by Lauren Dane
Ten minutes later they were at some dive bar with sports on the big screen and hot wings on the table. Beers all around, lots of congratulations and a bit of good-natured ribbing. Some of the guys already knew about the engagement, of course, since Brandon still shot hoops with them or had them over to watch a game. But the more Darren drank, the more Brandon remembered why it had been so long since he'd hung around the guy.
'Seriously, my old ball and chain . . .' Darren shook his head. 'Fucking on my ass, dude. All the flicking time. About everything. What about your old lady? She try to tell you what to fucking do every single second?'
Brandon's phone hummed from his pocket with a reminder of Leah's earlier text messages. 'Yeah. Pretty much.' 'Dude,' said Darren. 'Dickweed,' Brandon answered.
And though most of the guys razzed him when he got up after a single beer and a dozen wings, Brandon only grinned and refused to let them rile him. He was going home to get laid. The rest of them were probably going to spend the night with Mary Palm and her five sisters.
'Later, guys.'
He headed out into the dark parking lot, his collar turned up against the cold that at least had kept the groceries in his trunk fresh. He came up alongside a guy leaning against the brick wall in front of where Brandon had parked. Guy was peeing, the splash of urine loud in the night air.
Gross.
'Hey ..." The man turned, his eyes going wide as he tucked his dick back in his pants.
It was Mike, Leah's ex. Brandon had thought they were done with that douche, who'd finally stopped calling her about a month after Leah and Brandon got together. Now here he was, a pimple that needed squeezing. 'Dude,' Brandon said. 'Go away.'
Mike sneered. 'Saw your engagement announcement in the paper.' 'You're not invited.'
Mike put a hand over his heart. 'Oh, I'm hurt.'
Brandon shook his head. He didn't have time for this jerk. He had a hopefully homy fiancee waiting for him at home. Thinking about it again - the fact she had, indeed, agreed to marry him, that Leah would be his wife in just a few short months - Brandon let out a soft chuckle.
You laughing at me, you prick?'
Shit. The guy just wouldn't let it rest. Brandon turned again. 'No, man. Look, I know you were carrying a torch and ail that and, believe me, I get it. If I'd been stupid enough to let Leah get away from me, I'd be pretty pissed off at myself, too. But you have to back off.'
'Let her get away?' Mike coughed. 'Right. Like I wasn't finished with that bitch?'
Brandon had opened the driver's door but now paused, a hand on it. His shoulders straightened. His teeth gritted. He let go of the door and turned around, and Mike, that stupid fuck, didn't even have the sense to back up.
Don't call her that,' Brandon said evenly, but through a clenched jaw. 'I've had enough of you and your shit. Get the hell away from me.'
Or else what?' Mike's eyes shifted from side to side, and he bounced a little. 'What's the big boy gonna do? Whatcha gonna do . . .
boy!'
The emphasis he put on the last word forced a hiss of breath from Brandon's lips. He didn't give a damn what Mike thought of him, his age, his relationship with Leah, none of that. All he wanted was the guy to get out of the way so Brandon could get in his car and get home to her. But Mike had never proven himself to be particularly smart when it came to knowing when to give it up. Leah didn't talk about him much. Brandon got the idea she was ashamed at having dated him at all, much less lived with him, and, if there was only one thing in the world Brandon thought Leah should fault herself for, it was that. But hell, it wasn't like he'd never made any dating mistakes. Crissy came to mind every so often, and he always winced at the memory.
Now, though, Brandon stared hard at the other man. 'Back off.'
Ooh. Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?'
Brandon shook his head. 'No. I'm . . . advising you.'
Mike's lip curled back from his teeth. In his seven-hundred dollar suit, his hair carefully combed back from his face, he looked every inch the successful business man — except for the crazy in his gaze. He tugged at the knot of the tie at his throat, then shook his head to toss back a stray hair that had come loose from the gel.
'Fuck you,' Mike said.
Brandon put his keys in his pocket and closed the door to his car. 'Seriously. Back. Off.'
Mike drew in a long, snorting gasp and spit a huge, disgusting loogy onto Brandon's left shoe. 'Or what?'
Shit. Leah had bought him these shoes, and they were nice. Brandon frowned.
'Why are you doing this? Seriously. Do you want to get your ass handed to you? I mean . . . really? Haven't we, like, had this same conversation a few times already? I'm pretty sure it ended bad for you before.'
'She won't marry you,' Mike said. 'You know that, right? Leah won't ever get married. It's not in her to do it.'
The slow simmer of anger roiled to a boil at Mike's words. That the prick thought he'd been close enough with her to think he knew what the fuck he was talking about made Brandon want to strangle him. That he might be right made him want to kick the bastard in the teeth.
But, even though Brandon knew he could reach out a fist and grab the guy by the throat and shake the breath out of him, he didn't do it. Instead he pulled a handful of tissues from his pocket and bent to wipe off the already congealing spittle from his shoe. Then he stood, the crumpled, snot-smeared tissues in one hand, and tucked the mess into Mike's breast pocket.
'She'll marry me.'
Mike punched him in the face. Brandon saw it coming but didn't have time to turn before Mike's fist connected squarely with his cheek. Bright stars of pain flared, blinding him, and Brandon stepped back with a muttered curse. Mike didn't wait for him to recover. He punched Brandon again, this time opening his nose so blood spurted freely.
'Son of a bitch!' Brandon clapped a hand to his face, blood dripping between his fingers. He'd also bitten his tongue, and tasted blood in his mouth.
Mike, the stupid punk, didn't have the sense to run away. In fact, he stood, stunned, like he couldn't believe he'd actually just punched Brandon. Twice.
Motherfucker.
Brandon grabbed the front of Mike's shirt with the hand not holding his nose. His fingers curled tight in the expensive fabric. He yanked the other guy towards him, up on his toes, to bring him eye to eye. He took his hand from his nose, which was still bleeding.
'I would like to punch your fucking ticket for you, you know that? I would really like to fucking kick your fucking ass,' Brandon said in a tight, furious voice. He paused to turn and spit blood onto the pavement. Mike let out a small whimper. 'The fuck are you thinking? Punching me in my fucking face? The fuck, man?'
Brandon was pretty sure he'd never said the word fuck so many times in a row, but there was nothing better to say than that. His nose was on fire, his eyes watering, and the d-bag in his fist just batted at him with ineffectual fists and couldn't seem to find anything to say.
Brandon jerked him closer, i should call the fucking cops on you!'
'No, no,' Mike said in a strangled voice, i'm already on probation for a DUI . . .'
'What?' Disgusted, Brandon shook the other man until Mike's face turned bright red. 'You are a flicking moron! Come up here, punch me in the face, and you're on probation? The fuck's the matter with you! No matter Leah dumped your ass, man, you're a fucking waste of fresh air.'
Brandon dropped him. Mike stumbled back, a foot going wrong, and went down into a puddle of oily water. His elbow clipped the car next to him and he let out a howl of pain. Brandon, watching, found another handful of tissues in his coat pocket and held them to his nose, which throbbed and ached.
'I seriously want to fucking kick you in the face,' he said.
'Why don't you?' Mike cried, struggling to get up. He leant on the car, cradling his elbow. His face was still red.
'Because I think you want me to,' Brandon said. 'Maybe it would make you feel better to have me be this giant dick that knocked th
e shit out of you, so you can feel better about all of it. I don't know. I don't care. I'm not going to punch you. You're not worth the bruised knuckles.'
Mike ran a shaky hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place. 'She's got you that whipped, huh?' Tired of all of this, his earlier joy thoroughly shit on now, Brandon sighed. 'Yes. She does. And I love it.'
Mike just stared. Brandon swiped a hand over his face again, wincing at the throb in his nose. At least his hand came away without any fresh blood.
'Get the hell out of my way,' he said to Mike. 'Or I'll run you over.'
This got Mike hopping, finally, and Brandon got in the car and drove home.
It wasn't like Brandon to be late, but it was an hour past the time Leah had been expecting him from the last text he'd sent. She'd been looking forward to coming home to a clean house, dinner ready, her errands finished and his eager hands and mouth waiting to please her.
She was entirely too used to the royal treatment. Now, waiting for him, Leah realised she was taking Brandon for granted. She didn't like to admit this, but it was the truth.
When she heard the key in the back door lock she whirled from the sink where she'd been running water into the teakettle. 'Brandon?'
The door creaked open and he appeared in the doorway, his shoulders hunched. At first she thought he'd worn some crazy tie-dye shirt to work today, which made no sense, but once he came into the light she could see the blotches of brown and red were of blood diying on the material.
'What . . . are you all right?' She rushed to him, but he held her off when she'd have hugged him. 'Don't get any on you.'
Leah tipped her head to look up at him. 'Your nose . . . and you have a black eye, and a cut on your cheek. Were you in an accident?
'If you count your ex-boyfriend's fist hitting my face as an accident, yes. Leah hissed in a breath. 'What?'
He was at the bar when I came out,' Brandon said, then cleared his throat as though it hurt. 'What an asshole.' 'Oh . . . baby, I'm so sorry. Come here.' Leah took his hand and led him to the kitchen chair, where he sat.
Seated, his face reached her chest, and Leah could look down at him. She put her finger under his chin and tipped his head back, then slowly, gently, side to side to view the damage. Her heart hurt at the swelling and darkening bruises.
'I can't believe he hit you.' She went to the freezer and pulled out an icepack, wrapped it in a towel and pressed it to his face. 'Tip your head back.'
Brandon did. 'Forget it. He's not worth even talking about.'
She cupped his face in her hands. 'He hurt you.'
Brandon smiled with a wince. 'Not so much.'
Did you . . . hit him back?' She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. 'I wanted to.'
Leah went to the sink and wet a cloth, brought it back to wipe off the streaks of flaking blood from his cheeks. 'But did you?' 'No. I told you. Not worth it.'
Something in his voice made her look deep into his eyes. Most of the time she could read him like a book. Better than, because a book had words and sentences, punctuation that had to be deciphered, and knowing who Brandon was and what he meant came wholly from her love for him.
'What did he say to you?'
'Nothing.' He put a hand over hers to stop her from wiping his face. 'Brandon,' Leah said softly. 'What's the matter?'
He stood, pushing her away a little, to go to the sink where he cupped a handful of water and rinsed his mouth. He put both hands on the sink, his broad shoulders hunched, his head low. Leah had never seen him even close to broken before.
Brandon.' She knew the tone of her voice would turn him, but she didn't want him to bend to her just now. So when he gave her his profile, Leah went to him and pressed her face to his back, her arms around him, locked tight at his belt buckle.
'He said you would never marry me.'
Oh, honey.' She sighed against him and felt the rise and fall of his body as he did the same.
Leah stepped back and hooked a finger in his belt. She tugged as she stepped back again, and Brandon turned. He was a big man, and he took care of her, did everything she ever asked, and Leah had come to expect he always would. But had she not been as forthright in proving the same to him?
I'll get the groceries.' Brandon's fingers went to hers on his belt, gently prying her free. Leah didn't let him go. 'No. We can get them later. It's OK.' But dinner —'
I had some toast. I'm fine.'
Baby,' Brandon said, voice still hoarse. 'If I don't take the stuff out -'
No,' Leah said again, more firmly this time. 'You're coming upstairs with me. Now.'
He sighed, broad shoulders lifting once more, and Leah softened her tone. 'Please.'
Finally he looked at her, those big dark eyes more distant than she'd ever seen them. Then he let her take him by the hand and lead him upstairs. They didn't speak, and that was fine.
In the bedroom, she stripped off his coat, loosened his tie, opened the buttons on his shirt. She'd been afraid to see more bruises, but Mike had apparently focused his attentions on Brandon's beautiful face. She kissed him over his heart.
Leah tugged open his belt and heard the sweet intake of his breath, but she didn't loosen it from the loops. She undid his zipper and pushed his trousers down and off. Then his briefs until he stood naked in front of her.
It wasn't often that she knelt at his feet this way, but Leah didn't mind. It was her turn to take care of him, now. She slid her hands up his calves, his thighs, around to cup his ass. She nuzzled at the coarse dark hairs of his legs.
His cock was already getting hard. When Leah licked his balls, his hand found the top of her head, his fingers twisting in her hair. They twitched, pulling, but Leah didn't move. She used the flat of her tongue, then the point to stroke and tease at the soft flesh.
He breathed her name. She took him in her mouth, and he groaned. When she drew him in deeper, the head of his prick nudging at the back of her mouth, his fingers twisted harder, and Leah's own groan eased out over her mouthful of cock.
She sucked him, stroked him, until the sound of his breathing changed and his knees shook a little, and then she pushed him back towards the bed and pushed a pillow beneath his head. She stripped for him, not too slowly.
Naked, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him. At another time she might have shifted upwards to cover his face with her cunt, ridden his tongue until she burst into ecstasy. But not tonight. Now Leah bent over him, her mouth skimming his body in all the places she knew would please him the best.
Only once did he try to stop her, to urge her up over his mouth, but she shook her head and Brandon fell back on the pillows and let her have her way with him. Leah took her time, relishing every second of it.
She was so wet and ready for him by the time she slid up his body and pushed his delicious, thick cock inside her, there was no resistance. Only pleasure. Only exquisite delight.
It took more than this to make her come, but Leah didn't ask Brandon to touch her. She touched herself, instead, intent on making sure he gave himself up to pleasure without having to worry about hers. Watching him, his eyes closed, brow furrowed, his gorgeous mouth thinned with his concentration, Leah found she barely needed a fingertip on her clit to push herself towards orgasm. All she needed was to watch him heading for his own.
They came within seconds of each other. It took her by surprise, the force of it. She always came with Brandon, often more than once, but this time the first surge of sensation was so fierce, so full, all she could do was ride it. Ride him. Grip his cock with her cunt, his body with her thighs. All she could do was let her head loll back and cry out his name.
In the minutes after, when she'd sunk onto the pillows beside him, both breathing hard, Leah turned to rest her head on Brandon's shoulder. She put her palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow. He turned to kiss the top of her head.
'I love you, Brandon.' 'I love you too.'
Leah tipped her face to look at him. 'And I intend to marr
y you. I said I would.' He said nothing. Leah sat up to look down at him. She kissed his mouth. Are you worried?'
He swallowed and shifted in the sheets. 'No.'
If he'd ever lied to her, Leah didn't know about it. She wasn't offended, now. If Brandon had doubts, she couldn't blame him, what with running away to Vegas and all that - she'd told him over and over since then that she was more than ready to marry him. But maybe she hadn't done enough.
'Look at me,' she said.
He did.
'I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be Mrs Brandon Long.' His mouth tipped at the corners. 'I thought you didn't want to change your name.' 'Would it make you happy if I did?'
He got up on one elbow to look at her. 'Only if you wanted to.'
She smiled and kissed him. i want to marry you, Brandon. With the cake, the dress, the Chicken Dance at the reception. Everything.'
'The Chicken Dance? Are you sure?'
The Chicken Dance was probably the last thing in the world she wanted to do at her wedding reception, but Leah nodded anyway. All of it. I promise you. And I'm so, so sorry if anything I've ever done or said made you think otherwise.' He stroked a hand over her hair. 'You didn't. Leah raised a brow. Are you sure?'
He laughed, low. 'I want you to be sure, that's all. I want to know that when you get up there with me that it's with . . .' 'No reservations,' Leah said with a laugh, thinking of the trip to Las Vegas and everything that had happened since then, i promise you, it's true.
'We don't have to have the Chicken Dance,' Brandon said. Oh, thank God.'
They laughed together and snuggled close. Brandon fell asleep first, and Leah looked at him for a while. She'd have to make sure not to take him for granted again. Not ever.