rest against them. “ Show me the whole package. ”

Amusement skates into bewilderment, yet he resumes his actions.

Tugs at the edges of the cloth.

Has it descending inch by painstaking inch, until it’s lifelessly lingering around his bobbing Adam’s Apple.

The instant his face is completely exposed, I arrogantly declare, “I fucking knew it.”

“That I should’ve kept it on?”

“That you had a face I would totally accept an invitation to sit on.”

Hungry growls I’m for some reason grateful to hear precede him airily proclaiming, “ You have an open-ended invitation, Little Prey. ”

“And I will happily take that invitation if ,” my fingers turn to a random page in the booklet, “I like your answers to my questions.” Another effortless flick of the wrist allows the pen to gesture at his hands. “ Gloves too, remember? ”

Wes briefly surrenders his palms prior to beginning the removal of his accessories, starting with his right.

I allow my focus to fall to the object, immediately spotting the word Zebra from the savanna animal word bank. “Bath or shower?”

“With you?” The pause is minimal. “ Bath. ”

“It is more difficult to fuck in the shower.”

“It’s only more difficult to pin you down,” flirts the man that something in the back of mind is swearing isn’t a stranger.

Because if he were, he wouldn’t have known to get me this particular activity versus trying to shove a phone in my face.

And sure, he might’ve known my affinity for sharks – I have a fucking great hammerhead tattoo for Federationsake – but my disgust for whales is a little less well known.

At least…I think it is?

I drop the tip of the Bower and Powell Aquatic Institute pen onto the page and begin circling, smile spreading during the process. “That sounds about right. I like being pinned down but getting me pinned down tends to be the challenge.”

A small, almost tickled sounding grunt is expelled from the man I find more and more intriguing with each passing moment.

“Sailing or yachting?”

“ Yachting. ” He shifts the book closer to him the instant I’ve finished drawing. “We fight less and fuck more.”

Lecherous laughter that feels almost as natural as breathing reverberates throughout the room. “ That definitely sounds right.”

Wes flashes me a small smirk that’s followed by his eyes dropping to the sheet of paper.

“Calamari or oysters?”

“You don’t eat oysters unless they’re fried.” Outlining a find swiftly begins. “And never when they’re Rocky Mountain Oysters.” He pushes the object back to me. “You claim the only balls you want in your mouth for an appetizer are mine.” Snickers shake what has to easily be a six foot plus frame. “You have an amazing way with words.”

“My mom is very proud of that regardless of how much she bitches that my timing sucks.”

“Your mother is rightfully proud of you.” Our eyes briefly lock again. “ For so many reasons. ”

“How many of them are wrong?”

“ None. ”

Uncomfortable by the subtle praise almost as much as his intimate knowledge of me, I slightly shift my lower half and redirect my stare to searching for another word. “Better theme song, The Original or Next Gen? ”

“ Next Gen. ”

“Pulaski or Bones?”

“Bones – but the one from the Kelvin timeline.”

“The fact that you even know there’s a Kelvin timeline is incredible.” Sending my mirth filled gaze to his is accompanied by a wide grin. “And fins down the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Sharks and Star Trek. ” His smile stretches to meet the size of mine. “ That’s you. ”

“That is so me.” Curiosity freely roams my expression. “How long have we been dating?”

Color alongside confidence instantly drains from his face. “We aren’t…technically…dating anymore.”

“Why’d we break up?” Anger viciously darts up my spine. “Did you fucking cheat on me?! Because I swear t o Jean-Luc Picard I’ll-”

“ Never. ”

A skeptical eyebrow is immediately cocked.

“You’re it for me, Bryn. You’ve… always been it for me. My person . The one to challenge me. The one that sees me . The real me. Not the burns. Not the scars. Not the money or power. Not what I can do for them. No… ” His slow headshake precedes his rough palm reaching over to gently clutch mine. “You see the man that would rather spend days locked away reading comics rather than quarterly reports.”

“ Nerd… ” seeps free in an impish fashion.

“You see the man that struggles every goddamn day to find his place in the world…to…leave behind his mark in his family’s legacy.”

Legacy?

Who the hell am I dating?!

Is he a celebrity?

Athlete?

Oh!

Oh!

Secret prince?!

“You see the man that’s hungry for growth and change, not clout and wealth.”

My body thoughtlessly leans a little closer.

“ You, Bryn…You see the man I strive to be…not the monster I keep managing to become. ”

It’s impossible to stop my pen free hand from adoringly cupping his cheek. “Then why aren’t we still together, Wes?”

“ We are. ” His left hand leaves its resting position to present itself to me. “ We’re married. ”