Chapter 169

Brandon's POV

Looking at her upturned face, those earnest eyes watching with such expectation, something warm spread through my chest.

I picked up one of the slippers.

June laughed, rubbing the back of her head self-consciously. "I was at the mall today and couldn't resist."

Standing up, she pointed at her own feet, already adorned with matching pink slippers. "See? Mine say 'Queen of the House.' We're matching! Aren't they adorable?"

I tapped the tip of her nose gently. "It's really good! I like them."

"Then put them on already!" she urged, bouncing slightly.

I slipped off my shoes and put on the slippers. "Did you go to the mall alone?"

"Of course not." She threw her arms around my neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss the corner of my mouth. "I invited Edward and Sean over for dinner today!"

My eyes narrowed immediately. "Why would you invite them? From now on, when I'm not here, don't let them in. Even if they are my friends."

June bit her finger in mock distress. "God, you're so controlling! But what about Ruby and Scarlett? I invited them over too!"

I relaxed as I realized she was teasing me. The tension from the family dinner dissipated, replaced by warmth that only June could create.

"Well said," I said, keeping my expression deliberately stern.

My hands found her waist, fingers tickling her without mercy. She squirmed in my arms, trying to escape.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry!" she pleaded through laughter. "Stop! You know I'm super ticklish!"

She tried retaliating, poking at my sides and ribs, but I remained unmoved by her efforts.

"No fair!" she protested, pushing ineffectually against my chest. "You're not ticklish at all. You're just bullying me!"

Her weak shoves barely registered, but the sight of her—flushed and indignant—stirred something deep within me. The family tension, Mother, Elle—all faded compared to the woman before me. My wife.

I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her against me. June looked up, suddenly caught in my gaze. Her breath hitched, the teasing atmosphere replaced by electric tension.

I bent down and scooped her into my arms.

"Brandon!" she gasped, hands bracing against my chest. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

June's startled gasp ignited a fire in my chest, her soft weight pressing against me as I carried her to our bedroom. I laid her down on the bed with care, her trusting eyes meeting mine. The playful teasing from moments ago melted into something deeper and more urgent. My lips found hers, slow and deliberate, savoring the sweetness of her as the world around us seemed to fall away.

"I love you," I whispered against her skin, my voice thick with emotion.

The room grew quiet, filled only with the sound of our synchronized breathing. As the night deepened, every touch was a silent promise, every breath an admission of how much we belonged to one another. I lost myself in her—in the warmth of her embrace and the soft, melodic sounds of her voice calling my name. The boundaries between us blurred until there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only this perfect, shared moment in the sanctuary of our room.

We moved together with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, unspoken bond, a rhythmic dance of passion and tenderness that left us both breathless. In the heat of our connection, I felt the weight of the world lift, replaced by an overwhelming sense of possession and love. She was mine, and in her arms, I was finally home.

When the storm of passion finally subsided into a gentle calm, I collapsed beside her, pulling her small, trembling body into my arms. Her skin was warm, her hair a beautiful mess across the pillows. She nestled against me, exhausted, her voice a faint, playful murmur.

"You said just once," she whined, eyes half-closed, a soft pout on her lips.

I chuckled, kissing her forehead and tightening my hold, feeling more content than I had in years. "I might have lied," I whispered into her hair. "But I think you've earned your rest now."