And she was tired of waiting. Hands on his shoulders, she broke the heated kiss and pushed him toward the tub. Seconds later, water streamed over them. The steam was nothing compared to what was in her veins.
Brandon rested a hand at the small of her back, to pull her close.
She smirked and broke away. “We’re supposed to be showering, remember?”
He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in that sexy-as-hell, crooked grin that drove her wild. “What did you have in mind?”
Since she’d been staying in the room all week, her toiletries surrounded them. She plucked her body wash from the corner.
He wrapped his hand around her wrist and narrowed his eyes, but his smile never wavered. “Apricot energizer?”
She twisted away from his grip with a laugh. “Are you worried about smelling like a girl?”
He ducked his head, his lips hovering close enough to her neck that she felt his breath, but he never made contact. He glided his nose lightly up her skin. “I’m concerned that if I smell like you, you’re going to be even more impossible to get out of my head.” His hard length dug into her stomach, nudging and pleading as he kissed along the edge of her ear.
She tilted her head back and sighed, sinking into the feather-light caress. “Good.” She stepped back as much as she could in the confined space—a few inches at the most—and poured a small dollop of soap into her palm. She set the bottle aside, rubbed her palms together to distribute and warm the body wash, and then slid around him. Her breasts rested against his back, and he groaned and leaned into her.
She glided her hands easily up his chest, with the suds. His scent mixed with her soap. Combined with the steam in the room, it pulled her into a pleasant state of mind, where she could imagine they were the only two people in the world and her concerns about thousands of miles and the end of the weekend didn’t matter.
She soaped over his shoulders and across the back of his neck, memorizing every line of definition as she went. When she slid down his back and over his ass, he let out a low groan. She moved her hands to his legs and worked her way back up.
He inhaled sharply when she brushed his erection. The water streamed over them, as she gently caressed the skin, covering every area and stroking him at the same time. He bucked back into her when she cupped his sack. She massaged and cleaned, letting the steady, artificial rain wash everything away. His breath came in short gasps.
“Not yet.” She moved away from his cock. She reached his stomach again, and he grabbed her wrists and spun to face her.
He dipped his head until his mouth hovered inches away from her ear. “I’m not as patient as you. Remember?”
She nodded. She also remembered his take-command tone, and she swore it stroked the ache between her legs until the sensation was a dull roar for attention. He pressed her against the wall, and her body slid against his. She was soaked between her legs, and it had nothing to do with the water.
He moved both of her wrists to one of his hands, and grasping them tightly, he pinned her arms over her head. He crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries of surprise and arousal. He moved his free hand to her stomach, and then lower.
Her pulse raced through her veins at the strength in his grip. He set his foot between hers and pushed her legs apart. His fingers reached her pussy, and she gasped when he slid between her slick folds.
He sucked on her neck, working his teeth and tongue over her soft flesh. She gasped and arched her back when he found her swollen clit. He stroked her sex hard, while he ravaged her with his mouth. His stiff shaft ground against her hip, while he pushed so many other buttons at the same time.
She was only vaguely aware of rocking against him, as her climax built. He shoved two fingers inside her, and the sudden sensation of being spread open tore through her. Screams of pleasure ripped from her, as she came, leaving her hoarse.
Molly’s legs wobbled beneath her.
He dropped her arms, and they fell limply by her sides. He fisted her hair and yanked her head back, to kiss her hard again. Lust and desperation darkened his crooked smile when he pulled back and locked his gaze on hers. He tugged her down.
She took the hint and dropped to her knees in front of him. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and thrust his hips. She took his length in her mouth, and slid up and down.
Brandon grunted and swayed his hips against her face. Fingers still wrapped in her hair, he helped her keep the rhythm.
She traced her tongue up the side of his cock and over the head every time she bobbed up and back down. She moaned against his skin when his pace increased.
She cupped his balls, kneading the skin. He thrust faster, groans coming in short, clipped breaths now. She looked up and met his gaze. Three weeks ago, she couldn’t have imagined herself doing something like this, but during their phone conversations, she’d learned a lot about what she was—and wasn’t—comfortable vocalizing. She pulled away long enough to say, “Come for me? I want to taste you.” She glided her tongue down his shaft again.
His grip on her hair tightened, and his thrusting became frantic. A warm saltiness spurted against the back of her throat, and he let out a final groan and relaxed.
He tilted to the side, resting his shoulder against the wall of the shower, and held out his hand. Molly gripped it, and he pulled her to her feet. Water still spilled around them, erasing the tension in her limbs but calling to the exhaustion from the long week.
He kissed her lightly, laying a series of pecks across her lips and chin. His voice was soft, almost vanishing in the roar of the pipes. “Maybe we should really get clean now.”
“I suppose.” She leaned into him, forehead against his chest. The entire moment felt so natural. So comfortable. Why couldn’t it stay that way longer?
MOLLY’S HEAD ROSE AND fell with Brandon’s chest. His breathing became steady at least an hour ago; he had to be asleep.
But rest was nowhere to be found for her. The doubts she had before he showed up raced back in force. What were they doing? Sex once a month, in random hotels? A couple of lurid messages exchanged in between? That wasn’t the relationship she wanted.
She rolled onto her back. There was a connection between them that went deeper than sex, but how were they going to explore that option, with so little time together? It didn’t seem possible.
“What’s wrong?” His sleep-filled question drifted through the room. The mattress shifted, and a few seconds later his face appeared in front of hers.
She didn’t want to do this right now. She was drained, and he was exhausted after travelling all day. She shook her head. “Insomnia. I’ll be fine.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Tell me.”
No. It could wait. They’d talk about it in the morning. They had all weekend. But her mouth had other ideas. “What are we doing?”
His brows knit together, and he stared at her for a moment before responding. “Talking? Not sleeping?”
“I mean in general. A new city every few weeks, some really hot sex, and then abbreviated conversations in between?”
“What should we be doing differently?”
Frustration surged inside her. “I don’t know. It’s just that we don’t even really know each other.”
He yawned wide, and his hand flew to his mouth. “Sorry. We still have fun, right?”
She nudged him out of the way and sat up. The sheets dropped away, and the air rushed in around her bare skin. “Yes, but it seems like we’re missing something.”
He sat next to her, sleep lining his voice and mingling with a hard edge that wasn’t there before. “So what should we be doing differently?”
This was a bad idea. He was too tired to hear her out. But now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. Let’s get to know each other. What’s your favorite movie?”
She didn’t want to do this. Not with both of them exhausted and stressed out.
“Chasing Amy.”
He made a noise that sounded like a half-groan, half-sigh. “Pseudo-intellectual dialogue and a miserable, ambiguous ending? What the hell’s so great about that?”
She clenched her teeth, annoyance shoving aside her reluctance. “I like it. Your favorite movie is better? Dumb and Dumber or something?”
He snorted. “Ace Ventura, Pet Detective.”
She rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the mattress. “Forget I said anything.”
“What?”
“This isn’t working.”
“You didn’t give it a chance,” he said with irritation.
She glared at him with disbelief. “First thing out of the gate, and you all but told me my favorite movie was stupid.”
“So? That’s my opinion. I’m allowed to have those, aren’t I? It’s not my fault you like something lame. Relationships aren’t built on favorite movies, anyway.”
This was a bad idea. She rolled over, so her back was to him. “Forget it. The sex is fantastic—that’s what matters”
“Molly.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. If you’d like to talk, I want to listen. I’ll take it seriously.” He traced his fingers along her skin, sending a pleasant chill through her. “Please?”
The light touch filled her with ambivalence. “I don’t want to fight. We can do this in the morning.”
“We’re both awake now.” He tugged on her shoulder. “And it’s still eating at you.”
She adjusted her position, so she was looking up at him. “But it’s not the kind of thing we can fix with a few hours of swapping favorites. That’s the problem. We’ll never have more than a few hours. And when we manage to find that time, we have to choose—get to know each other, or lose ourselves and our clothes in the moment?”
He trailed a finger down her arm. “We knew it was going to be like this. We both spend our working lives on the road; we live worlds apart. Okay, maybe only states, but it feels like worlds. It’s a balance we’ll have to strike.”
“Except we’re not building on a solid foundation.” She shouldn’t be making this difficult, but she needed to get it out now, or it would devour her. “A couple of stolen kisses and shared words don’t last long, and then weeks or months apart at a time are going to feel like we’ve taken two steps back. We’ll spend as much time catching up as we will on moving forward.”
He frowned and pulled away. “Have you ever heard this speech before?”
His question triggered something inside, but she pushed it aside. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it made her stomach churn and her head ache. “No.”
“Are you sure?” He leaned back on his arms, his dark gaze seeping into her. “Not from those other men, who got fed up with your schedule and didn’t think it was going to work out?”
Shit. She sounded just like them. The realization cut deep. Something else joined it, and she choked back the frustration. “What if they were onto something?”
He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Really. Then you actually believe this is only sex, wrapped in a waste of time and frequent-flier miles?”
The words dug into her and hurt more when she couldn’t deny them. “Maybe.”
He stared at her for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. He shook his head. “If you feel that way, this isn’t the relationship I signed on for.”
“It’s not a relationship. That’s the problem. It’s hot and heavy screwing, punctuated with long-distance dirty talk.”
Frustration, hurt, and anger smeared his face, and he turned away. “If that’s what you think, who am I to argue?”
Chapter Twelve
Brandon’s fingers itched over the pocket holding his phone. He wasn’t going to check it again. There wouldn’t be anything from Molly on it. He paced near the luggage carousel in the airport. He hadn’t heard from her in two weeks, but that didn’t stop him from checking, hoping, and glancing for new messages every few minutes.
Funny how quickly she’d become a habit and how much it ached to try and break himself off her. Even now, he swore he caught a tease of her body wash, from that evening in the shower.
As much as he hated to dwell, she had a point. He didn’t want to admit it, because it meant things wouldn’t be as easy for them as he’d hoped. The more he thought about it, the more he knew she was right. Meeting occasionally for a quick screw didn’t make a relationship.
His familiar duffel bag dropped onto the carousel. He’d debated about whether or not to replace it with a sturdier black suitcase but he liked being able to find his bag at a glance, among the others on the conveyor.
He hopped on the rental-car shuttle and stood near the door, not interested in sitting down. Her schedule said she’d be in Phoenix this week and next. She wasn’t looking forward to it when she told him. He didn’t blame her. It was October. It shouldn’t be one hundred degrees.
Twenty minutes later, he had his destination programmed into the GPS on the rental car and was following the mechanical voice’s directions. He pulled onto the 202 Loop, heading east.
The biggest problem he had with Molly’s logic was that it didn’t make it any easier to forget her. There was something between them, and he couldn’t move past that.
His mind drifted to fantasies of her straight black hair and intoxicating laugh. His brain checked in to focus on driving, but mostly pored over images of Molly. Each time he dove into those memories, his resolve grew. He needed her in his life. She was a haunting image he couldn’t ignore. A desire he could only sate with her.
It was early enough in the afternoon, even on a Friday, that traffic wasn’t too heavy. He’d wanted to make sure he arrived before anyone started leaving their offices. Still, he made a brief detour, to the dismay of the GPS, pulling through the drive-thru before finishing his trip.
By the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot, his fingers were drumming on the steering wheel without permission. He couldn’t ignore the adrenaline pumping through him anymore. He made his way to the front entrance. One foot in front of the other. Nice and normal-like. There was no need to run. It wouldn’t make time go faster.
The building was five stories tall, mostly brick, with minimal but well-groomed plants out front, like every other hotel he’d seen over the years. Inside, the lobby was as predictable—polished tile floors stretching past a check-in desk to elevators and a smattering of plush furniture.
The man behind the counter looked up with a practiced smile as Brandon approached. “Can I help you?”
Brandon took a deep breath. Please let this work. Please, whoever’s listening out there in the ether, let this be the right thing to do and the right place to be.
MOLLY WASN’T LOOKING forward to the weekend. For the first time in ages, she wanted to go home, hide in her apartment, and eat ice cream. Fat chance of that. She was stuck in Phoenix for another week.
She tried not to linger on thoughts of Brandon, struggling with every ounce of willpower to convince herself he’d only been a fling. The problem was she didn’t believe her own denial. The connection she felt to him was so much more than a one-time deal.
Cool air blasted her skin, when she stepped through the hotel front doors, shoving away most of the heat. She stopped just inside the entrance, legs refusing to move, when her gaze landed on the lobby. No way.
Her heart skipped. Her brain screamed that this was going to hurt again, and she told it to shut the hell up. Brandon sat in one of the chairs, half-turned toward the door, his attention on a book.
He looked up, grin threatening to split his face when his gaze met hers. He was on his feet and crossing the room in an instant. He stopped before he reached her.
Was she relieved or disappointed at the distance between them?
He held up a generic white paper bag, full of something. “Italian sub, no onions,”
Her favorite food. She couldn’t help her smile. She nodded.
“Tomorrow, I’m picking. That is, if you’ve got a few hours to spend
getting to know each other.”
She closed the remaining space, threw her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his. For the first time today, she welcomed the heat. He rested his free hand against the small of her back. He returned the kiss with a hungry growl, tongue diving in to probe her mouth.
She broke the kiss but didn’t pull away. She’d missed this feeling so much. But she wouldn’t let it be a repeat of the last two times. “You wanted to talk?”
He nipped her bottom lip. “Yes. I know you have to work next week, but I’m between gigs and cons, so I was hoping you’d let me stick around.”
He was there. He’d tracked her down and offered what she asked for. Maybe she was dreaming. She tugged him toward the elevators. “I would love that.”
The moment the doors closed behind them, he pressed her against the far wall of the car and kissed her again. His solid frame pinned her to the wood paneling, and her pulse raced. She ran her fingers up his arms, burning every sensation into her memory.
The elevator jerked to a stop at her floor, and he pulled back with a gasp. He grasped her fingers and tugged her into the hallway.
She led the way, her thoughts still trying to wrap themselves around the situation. He let go of her the moment they were in the room, set the food on the table by the door, and stepped away from her.
That was a little disappointing.
His fingers twitched at his side.
When she stepped closer, he moved out of reach. She raised her eyebrows in question.
His shoulders slumped. “It’s taking all of my restraint not to strip you down, toss you on the bed, and ravage you until you’re too worn out to move.”
She did like the sound of that. “Okay?”
“But”—he tapped his foot, maintaining his distance—“I want to make this work, and I need you to be happy with it long term. So we have to set some ground rules first.”
“Like what?”
“I couldn’t handle being away from you for two weeks. We weren’t talking, and that made it infinitely worse, but you’re right; long-distance is going to be tough.”
Faking Love (Fake It Book 1) Page 6