by R. C. Martin
“You are incorrigible,” he mutters, lifting an eyebrow and pointing a finger at me. “And while you’re nice to look at, you’re too tired to be helpful—which, by the way, doesn’t instill me with the confidence to let you close Tuesdays, or any days, without me.” I can tell he’s trying to be bossy, but the smirk that plays at the side of his mouth gives him away.
“Well, if someone hadn’t kissed me last night, maybe I would have gotten some sleep,” I fight back, hiding a smirk of my own. “Really, this is your fault.”
Eryn gasps, taking a step closer to our face off as she folds her arms across her chest. “You kissed her? Damn, this is getting good. Where’s the popcorn when you need it? Tabbi is going to die when she finds out.” We gape at her, her intrigue giving us pause. “Keep going, keep going,” she insists. “Pretend I’m not here.”
I chuckle. I can’t tell whether or not I’m amused by Eryn, or just slap happy.
“I wouldn’t have kissed you if you hadn’t snuck in last night to bake cookies, when I specifically told you not to. Strike two, Sunshine.”
I open my mouth to throw out another retort, but I’ve got nothing.
“Touché,” I grumble with a playful pout. “I’m still taking you home!”
He turns away from me without further argument, mumbling something under his breath as he goes. When Eryn snickers, I giggle and I realize, in this very moment, I feel positively giddy—and I love it, even if it is drenched in exhaustion. The man who’s grumbling at me wants me, a feeling I reciprocate wholeheartedly. I’m not running from it. I don’t doubt it. I’m embracing it. For the first time in months, I’m really beginning to feel like I don’t wish I was somewhere else.
While Brandon takes care of things in the back, Eryn and I clean up behind the counter and out in the lobby. It’s twenty after nine when we lock up and Brandon and I wave goodbye to Eryn.
“You good behind the wheel?” he asks as he unhooks his bike from the rack. I watch as he hoists the frame up and snakes his good arm through the middle, resting the center beam on his shoulder.
“Wow. That’s hot.”
He laughs at me as he reaches for my hand. “That’s the sleep deprivation talking. I can tell.”
“I’ll be—” I’m interrupted by a yawn. “Fine,” I finish. “You don’t live that far, right?”
“Nah. It’s just about five miles. We’ll be there in no time.”
It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but we manage to fit his bike into my trunk when we fold down my backseat. Ten minutes later, I’m parked in front of his building and we’re pulling his favorite ride back out. He gently props it against the side of my car before he pulls me into his arms. I know he’s about to say goodbye, but as tired as I am, I’m not ready for that yet. I speak before he can.
“Do you live alone?”
“Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s home for now.” I nod, scrambling for something else to say. “Do you want to see it?” he asks before I can.
“Yes,” I answer without pause, a rush of excitement at the prospect of a few more minutes alone with him bringing life to my limbs.
“Okay.”
He grabs his bike and I follow him up the stairs to his second level apartment. As soon as we step inside his studio, he turns on the lights and my eyes are everywhere. The open unit is surprisingly spacious. His place is neat, but in that untouched sort of way—like he doesn’t actually use any of his things. Then it dawns on me that he spends so much of his time away from home, he probably doesn’t have time to make a mess.
He has furniture, but nothing matches. His bed is on the far left side of the room in the corner, the navy blue sheets hurriedly thrown over the mattress. The brown leather couch that sits in the middle of the room facing the window looks worn and comfortable, in contrast to the glass coffee table that’s modern and sleek. The kitchen is to my right. There’s a small dining room table with two chairs, both of which are pieces of a different pair. On the wall, just beside the door, is the rack where he hangs his bike.
“You can sit, if you want. I just need to make a pit stop really quick,” he says, nodding toward the bathroom.
“Okay.”
As soon as he closes the door behind him, I go to sit on his couch. Comfortable doesn’t do this baby justice. It’s like a warm hug. I can’t help but sink into its hold, relax, and close my eyes. It isn’t until I feel a kiss pressed against my forehead that I realize I dozed off for a minute.
“You just sealed your fate, sweet girl. You’re not going home tonight.”
“What?” I stammer.
“I don’t trust you for a second behind the wheel. It’ll take you fifteen minutes to make it home from here. I was in the bathroom for one. You’ll never make it. You can take the bed.”
“Brandon, I—”
“I’ll get you a shirt you can sleep in.”
“Okay, but I—”
“No use arguing. I’ll—”
I clap my hand over his mouth. “Hush a minute, will you? I’m just trying to tell you that I didn’t lock my car.”
“Oh,” he chuckles. “Give me your keys.” I do as he asks and he slips them into his pocket before he goes to his dresser and begins rifling through it. Once he’s found what he’s looking for, he comes back and lays the t-shirt in my lap. “I’m going to go lock your car. I’ll walk slow. You can change and slip into bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Before I can even open my mouth to speak, he’s headed for the door. When I’m alone, stepping out of my jeans and discarding my shirt top, it starts to sink in that I’m about to sleep in Brandon’s bed. On any other night, I’d be nervous about that. Yes, he’s claimed me as his—as have I—but this is all happening in a matter of days. I know reckless and irresponsible. I threw caution to the wind in my relationship with Luke. Part of me, the tiny, quiet, still lucid part, wonders if this is a good idea.
I’m so tired, though; and his bed—any bed—is exactly where I want to be right now.
Then, of course, there is my heart.
As I slip into Brandon’s long sleeved t-shirt, and as I’m overwhelmed by the scent of him wrapped around me, I’m reminded that I’m still here because I trust him. Not only that—I want him. I want more of him.
His words.
His heart.
His touch.
I want more of that feeling I get just being near him. I want more goose pimples, spurred on by the way he looks at me. And that warm, tingling, ache he causes between my legs—I want more of that, too.
I fold my clothes and set them on his coffee table before I make my way to his bed, unweaving my braid as I go. When I slip between the cool sheets and lay my head down, I know immediately that there’s no way I’m letting Brandon sleep on the couch.
I could lock her doors from the landing two steps away from my apartment, but I take my time and walk the distance to her car. I notice that she’s left her purse inside, so I grab it before I lock up. Girls always seem to need these things. Considering the weight of the damn bag, I’m sure she’s got everything but the kitchen sink inside.
As I slowly climb my way back up the stairs, I wonder if I’ll be able to get any sleep knowing that she’s in my bed. Not just in my bed, but in my t-shirt and little else. If it were any other night, under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have told her to stay. It’s going to be hard enough as it is, keeping myself in check and out of her pants. I wanted her even before I knew what the inside of her mouth tasted like. Now my desire for her is unreal. But tonight’s not about that. I meant what I said—I don’t trust her to drive right now. A tired driver is often times no different than a drunk one.
I open my front door slowly, taking a peek around to make sure I’m not walking in on her before she’s ready. I find her in the bed. When she sees me, she sits up and looks at me. Her long, wavy locks cascade down her chest and my sheets are bunched at her waist. My dick twitches and I already know I’m not getting any sleep tonight.
“You alri
ght?” I manage, making my way toward her. I set her purse down next to my nightstand, just in case she wants it later.
“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”
“I’ll be fine,” I lie. “It’s a comfortable couch.”
“No, Brandon—” She reaches for my hand and pulls me closer. Her movement inches the sheet down and I get a peek at the creamy skin of her thigh. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”
Shit.
“Sarah—I don’t know.” I force the words out, kicking myself with every syllable. “I don’t feel very confident that I can keep my hands to myself if I get in there with you.”
“Who said you had to keep your hands to yourself?”
In an instant, my mind is made up. How the hell am I supposed to say no to that?
WITHOUT A WORD, I let go of her hand and turn on the bedside lamp. I go to switch off the overhead light and then head to my dresser. I ease my shirt off, careful not to scrape the fabric against my bad arm, and then discard it, along with my jeans, on the floor. I pull a pair of gym shorts over my briefs and then I make my way back to Sarah.
She starts to slide to the far side of the bed to make room for me, but then she stops. I’m surprised when she gasps and crawls toward me, gently lifting my arm. “Have you seen this?” she cries.
I follow her gaze down to my sore side and spot the bruise I’ve suspected all day. It’s about the length of my forearm, but it looks worse than it feels, which is exactly what I tell her.
“Are you sure?” she asks, sitting back on her heels.
“Sarah?” I lean forward, propping myself up with a fist on either side of her. “You’re in my bed right now. In hardly more than a damn t-shirt. I promise you, I’m not worried about anything else.”
She doesn’t speak in response. Instead, after a beat of silence, she reaches behind me to loosen my ponytail. The act feels familiar. For a fraction of a second, I think of Olivia. When my hair falls across my shoulders and Sarah begins to run her fingers through it, her touch brings me back to this moment. I lean in to press my mouth against hers and she keeps me close, telling me what she wants as she parts her lips.
Without breaking our kiss, I ease myself onto the bed. When she moves to give me space, I move with her. I take her waist between my hands and pull her towards me. Our lips part just long enough for her to kick one leg over my lap before she straddles me. The second she rests herself on top of my hard cock, it’s as if she’s lit a match. We both feel it, I can tell by the way she clings to me when I pull her closer and plunge my tongue into her mouth.
My hands find her bare thighs and I’m amazed by the softness of her skin. It makes me want to run my lips over every inch of her body. As the thought crosses my mind, I drag my mouth away from hers and leave a wet trail of kisses all the way down her neck. She tilts her head back, granting me access to what I want.
“Brandon,” she whispers, almost as if my name on her lips wasn’t meant for me.
“Sarah,” I murmur just the same, my fingers sliding up her legs. I cup my hands around her ass and she grinds her panty-clad-pussy against my dick. I don’t even try and silence the groan that crawls out of me.
She reaches for my mouth with hers and I don’t deny her. With our tongues twisted together, she rubs against me again, this time releasing her own moan. When I can no longer control myself, her little movements taunting me to the point of no return, I slide my hands up under the shirt she’s wearing and grip her hips. She doesn’t resist me as I rock her back and forth across my erection. As we move together, she holds me tighter. I ignore the pain at my side, too consumed with this moment—this kiss—this woman.
When she breaks away from me, her chest heaving with her erratic breaths, I can tell she’s getting close to finding her release. She fists her hands in my hair as her eyes find mine.
“Brandon—I—I—”
“I know. I’ve got you. Come for me, baby.”
“I’ve never—” She loses her words as she tilts her head back, surrendering to the pleasure building inside of her.
She looks so damn hot right now, I can hardly stand it. My body reiterates that truth quite literally, my hips bucking up against her as I race toward my own climax. I can’t remember the last time I came like this, but I’m not surprised by the effect Sarah has on me. Her soft whimpers, my racing heart, this feeling, the longing that supersedes the barriers that separate my flesh from hers—all of these things combined make this the most erotic experience I’ve ever had.
When she cries out, she jerks at my hair, pulling my head back. As if she’s yanking it out of me, my cock contracts as I spill my own release. We’re both breathless as we come down from the physical high we’ve just shared. When Sarah’s eyes find mine, she furrows her brow and then buries her face in her hands.
“Hey, what?” I ask, my heart still pounding. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry! God—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
God? Seriously?
“Wait, hold on a second. Are you praying right now?” I ask, completely and totally unprepared for this turn of events.
“What!? No! Are you crazy?” she mutters, dropping her hands as she looks at me.
“Then what? What are you talking about?”
“I practically ripped your hair out,” she explains, her guilt evident in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. Shit—I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it to feel like that and it was—it was—it—”
“It was fucking incredible,” I finish for her, sliding my hand around the back of her neck. “Seeing you come like that is quite possibly my new favorite thing.”
“It is?” she sighs, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” I choke out with a laugh.
She rakes her fingers through her hair, dipping her chin to hide her smile. “You cried out and—”
“Sweet girl,” I chuckle, lifting her face so I can rest my forehead against hers. “That wasn’t because you hurt me. That was definitely a good sound. Now I have to change my shorts.”
She pulls away from me and her eyes light up as her mouth falls open. “I made you—?”
“Yeah,” I reply before kissing the corner of her mouth “So take it back—take back all your sorries. I don’t want them.”
She nods, sweeping her hair behind her ears. “I take them back.”
“Good.” I lightly tap her ass, signaling my need for her to move. “I’m going to go change really quick. Don’t fall asleep.”
“I won’t,” she promises, crawling off of me.
I stand and then turn back, reaching for one more kiss before I go. When she smiles at me, it’s as if she’s gently squeezing my heart, reminding me that it’s no longer in my possession.
I can’t take my eyes off of him as I watch him cross the room. It isn’t until he closes himself into the bathroom that I finally start to come out of the daze of ecstasy that I was just immersed in. The aftershock of my first orgasm still lingers just the tiniest bit and I close my eyes and relish the last few seconds of that memory.
I don’t know what came over me. One second I was in control. He had clothes on and all I wanted was to fall asleep in his arms. Then he had no shirt on.
Hot. Damn. Brandon had no shirt on!
Bruise or no bruise, he’s a masterpiece. When he started to kiss me, I could feel my exhaustion cowering in fear of my arousal—the horny princess inside of me that demanded the spotlight. It wasn’t long before the heat between my legs couldn’t be ignored. When he grabbed me from behind, it was like I was thinking with my wet pussy instead of my head. It didn’t matter that I’d never chased after an orgasm before, my body knew exactly what to do. And Brandon helped get me there.
“Hey,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against my forehead. “I thought you said you weren’t going to fall asleep.”
I draw in a deep breath as I open my eyes. I smile at him, the desire to speak nonexistent. I love how he doe
s that to me—that he makes me just want to be in a moment with him, appreciating him.
I also love seeing his hair loose. I know it’s not something very many people get to see. It’s thick and soft, cut just below his shoulders, and it’s the perfect shade of dark, honey brown. I reach up and sweep a bit of it behind his ear.
“I think it’s time for you to be sleeping now.”
I nod my head at the same time that I cup my hands around his face and lean in for a kiss. I like the way his short beard feels against the soft skin of my hands.
“I can’t get enough of you.” The words come out thoughtlessly, in a whisper, my lips grazing his. I can feel sleep beckoning me, the horny princess sated for the night.
“I’ll be yours tomorrow, Sunshine.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart. Come ‘ere,” he tells me, climbing under the sheets. He lies on his back and invites me to rest against his good side. I follow his cue and he holds me close. “Earlier—when you said you’d never…”
“Yeah.” I choke out a tired and embarrassed laugh. “I know. What twenty-three-year-old-smut-loving-ex-mistress hasn’t had an orgasm, right?”
“Hey, no judging,” he insists. “I was just wondering. Not even with—?”
“I told him no a lot,” I admit, snuggling closer to him, comforted by his protective grip. “By the time I was ready to say yes, it was too late.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I ask, tilting my head up to peek at his face.
“He didn’t deserve to have what you just gave me. I don’t even know that I do.”
“You do,” I assure him as I close my eyes.
I know this without question. I know this because it happened. I know this because we got there together.
I know this because that moment was ours—his and mine.
I WAKE TO THE sound of my phone ringing. I draw in a deep breath, patting around the bed, hoping to find the device and stop the ringing without having to open my eyes.
Then I smell him—Brandon. I’m drowning in that fresh, clean, earthy scent I love so much. Only it’s not him that’s wrapped around me. It’s his sheets. His t-shirt. The essence of him that still lingers on my skin. When I open my eyes, I notice two things right away: he’s not here and the sun is up.
