Conflagration

by Tessa Teevan

  All too soon, he’s sliding out of me, and I lift up, pushing him to the side until he’s the one flat on his back with me straddling him again. My hand comes down between his legs.

  “Baby, I love your confidence in me, but round two’s going to have a wait a bit,” he says with a grin, glancing down at his semi-erect cock.

  Rolling my eyes, I pull off the condom and move over him to go to the bathroom to get rid of it. When I come back into the room, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me.

  “You don’t have to get up, babe. You’ve been up on your knee for hours, and you need to rest. In fact, I was going to see if you needed to take something until I remembered the wine.” I cross the room and look down at his knee, noticing that it’s a little swollen. “You should probably ice it before bed,” I tell him, leaving the room to get an icepack before he can respond, sweeping up his crutches in the process.

  He’s no longer on the bed when I get back to the room, so I set the ice on the nightstand and take his crutches into the bathroom, where he’s finishing up brushing his teeth. He turns to me with a toothpastey grin, looking years younger than his thirty-three. After setting the crutches up against the wall, I go through my nightly routine next to him, although tonight it feels different. More intimate than before, and I think it’s because of what just happened in the bedroom. I have a feeling that Branson’s never let a woman tell him what to do in the bedroom, and knowing that he trusted me pushes me over the edge.

  When I admitted to Lyssa that I was falling for him, I knew it was only a matter of time until I fell completely. I just didn’t realize it would be only hours later. But here I am, standing naked next to him in his bathroom, fully aware that I’m head-over-heels in love with this man. The realization causes me to pause.

  He must sense it because he looks up from the sink and gives me a sweet smile, one that melts my heart. I wonder if it’s possible that he could be feeling something more than physical attraction for me, too.

  “I like you walking around my house naked,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. I look up at him, his hip resting against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. “It means you’re comfortable here, like it’s truly your home, and I like that. I like that a lot.”

  My heart swells, and I want to throw my arms around him and tell him how I feel, but somehow, I reel myself in, keeping my elation to myself. “I am comfortable here. Not to mention, it helps you took your mom’s key back. There were a few close calls there,” I joke, and he just shakes his head.

  After we get settled on the bed, I place the ice on his knee. Then I curl up into his chest to enjoy our nightly ritual of cuddling and watching Jimmy Fallon until falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  He’s right. This does feel like home. It feels more like home than any place ever has. I’m just wondering how much longer I’ll be able to stay. Because if I had my choice? The ring my finger would never come off and I’d stay for the rest of my life.

  The timer on my phone goes off, signaling that it’s time to take the ice off his knee. I take it to the kitchen, and when I return to the room, his eyes are drooping. I turn off the television and place the remote on the nightstand before clicking off the lamp and climbing into bed.

  “Come here,” he murmurs in the darkness.

  I comply readily, moving into my usual position on the bed. Resting my head against his chest, I bring a hand to his stomach, careful not to touch his leg.

  His hand comes down and tangles in my hair. “So tell me. On a scale of one to ten, how’d I do tonight?”

  Even though I can’t see him, I tilt my head up, my lips brushing along his jawline. “Branson, no scale is necessary. When it comes to you, there’s no comparison. It was the best date ever, and I can’t wait for more.”

  The room is silent as I wait for him to respond. Instead of words, his hand comes up to my jaw, a thumb rubbing over my lips before he leans in and gives me a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and he pulls away all too soon. When he leans his head back against the pillow, I take it as my cue to settle in, using his chest as my own personal pillow and closing my eyes.

  Just as I’m about to fall asleep, his voice brings me back. “Ariana?”

  “Mmm?”

  His hand strokes my back, but I remain completely still. “I’m really fucking glad you’re here.”

  My heart soars and I burrow into his side, wanting to be as close as I can. “Branson?”

  “Mmm?” he echoes, his fingers still rubbing circles on my skin.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  AFTER THAT night, there seemed to be a slight shift in our relationship. Or maybe not so slight, but I’m trying not to read too much into it—yet I’m still hopeful that it means something. We’ve always been physical, but things seemed more intimate in nature. Light kisses as he passed me in the hall. Hand holding in the car. His insistence that I always sat curled up against his chest. No matter where I was, Branson was never far behind.

  If I was in the kitchen cooking, he was sitting on a stool at the island watching, not lasting long before he was behind me, his hands on my waist as he nuzzled my neck. Before going to brunch at his parents’, he sat in the bedroom with me as I curled my hair. Almost as if he were afraid to let me out of his sight—a thought that could’ve made me laugh because I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’m not going anywhere unless he tells me to.

  I already got a list of contacts from Alyssa for companies in the area that have openings in their accounting departments, and I plan to start looking for a job just as soon as Branson is finished with physical therapy. Sure, he could hire a driver, but I knew he’d be in pain afterwards, and I selfishly want to be the person there to care for him after each and every appointment, even if it is just by putting him into bed and helping him ice his knee or giving him a massage.

  By the time Monday morning rolls around, a sense of dread fills me when the alarm clock goes off bright and early. It’s the day everything is going to change. Okay, so maybe I’m being slightly overdramatic, but it’s not like we only see each other a few times a week or even just a few hours a day. We’ve spent over four weeks together, every waking—and sleeping—moment with each other, and I’ve become attached. Addicted. And completely dependent on his presence.

  The irony doesn’t pass by me—the fact that I’d left Atlanta looking for my independence only to become completely and utterly hooked on this man so much so that the mere thought of him leaving me for the day to go to work is nearly unbearable. I have no idea what I’ll do with myself while he’s gone. I guess it’s time I face reality and decide what I’m going to do with my future.

  Branson stirs as I reach across his chest and slap my hand down on the snooze button, groaning when I see the digital clock reading six a.m. The bright-red lights are like a warning sign, an ominous reminder that this blissful little bubble is about to burst.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve heard that sound that I almost thought I was dreaming,” he mumbles as I turn on the light. Looking down at him, I watch as he slowly opens his eyes and gives me a sleepy smile. “Then again, I think I can deal with that annoying buzzing if I wake up with you on top of me every morning.”

  “You’ve been waking up with me on top of you every day for weeks, Branson,” I remind him, rolling my eyes.

  His hand comes up to stroke my naked back, his finger tracing up and down my spine, causing me to shiver. A playful smile crosses his lips as his hand moves farther south until he cups my ass, using his other hand to pull me up until I’m straddling him, his hard length nestling against my core. The simple contact has moisture pooling between my legs, and I wonder if there will ever be a time that my body will ever not want him.

  “True. But all those other days? I knew I had all the time in the world to take you. Today? I’m on limited time, baby,” he says, tucking me close to him and rolling over until I’m flat on my back. Leaning down, he gives me
a slow, soft, sensual kiss before pulling up and giving me a wicked grin. “And you know what they say? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. One I can’t really afford to miss.”

  My hands grip the sheets as he peppers kisses down my body, positioning himself between my legs. I sit up to protest, not wanting him to hurt his knee, but he gives me a look and I clamp my mouth shut. Branson moves to the edge of the bed, where he slides off until he’s standing at the foot of the bed. He turns to face me and grasps my legs, pulling me forward until I’m settled in the middle of the bed, within perfect reach for him. As he gives me a devilish smile, he bends at the waist, his face aligning perfectly with my center. His hands grip my hips as he lowers his head, burrowing in between my legs, his tongue meeting my core. My hands continue to grip the sheets as I enjoy the sensation of his mouth on my most intimate spot. His tongue thrusts in and out of me, his thumb coming down to circle my clit, causing my pelvis to tilt up and beg for more.

  He slowly slides a finger into me, and I roll my head back against the pillow, closing my eyes as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me with every lick, every nibble, every flick of his tongue. Even though he cited having a limited amount of time, he doesn't act like it. He slowly laps at my pussy, continuously increasing the pace of his finger, bringing me to the brink of orgasm and then slowing down just enough to keep it at bay. I have no idea how long he plays with me, but no matter how much I beg or plead, he doesn't let me come as he takes his sweet time getting his fill.

  The room is filled with nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing, and I can no longer take it. Bringing my hand down to my clit, I rub in small circles, but it's short-lived. Disappointment washes over me as he pushes my hand away just as the alarm goes off again, breaking my concentration, causing my orgasm to subside yet again. He grins against me and finally gives me what I want. Thrusting not one, but two fingers into me, he works me over with his tongue, the added stimulation quickly sending me over the edge as tingling sensations shoot from the very top of my head to the tips of my toes. As he continues to lick me up and down, my pleasurable moans fill the room, drowning out the sound of the alarm.

  With one last kiss on my clit, he slowly slides his fingers out of me before climbing back onto the bed, where he comes to rest beside me, propping himself up on his elbow. Without warning, he brings his index finger to my lips, rubbing the wetness over them before pushing it between my teeth. My tongue inadvertently comes up to lick it, and I taste myself on him, the salty sweetness an erotic contradiction. I can’t help sucking his finger, tasting every last drop, and his eyes darken as he watches me. Slowly, he pulls his fingers away and leans down to press a kiss against my lips. My tongue darts out, licking the remnants of my release off him, and I feel his mouth curl in a smile.

  “You approve of my choice in meals, I presume?” he asks, his eyes dancing with desire.

  I nod and lift up, ready to return the favor, but he gets off the bed and hits the snooze button, silencing the room.

  “You can eat later,” he tells me with a wink before going into the bathroom.

  Flopping back down on the bed, I stare at the ceiling as I listen to the shower turn on. Branson’s right. I could definitely get used to my mornings starting this way.

  I’M DRINKING a cup of coffee at the kitchen island when Branson joins me. Having just taken a sip, I pause, holding the coffee mug up to my lips as I check him out. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit that’s the darkest possible shade of black. It’s paired with a white button-down dress shirt, and a long, skinny, black tie. A white handkerchief rests in the breast pocket. His hair is styled perfectly, not a lock out of place. It’s an entirely different look from the sexy guy who lounges in basketball shorts and T-shirts looking completely relaxed with messy hair. Not that it’s a bad thing.

  As I study him, I imagine him in the boardroom, sexy and all powerful, commanding the audience’s attention. He’s definitely acquired mine. The thought of him using that tie on me sends a rush through me, and I nearly choke on my coffee at all the wicked thoughts that pass through my mind.

  “You okay?” he asks, seemingly unaware of the dirty thoughts circling in my head.

  I nod and rise from my seat, handing him a thermos. “I wasn’t sure of your usual workday morning routine, but I know how much you like your coffee. I’d hate to see how the people at the office act on days when you don’t get it. I filled this for you. And your breakfast is in the fridge.”

  He gives me a heart-melting smile and leans down to place a quick peck on my lips. “Thanks, baby. Ready to go?” he asks, grabbing his NutriBullet shake out of the fridge.

  The whole scene is entirely too domestic, yet it feels right. My smile, however, turns into a frown when I realize that he’s walking all on his own.

  “Just about. Branson, where are your crutches?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on my hip.

  As he turns to face me, he lifts his leg to show me his brace. “Baby, the doctor said to use the crutches as needed. I’m supposed to start weaning myself off them. After sitting around the last two days, my knee’s feeling fine. And I’ll be at my desk all day.”

  Sighing, I know I won’t be able to argue with him about this. “Okay, but let me go throw some clothes on so I can help you inside.”

  “Ariana, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Branson, if you insist on not using your crutches, then I will be making sure you make it to your office without falling. This is not negotiable.” I whirl around, hearing him chuckle behind me.

  He’s reading the paper and sipping his coffee when I reenter the kitchen a few minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt, having thrown my hair up into a messy ponytail. He holds out his arm, and I walk to him, allowing him to pull me in for an embrace.

  “Love the way you take care of me, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my abdomen as butterflies begin to swarm in my belly.

  Bending down, I place a kiss on his forehead, careful not to mess up his hair. “I do it because I care about you, Branson.”

  “I know,” he says simply then rises from the chair. He gives me a warm smile and takes hold of my hand. “Let’s go.”

  Pulling up to Wellington Enterprises, I’m amazed to see how huge the building is. I don’t know much about the company other than the little bit Branson’s told me about his career—which really hasn’t been much. As we walk into the building, I wonder if this was a mistake. I’m surrounded by professionals in sophisticated business suits, and I feel completely out of place in my jeans. Branson doesn’t seem to notice or care as he places a hand on the small of my back, leading us towards an elevator. I watch him closely, noticing that he’s walking with a slight limp. Frowning, I make a note to ask the physical therapist about his crutches this afternoon.

  We ride in the elevator in silence until we make it to his floor. Holding the door, he gestures for me to step off and then follows behind me. As he greets an older woman affectionately, I hold back until he takes my hand and pulls me closer.

  “Caroline, I’d like you to meet Ariana Covington, my fiancée,” he says, causing her eyes to widen. I’m sure mine mirror them. “Baby, this is my secretary, Caroline.”

  Catching myself, I plaster on a smile and hold out my hand, which she takes after recovering from her surprise and giving me a warm smile.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Ariana. And it’s lovely to see you back and on your feet, Mr. Wellington.”

  He slips an arm around my waist. “It’s all because of her,” he tells Caroline, giving her a wink.

  I’m in a slight daze as she tells him about his upcoming day, barely noticing when he pulls me into his office. It’s large, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge, wooden desk, and various commendations on the wall, but it’s not nearly as ornate as I was expecting. As he stands at the edge of his desk sorting through a pile of mail, I know I need to let him get to work, yet I find myself wanting to linger, unsure of what to do wit
h the rest of my day.

  Lifting up on my toes, I kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to get out of your hair. Have a good day at work, honey,” I tease, starting to walk away.

  He captures my hand and pulls me into him, slipping both arms around my waist. “My first day of work and you’re trying to leave me without something to think about all day?”

  My hands slide up his chest until they rest on the lapels of his suit. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be distracted all morning.”

  “Too late,” he whispers, bending down and covering my mouth with his. His kiss deepens almost immediately, causing my hands to grip his suit as he wages war with my tongue. If I don’t get out of here, we’re going to christen his office, so I reluctantly I pull away. He looks down at me and gives me a wink. “Let’s hope that’ll hold me over. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  Looking up into his eyes, I realize that this is going to be harder than I thought. “I’ll miss you,” I whisper, feeling foolish even as I say it.

  His eyes soften, and he lifts one side of his mouth in a half smile. “Likewise, baby. Now get out of here before I chain you to my desk,” he says, giving my ass a little slap.

  I roll my eyes with extra emphasis, and he laughs. “I’ll pick you up for physical therapy at three, and I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

  He smiles. “See you then, baby,” he says, and I turn to leave. Then I hear, “Ariana?”

  Stopping, I look back at him, holding on to the doorframe.

  “I care about you, too.”

  WHEN I get home, the house is silent and I feel like one of those moms who’s spent her entire summer with kids only to come home to an empty house and not know what to do with herself. Of course, anything I feel towards Branson is nowhere near motherly, but the sentiment remains the same.

  I plop down on the couch and flip on the television, trying to get lost in a morning show, but it’s no use. My eyes keep flicking back to Branson’s side of the double recliner, and I miss him. It’s kind of pathetic how much I miss him, and I start to annoy myself with this pity party. Isn’t this exactly who I didn’t want to be? Getting up, I plug my iPod into the docking station in the living room and set about cleaning the house, trying to get my mind off the loneliness that’s creeping up.