Taken

by Jennifer Dawson

  Leo winks. “He’s not the only one, honey.”

  Brandon stiffens next to me.

  And I make the only choice I can at the moment and get the hell out of Dodge.

  14

  Brandon

  What in the fuck just happened?

  I stare after Veronica, my mind dull as all the blood has rushed from my brain to my cock.

  Leo shoots me a sideways glance. “Did I choose wrong?”

  No, he hadn’t. Because I swear to god I would have pounded into her right in front of everyone.

  Not because of kink.

  Not to exert my dominance.

  Not to fulfill some exhibitionist fantasy.

  But because I’d literally forgotten anyone was there. Where I was. Or the consequences of my actions. Once her mouth touched mine, I’d only had one driving thought, one driving need: Claim her.

  Honestly, it’s the only thought I have now.

  I shake my head but it doesn’t begin to clear.

  I watch her walk through the room in the direction of the hallway that leads to the back. Where my office is. My eyes narrow. Where my couch is.

  My couch designed to fuck. To spread a girl out. To take.

  I’m going after her. She’s mine. I have to possess her.

  I take a step in her direction and Leo’s hand locks around my arm.

  I jerk, somehow surprised to see him there. I bark, “What?”

  Calm as shit, he increases his grip. “Take a second to think about what you’re about to do.”

  I yank my arm away. It’s like lust is pounding in my veins. Consuming me.

  Leo looks me in the eye. “You’re not thinking clearly. I know you want her, but do yourself a favor and give yourself a chance to think it through.”

  “He’s right, Brandon,” Michael adds, oh so goddamn helpfully.

  “Fuck you,” I say, then turn away from them.

  She’s mine. And nobody is going to stop me from claiming what belongs to me.

  I race through the room in the direction she’s headed. Several people attempt to get my attention but I brush past them, putting them off. My only coherent thought is Veronica.

  Some part of my brain recognizes that I’m not thinking clearly but I don’t care.

  Through the crowd I see the flash of her white dress.

  I weave around a waitress.

  Take off down the hall.

  She’s about to go into the back where Reggie is waiting to talk to her.

  Let her go.

  Fuck that.

  I sprint the rest of the way, and just as she’s about to push through the door, I grab her wrist.

  She spins around, her face going wide with shock. Her gaze dips to my mouth before her honey-brown eyes meet mine.

  My need for her rushes through my blood like a drug.

  I pull her away.

  She doesn’t say anything.

  My fingers are tight around the fine bones of her hand. I tug her down a corridor, and the first door I stumble upon, open before pushing her inside a storage closet.

  The door shuts, and I swing her around, slam her against the door.

  She lets out a small oomph. Opens her mouth. But before she can say anything my lips cover hers.

  And it’s like a fucking bomb goes off.

  Our mouths clash together. Our kiss is hard and brutal.

  Her arms come around my neck and she’s pulling me closer.

  Pressing against me.

  A desperateness I’ve never experienced with any other woman takes ahold of me and refuses to let go. I slant my head, deepening the contact, my mouth a searing brand as every cell in my body screams I take her.

  Claim her.

  Fuck her.

  Own her.

  Make her mine, absolutely and irrevocably.

  I shove the hem of her dress up her thighs.

  We shift.

  Her legs come up.

  I dip down.

  My aching cock rocks against her cunt.

  She gasps into my mouth, and I growl low in my throat as I thrust against her.

  Frustration at the barriers between us have me lifting her up.

  Her legs come around my hips.

  I grip her ass in both hands, holding her in place and pound against her like I’m a fucking animal.

  Our lips still fused together, she cries out, clutching my shoulders, her hips matching my rhythm.

  My fingers dig into her.

  All our heat. All our tension. It fills the room. Consumes me.

  It’s insanity.

  It’s not enough, but I can’t gain sufficient control to stop.

  Our panting breaths and fighting mouths and surging bodies are an unstoppable force.

  Her legs tighten around me. If I don’t stop, she’s going to come.

  If I don’t stop, I’m going to come.

  Completely clothed, dry fucking her like a teenager, I’m about to explode.

  And I can’t goddamn stop.

  Her questing hips pick up speed and she starts to frantically rub her cunt against me. Harder and harder. I’m meeting her stroke for stroke.

  Fuck.

  Stop.

  Fuck.

  She tears away and her head bangs against the door.

  Stop.

  She moans, making crazed, mindless sounds, her eyes closed.

  Her nails dig into my neck. “Brandon.”

  Stop.

  Then her thighs clench around me, and she arches, her chest heaving, her lips parted in a desperate cry as an orgasm rips through her. She calls out my name in a husky moan, and as I watch the ecstasy race across her flushed cheeks and mindless expression, I do the unthinkable, and slip over the fucking edge.

  Like a rutting beast, I come against her, unable to help myself.

  I’m not inside her, I’m not even skin to skin, and it’s an insane, intense rush of pleasure.

  I hate her for it.

  * * *

  Veronica

  As the last tremor of blinding pleasure sears through me, imprinting Brandon into my skin, our eyes meet.

  We’re bonded together in this hopeless, uncontrollable lust.

  What can only be described as pure panic, followed by horror, rushes across his features. Then the spell breaks and it’s like a bucket of ice water pours over us.

  We stare at each other, unblinking.

  My legs slowly fall from his waist.

  His hands leave the curve of my ass.

  I come to rest steady on the floor.

  His palms run over my hips, pulling the hem of my dress down.

  I rest against the door.

  He steps back and rakes his hand through his hair.

  “Brandon.” His name is an uncertain stutter.

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “You.” He shakes his head again, and wipes his hand against his mouth like he’s trying to rid himself of the taste of me. “That. Shouldn’t have happened.”

  “I know.” It shouldn’t have, at least not like this.

  What happened, there’s something wrong about it. Something unbearably intimate and raw about being so desperate for each other that we couldn’t pull away long enough even to rid ourselves of our clothes. I want to hide away from the fact that he’d made me so crazy I’d had to fight back the orgasm. Been unable to help myself from going over as his hard cock pounded ruthlessly over my clit.

  A muscle worked in his jaw and he shoved his hands into his pants. He’s not happy.

  We’d broken. We’d been out of control. Unthinking. Mindless in a haze of relentless desire.

  I know him well enough to know that Brandon doesn’t like to be out of control. I’ve seen how he operates. He’s cool, composed and refined about almost everything. Except when his mouth had been on mine. I could feel all his unleashed power spinning like an out-of-control top as he’d basically fucked me fully dressed against the door.

  I t
hink back to what Jillian said, about him never sweating. I’d made him sweat. I’d made him lose it on me.

  And there were going to be consequences.

  “Veronica.” My name is already cold on his lips. His jaw hardens, and when he looks at me, his features are closed off and remote. “There can never be anything between us.”

  Every ounce of common sense I possess insists I accept this and leave. It would be so much easier that way. I want the words to come out of my mouth, but they don’t. I tilt my head. “There’s already something between us.”

  His shoulders straighten. “I’ll concede we have an uncanny amount of chemistry—”

  I hold up my hand. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  His expression flashes. “It’s enough, Veronica. It happened. It won’t happen again.”

  I laugh, and wonder what kind of craziness has taken over me. “Stop saying things that you can’t follow through on. It’s a matter of time.”

  “We work together. And a work relationship is all we can ever have.”

  “That’s an excuse, to remain distant, and you know it.”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  I hate the cool politeness of his tone, so different from the man that had been burning me alive. I wave my hand. “So what’s this? Just a minor annoyance?”

  “Yes.” He nods, as though affirming to himself.

  I cross my hands over my chest. “I see. So it’s common for you to want a woman so bad you can’t pull away long enough to fuck her?”

  Anger tightens his face, hardens his shoulders. “Maybe we got carried away.”

  “And when’s the last time that happened?” I step forward and poke him in the chest. “You hate that I saw you like that. That I witnessed the great Brandon Townsend lose it.” I poke his chest again. “You hate I have power over you.”

  At my next poke, he grabs my hand tight. “You need to watch it, little girl. You have no idea what you’re messing with.”

  I throw my shoulders back. “What do you want to do? Tell me.”

  Aggression is practically vibrating off him. He steps closer. “I want to turn you around, put your hands up against the door and spank you.” He moves closer. “Humiliate you.” A little closer. “Control you.” We’re not a half an inch apart now. “I want to break you.”

  I instinctively take a step back.

  He follows. “Ruin you.”

  My spine presses against the wood.

  “Violate you.”

  He puts his hands on either side of my head. “Fuck you until the only person you ever want in your life is me.”

  I’m so hot, so mesmerized. “You need to control me?”

  “Yes.” His head dips down. “Like you’re a fucking drug.”

  I have no idea what instincts are riding me. What’s making me act this way. But it feels like something he needs and I don’t question why. I lick my lips, duck down and shimmy so that I’m facing the door.

  He’s still bracing himself against the door and I put my hands next to him, peer over my shoulder and meet his eyes. “Do it.”

  He growls and a fierce need crosses over his face. “Veronica.”

  “Please. I want you to.”

  His hands fall away and he shifts back, gripping my hips.

  I press my cheek against the wood and close my eyes. “I’ve thought about it. What it would feel like.”

  “And then what?” His voice is strangled.

  “Then I fuck myself with my fingers and come.”

  He groans. “I can’t do this.” But he’s already lifting my skirt.

  “Please. I need it.” I arch my back. “And so do you.”

  His hot palms sear over my satin-covered ass. “Why do you think that?”

  My fingers flex on the door. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “We are playing with fire.” He leans over me and presses against me. He’s hard.

  “I know.” I can’t help but press into it. “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Why?” His fingers play over the edge of my panties, along the swell of my hips, and I shiver.

  “You’re the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

  He sucks in a breath and his grip on me tightens.

  “I think I’m the only thing that makes you feel alive too. I think you hate it, but you need it.”

  “Veronica.” My name is an urgent whisper now. He starts to drag my panties down.

  And his phone goes off—the ringtone loud and alarming. He curses and immediately pulls my underwear back in place.

  I jerk. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a problem. I need to take care of it.”

  “All right.” I straighten and adjust my dress over my hips. “I’ll come to.”

  His gaze skims over me than he nods. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Brandon

  It’s three in the morning and I’m sitting alone on the couch in my office drinking hundred-year-old scotch straight from the bottle. After I’d dealt with the problem that had been the only thing that kept me from making another irrevocable mistake, I’d avoided Veronica for the rest of the night.

  In fact, I’ve avoided everyone and I can’t wait for the last of the crew to go home so I can leave and forget this night ever happened. I can’t even think about the storage closet. Or how my palm twitches at the thought of smacking her perfect fucking ass.

  I take a sip from the bottle, hissing a little as it slides down my throat.

  What a fucking disaster. She’s a disaster. Like a storm blowing into my life and fucking everything the hell up. I regret the day she stepped out onto that balcony. I should have sent her away the second she spoke, but I hadn’t, and she’s systematically destroying everything I have built my life around.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Come in.”

  The door opens, and while I’d been expecting Reggie, telling me they are finished, Michael walks in, and without a word, sits down on the chair and raises a brow.

  I frown. “It’s late, I thought you left.”

  “I did.” He’s wearing jeans now, and a black T-shirt. His six-five frame takes up all the space even in my oversized chair. He picks up a glass from the table and holds it out to me.

  I sigh, lean forward and tip some of the amber liquor into the glass. In the low light it’s the color of Veronica’s eyes. It’s like she’s haunting me. I take another sip as he kicks back and stretches out his long legs, resting the glass on the arm of the chair, relaxed in his hand.

  “Why aren’t you home with your pretty fiancée?” I ask, even though I know why he’s here.

  “I thought you’d like some company.” He takes a sip of his drink before looking at it. “I love this stuff.”

  “I’ll make sure you get some as a wedding present.”

  He smiles. “Deal.”

  I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I don’t want company.”

  “I know you don’t want it. I thought maybe you needed it.”

  There’s only one thing I feel like I need right now, and I sent her home hours ago. “I don’t.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.” I scowl. “And what’s with you guys always wanting to talk about shit now?”

  He laughs. “I owe you.”

  “For what.”

  “That night I met Layla, you pushed me.” His eyes narrow. “Or don’t you remember?”

  I remember. Clearly, I’m an idiot for never expecting retribution. “Not that same thing.”

  His head tilts. “No?”

  “No.”

  “You told me I’d watched her long enough and it was time to act.”

  “And I was right.” I smirk. “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t want to act.” He drains his glass and sits forward, putting the now empty glass on the table. I refill it, but he doesn’t move to take it, instead he rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers. “I was scared shitless.”

/>   I don’t ask the question—the why—he’s looking to get from me, because I don’t want to know the answer. But this is Michael, who’s always been too intuitive for his own good.

  He picks up his glass and reclines. “I knew what it would be like with her. How hard I’d have to fight for her. How she’d be a struggle and how it would never be easy with her. I wanted no part of it. Her, I wanted like she was my next fucking breath, but everything that came with it.” He shakes his head. “I wanted it to be a deal breaker, and when I came to grips with the fact that it didn’t matter, I kept trying to mentally prepare myself to handle her.”

  And I’d pushed him into it. Just like I pushed Leo into Jillian. But it wasn’t the same thing.

  When I don’t say anything he cocks a grin at me. “Then you came along, cool as shit, and told me it was time, that you were tired of watching her punish herself, and every time I didn’t act her chances of running into someone who’d damage her permanently would increase. And I went.”

  We’d known Layla far before she’d known us and while her story remained a mystery until much later; she’d walked through my underground club like a ghost, her eyes shadowed, on a quest for self-destruction.

  “It’s not the same.” The response, the fact that I don’t have to say Veronica’s name, is all wrong. Revealing.

  “Isn’t it?” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “There are some things we can’t control. Some things that take over and refuse to be tamed or fall into line.”

  “It’s under control.” A fucking lie.

  “Brandon, I’ve known you a long time. I’ve seen you with a lot of women. She’s shaking you.” He narrows his eyes. “I’ve been there. I know how it is.”

  I shake my head and take three gulps of the bottle.

  When I don’t speak he asks, “Did you fuck her?”

  “No.” Worse. Much, much worse. What happened in that storage closet is one of the most embarrassing things that ever happened to me. I’ve had a warm, wet mouth on my cock and held off coming for hours. My control is legendary. I don’t orgasm by rutting against someone, fully clothed, unable to help myself.

  “But something happened.”

  I shrug. I will go to my grave before I admit that humiliation to anyone. It’s bad enough Veronica knows.