He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but gave me a small smile. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. I want to hire you because you have the makings to be a brilliant attorney. You’re smart, you’re fearless, and you fucking care about what you do, unlike most of the sharks at that place. You’d be an asset, I know it.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “I…that means a lot, coming from you.”
He crossed back to the bed and sat down with me again, taking my hand in his. “So come work for me.”
My heart dropped again. Why couldn’t he just drop this? “Brandon, can’t you see why that’s a bad idea? Really?”
He pressed his thumb into the center of my palm, then curled his big hand around mine and squeezed. He exhaled, long and hard.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess so. I just…I just want you close.” He shook his head. “Damn. It’s my fucking loss.”
I smiled and edged closer to him, pulling my hand from his so I could place my hands around his face to look at me. The sheet fell from its place around my chest, pooling at my waist, but he wasn’t distracted. I pulled him to me and pressed my lips to his.
“I think,” I said against his mouth, which was already nuzzling for more, “that we’ve gained a lot instead. Don’t you?”
In response he opened his mouth over mine and captured my lips, nipping and pecking as he pressed me back into the pillows. His mouth drifted drown, sucking on the delicate skin around my neck and moving farther down, to capture on of my nipples in my mouth.
“Ah,” I cried out as he bit it, lightly. “Don’t…mmm…don’t you have a flight to catch?”
“It’s my fucking plane,” he mumbled against my skin as he shifted to the other side, giving my other breast equally torturous attention.
He then sat up to kick off his shoes, loosen his belt, and unzip his pants. Before I could protest further, he had already applied a condom from the nightstand and maneuvered on top of me, pressing me further into the pillows so he could peer down with eyes luminous in the brightening sunlight.
“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered as he slid quickly into me, his hardness causing me to wince slightly before I could relax around him with a groan of contentment.
I arched against him, straining to adjust to his size, but shocked by how willing and ready I was for him so quickly.
“Skylar,” he mumbled as he nipped at my mouth. “I need you. Just…ah, baby, fuck, you feel good…just one more time.”
He slipped a hand between us and started to move his index finger in circling against my clit, but I pulled it away, surprised to find I didn’t need it. That tension was building just the same.
Brandon stopped moving and pulled back to look at me. “You okay? Shit, babe, are you sore? I didn’t think to ask.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, arching my hips up to meet his. “I just…Keep going, will you?”
As sensitized as I already was from the rest of the night, every nerve ending in my body was alight. The curve of him pressed against the exact right spot, the spot he’d tormented with his fingers so successfully that first night in my apartment and every orgasm since. I knew that if he kept going at that same, steady pace, I’d eventually explode around him without his extra help.
“You sure?” he asked, but he’d already started to thrust again. “Like that?”
I nodded. His arms moved up so he could balance himself on his forearms, weaving his fingers through my hair as he worked. His scent, fresh from his shower and utterly intoxicating, engulfed me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him closer.
“Please,” I muttered, “harder.”
He started to speed up his pace to a deeper, more unforgiving speed even while his lips were soft and tender against my neck and around my ear.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered as I started to clench around him. “I can feel you squeezing me. You’re so fucking tight, Skylar.”
He was struggling now to regulate his pace, breathing hard as he worked hard to thrust even and deep. He pressed his head into the pillow next to me, his hands drifting down to grab my ass and lift it up roughly to meet him, blow for blow. The slight shift of position was all it took, and after just a few more deep, penetrating pumps, my entire body began to shake as I came apart around him. He followed suit, and both our bodies seized together as we grasped, pawed at each other, completely filled with one another yet still desperate to get closer still.
His mouth clamped down on mine as we came, and his plundered my mouth like it was a life force, an anchor in a tide that threatened to carry him away. I wrapped my arms as tight as a vice. I felt the same way.
As the shaking subsided, we laid there, lifeless with his large body smashing mine into the soft mattress. He gave me one last long, lingering kiss before burying his face in my hair.
“I don’t want to go,” he said, nuzzling into side of my neck as he started to move again, very slowly. “You feel too fucking good. God, I can’t fucking get enough of you.”
I sighed. I understood the feeling all too well. Unfortunately, there was reality to contend with.
“You have a meeting at ten,” I reminded him, with obvious regret.
He groaned into my air, but still didn’t move. We lay there for a moment, listening to each other’s heartbeats until he finally slid out, grabbing some tissue next to bed to clean himself up as he removed the condom, threw it into the trash, and fixed his pants.
“I do have to go, goddamn it,” he said into my hair before he laid back down beside me. He gathered me close so I was nestled into his big frame, my naked back to his fully-clothed front. “But I’ll be back on Friday. Can I take you out then? Some place nicer than pizza this time? Nothing crazy, I promise.”
I traced the edge of the pillowcase with my finger, looking out the massive window where the sun was shining all over the bright white expanse of the Commons. The occasional small flakes would flurry off the tops of the trees in the wind, but the sky was a brilliant blue above the magical dreamscape. Eventually it would turn to gray slush built up on the side of the roads, but for a time Boston was the most beautiful place in the world.
I snuggled back into Brandon, allowing him to encase me completely in his strong arms, holding me against the warmth of his body. I’d miss him this week, more than I wanted to admit.
“Okay,” I whispered, finally letting go of the last vestiges of reserve I’d been holding onto. I just couldn’t do it anymore. “Your choice.”
Brandon sighed with utter content. He kissed me gently behind my ear and continued to hold me close until I had fallen back asleep watching light on the newly fallen snow.
~
Chapter 25
Between study groups, classes, and my time at the clinic, the next week flew by faster than I realized. Brandon and I had been trading texts and phone calls off and on all week, and we’d developed a natural rapport that gave me some faith in the future of our burgeoning relationship. His job required him to travel a fair amount, and God knew I’d be even busier than I already was come summer, when I’d hopefully be studying for the bar and preparing for a new job. I didn’t want to stress about us on top of all of that. I was relieved to find that I wasn’t worried about where he was when I wasn’t talking to him—it was consistently clear that I was often on his mind, and I found that trust came more easily to me once I’d decided to let my guard down for good.
On Thursday night, I was putting the finishing touches on a paper for my Postmodern Law class when my phone buzzed on the surface of my desk. I picked it up and smiled.
Brandon: hey beautiful. how’s the paper going?
Quickly, I typed in my response.
Me: good. almost finished. what are you up to?
Within less than a minute, my phone buzzed again. I opened a picture of a posh hotel room, taken from the vantage point of looking down Brandon’s trim waist and legs toward a crackling fireplace. His shoes were off, and I could see his big sock
ed feet crossed at the ankles over a small ottoman, a pint of beer in one hand at the far edge of the photo.
Again, I typed a short reply.
Me: u and your fireplaces. looks nice. jealous.
His reply buzzed almost immediately in my hand.
Brandon: wish u were too. miss u.
Before I had a chance to type something else, my phone rang, with Brandon’s name and picture on the caller ID.
“Hey,” I said, turning back to my paper. It was actually easier to multi-task when talking on the phone rather than texting.
“Hey yourself, Red,” Brandon rumbled, his baritone slightly deeper from the late hour. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
I grinned, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Thanks. It’s nice to hear yours too.”
“Thanks, hon. So listen, I know you’ve got to finish that paper, but I just wanted to check in about tomorrow.”
As if I could have forgotten. He’d only brought it up literally every other time we’d talked over the past five days.
“Yeah,” I said somewhat absently, having spotted a typo on my computer screen. I punched in a few keys to rectify the situation. “Dinner, right? Do you know what time you’ll be in yet?” His schedule had been up in the air most of the week—something to do about the deal he was working on.
“Ah, yeah, probably sometime early afternoon. We’re signing the papers at noon, thank fucking God, so hopefully I’ll be able to get out of here right after that.”
“That bad, huh?” I frowned at screen, trying to rework a particular sentence.
“I just want to see you, baby.”
His words set a small, warm fire in my belly, and suddenly grammatical errors didn’t seem to matter so much. I swiveled around in my desk chair and propped my feet up on the edge of my bed, wrapping an arm around my waist as if somehow I could mimic his touch.
“I want to see you too,” I admitted, and immediately a hum of approval zipped through the phone back at me.
“Good. So, I was thinking I’d pick you up around six.”
I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating that schedule in my mind. “Six? Isn’t that kind of early? I don’t even finish at the clinic until five.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was palpable. “Well, I was thinking I’d get tickets for something, and then we could go to dinner later. Do something nice since it’s Valentine’s Day and all. But I wanted to check with you first.”
My feet practically collapsed off the bed as I registered his words. “Ahh…” I stuttered as I quickly scrambled back to the computer to check my calendar. There it was, right at the top of the Friday box: February 14. The stupid holiday hadn’t even been on my radar.
Immediately I spun around and leapt out of my chair, making a stealth dash for my closet while I tried to keep him on the line. “Sure…yeah…what kind of tickets?”
He chuckled, low and satisfied. He probably knew he was catching me completely by surprise, the bastard.
“I don’t think I can tell you that yet, Red. Gotta keep some things a surprise, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know…I sort of like predictability.” I thumbed through my clothes, trying to decide if I had anything decent enough to wear out for Valentine’s Day with a man like this. I stopped for a moment, deciding to focus my energy instead on convincing him to divulge his plans. “Plus, you don’t exactly have the best track record with surprises.”
“I think I’ve done all right,” he purred, and I realized he wasn’t just talking about gifts. An image of the two of us bent over in his workshop last weekend flashed through my mind. Okay, so he wasn’t so bad at surprises.
“Come on,” I wheedled, deciding to try a different tactic. I pulled one dress, and then another—all of them a basic, boring black. “A girl’s got to plan her wardrobe. Don’t you want me to look all sexy for you?” I tried to make my voice sounds light and flirtatious, but I failed miserably.
He burst out laughing. “Babe, you know the ‘gotta please my man’ shtick doesn’t really work for you, right?”
“Gah!” I erupted, frustrated. I slammed my hand into my closet door. “Okay, can you just tell me whether or not it’s formal? Going to the opera is pretty different than going to see a band, you know?”
“Hmmm.” He was so obviously enjoying this. I rolled my eyes and stamped my feet, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
“I think,” he said finally, “that you’ll be fine in a dress. Something that shows off your legs.”
“Brandon!”
“I’m just kidding!” He laughed through the phone so hard that I couldn’t help but giggle with him. “Okay, you’ll want to dress up a little. But it’s not black tie or anything.”
“That’s really no help at all!” I screeched.
“Red?” he asked, his voice suddenly sweet. Its calming effect was immediate.
“Yes.”
“It’s just a date, not the Oscars. I can give you until six-thirty if you really need it, but that’s it. If Kieran tries to make you stay late, you can tell her I’m giving my funding for FLS to the business school instead.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I bet that would go over well.” I wasn’t worried. I could splurge on a cab if I needed to get back in time to get ready. If I could figure out something to wear in the first place.
“And baby? You’ll look gorgeous no matter what. Wear a paper bag if you want. I just want to spend the evening with you.”
I took a deep breath. I still had no idea what to wear, but his adoration was touching. I exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. Brandon?”
“What, Red?”
“No gifts. I mean it.”
He chuckled again. “We’ll see.”
“I mean it!” I yelped.
“Okay, okay, I got it. Listen, I need to finish up some stuff and get some sleep. See you tomorrow, beautiful.”
“See you then,” I said, feeling my insides once more turn to goo. “Bye.”
I tossed my phone onto the bed, all thoughts of my paper temporarily cast aside.
“Jane?” I knew my night-owl roommate would still be up.
“Yeah?” she called from across the small hallway.
I glanced back at my wardrobe, which was full of the same old clothes I’d been wearing forever. My bank account wasn’t going to like me very much this month, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. “You want to go shopping again tomorrow? I’m going to need a new dress.”
~
After I was finished with my paper a few hours later, I found myself too ramped up about my date the next night to study before going to sleep, which was unfortunate considering I had a lot to do the next day. Between my regular clinic hours and finding a dress appropriate for some kind of nondescript “tickets” event, I was barely going to have time to get in my regular studying and a swim before I met up with Brandon.
And yet…there I was, lying on top of my bed like a grumpy teenager at nine o’clock at night. Rolling to my side, I glanced at the picture on my bedside table of me, my dad, and Bubbe on the day I graduated from NYU. The giant purple graduation gown always made me cringe. Not only had it made me look like Barney, the bright purple almost turned my hair fluorescent in comparison. But it was one of the few pictures I had of the three of us. Someone had taken it candidly by mistake; while I was giving a cheesy, perfunctory smile at the camera, Dad and Bubbe were beaming at me, their eyes glossy with pride and love. I loved that picture because it reminded me of how critical they’d been to my life—how I wouldn’t be a fraction of the person I was if I hadn’t had their unconditional support my entire life.
Bubbe’s face had been decidedly darker when she’d mentioned the ticket she’d found in Dad’s pockets. He hadn’t owned up to anything when I’d spoken to him. It had been a few weeks since then. Maybe it was time for a serious call. He needed to know I loved him enough to care too.
Dad’s ce
ll phone rang two times before it went to voicemail. I checked the clock. It was possible he had a gig, but usually he only took them on Friday and Saturdays because of his early morning hours during the week. Still, even though he usually had to be up by five, he wasn’t likely to be asleep before ten o’clock. I decided to try the LAN line at the house.
Bubbe, of course, picked up after only one ring. “Hello?”
“Hey Bubbe, it’s me.”
“Skylar, bubbela! What are you doing calling here? Is everything all right?”
“Oh, sure, it’s fine. I was just trying to call Dad, but he wasn’t picking up. Thought I’d try here. Is he there?”
I heard a brief scratching over the phone, as if she was writing something down. Probably Sudoku—Bubbe was a sucker for games.
“Your father? No, Daniel’s not here. In fact…”
She trailed off, taking a deep breath that signified to me clearly she was about to get into a subject of major interest. In Bubbe’s world, that either meant one of two things: gossip or tragedy. My stomach clenched as I waited to hear which one it was.
“Believe it or not, your father…is on…a date!” she crowed.
I nearly dropped the phone in shock. My father was the consummate bachelor—I had literally seen him go on maybe two dates that didn’t involve my mother my entire life. I was never sure if that was because he still carried a torch for my mother, or if it was because he was so ruined by that relationship that he was never interested in taking that kind of risk again. But on both of the dates, he’d come home before ten, sat down at the piano without saying a word, and played until Bubbe had thrown a newspaper at him so he’d stop and she could fall asleep.
“Are you sure?” I asked once I’d recovered my voice. “A date? Really?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Bubbe insisted. “I know because they even stopped by to pick something up at the house before they left for dinner. I actually got to meet her!”
I frowned. I was slightly hurt. Dad wasn’t just on a date—he’d been dating someone long enough to bring home to meet his mother. And he hadn’t mentioned it to me.
Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1) Page 26
