His teeth trailed over the top edge of my ear, nibbling slightly before his mouth moved lower to suck at my neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Ah!" I cried at the sudden mix of pain and pleasure. His fingers found a more consistent rhythm, and my hips began to rock with them, as if of their own accord.
"The last two months," Brandon growled. "Every day. Every day I've dreamed of this body. This body is mine, Skylar? Do you hear me? Every orgasm. Every ache. Every pull. Mine."
I shuddered at his words, climbing closer and closer to my climax. But even if his words pushed me closer to the edge, they drove other desires too. As his mouth found me again for a kiss that was almost painful, my hands tore at his belt buckle. He grunted in surprise as I unfastened his jeans and my hand took hold of him.
"Mine too," I murmured as I started to move my hand up and down his considerable length, matching the rhythm he had already set.
I could feel, rather than see, Brandon's mouth fall open, lips powerless as we worked each other's bodies. I could hear people moving in the hallway, could feel the vibrations of the band's insistent rhythms through the flimsy door. But here in this closet, his touch, my touch, we consumed each other. With each small caress, we brought each other closer to finishing, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, groan to groan.
"Fuck!" Brandon finally left out a hoarse yelp. His head fell over my shoulder and pressed into the door at my back. "Are you close?" he croaked into my ear.
His thumb pressed slightly harder, then he seized my clit between two fingers and squeezed.
"Brandon!" I cried out.
I bit his shoulder through his shirt, which seemed to push him over the edge, and both of our bodies tensed together, finding our finish as waves of mutual pleasure overtook us. Brandon muffled both of our cries with a kiss as I fell apart under his hand. A few seconds later, my upper thigh was covered with his release.
After we had managed to catch our breaths, the jiggling of the doorknob snapped us both out of our post-orgasmic dazes. It appeared to be a drunk concert-goer looking for a bathroom. Whoever it was soon tromped away, but suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I was standing in a custodial closet, shirt above my tits, pants at my knees, and thighs smeared with the sticky residue of Brandon's pleasure.
Brandon swallowed as he refastened his jeans, then pulled out his phone to shine a light around the dark, humid space.
"Aha!" he exclaimed when he found a stack of spare paper towels.
I cleaned myself off, then awkwardly reassembled my clothes while Brandon rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. It wasn't until I looked up again to find him watching me adjust my bra with lust written all over his features again that I realized I had no need to feel uncomfortable. When he caught me looking, his mouth twitched.
"Slow, huh?" he whispered with a half-smile.
I bit my lip. "Slow for us?"
We could never seem to keep our hands off each other, even in those moments when I hated his guts. That had never been the problem.
"Can we get out of here?" Brandon asked as he leaned in for another kiss. "I don't want to be arrested for public lewdness."
"We're not having sex tonight," I said as he nibbled on my neck. I'd have said the man was insatiable, but I was feeling the same way.
With a reluctant groan, Brandon stood up straight. "Can I at least stay over?" he asked. At my expression, he held his hands up in mock-submission. "No funny business, I promise." He blinked, his eyes wide. "I just want to be with you, Red. I miss you."
I leaned into him. We needed to take things slow physically, but that didn't mean I didn't want to be around him just as much.
"Okay," I relented. "You can come over."
"Great. You leave first and get a cab back to your apartment. I'll follow in my car."
Checking first to see if I was completely redressed, Brandon opened the door and guided me out. There were a few other people in the hall looking for bathrooms, but no one seemed to care that we had just emerged from a closet together.
"Got everything?" Brandon asked.
I checked for my purse, made sure nothing had fallen out. "Yep."
"Good. Here's for the cab."
Before I could stop him, Brandon pressed a crisp fifty into my hand. With the effects of two whiskeys running through me, I was too slow to summon a rebuke before Brandon guided me to the club entrance and asked the doorman to hail me a cab.
"I'll see you there, Red," he said, with a brief stamp before nudging me out the door.
A car was waiting for me when I reached the curb. I glanced back to where Brandon was peering from the interior shadows, likely checking for signs of a tail. I waved at him, and he waved back with a rueful smile. Then I was shut into the cab, alone and on my way home.
~
Chapter 13
Hot. I was hot. Every part of me felt like a ripe, sweating peach. I opened my eyes; thin streams of sunshine escaped through the blinds of my one small window. In my cloudy, hungover state, they felt like needles piercing my eyeballs. I looked down my body, to find myself thoroughly and completely wrapped up in man. Well, that explained the suffocating heat.
Brandon stirred. The arm across my chest and the leg over my hip just wound tighter, and he buried his face further into my hair. Part of me relished his touch, enjoyed the warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of him. The other part of me just wanted his giant, sticky limbs off.
That part won out. As slowly as I could, I slid from under his embrace, doing what I could to replace my body with a few of the pillows.
It had been an interesting night. When we had come back from the show, Brandon was fully primed to do more of what had happened in the broom closet. He had watched me move around the apartment with the focus of a jungle predator. After being tossed onto my bed not once, but twice, I had elected to change into my pajama shorts and an old New York Giants T-shirt in the bathroom, much to Brandon's obvious disappointment. Unfortunately, he didn't play fair. When I returned, he had stripped completely down to his boxer briefs, looking more like an underwear model than a CEO as he splayed his long, tanned body across my bed.
"You keep looking at me like that, I'm not going to be able to keep my hands to myself, Red," Brandon had said with a leer.
I bit my lip. "You're not exactly making it easy for me either. No one asked you to hop in my bed looking like David Beckham in an underwear ad."
For that I got another thousand-watt grin. "I never said I'd make it easy. Get over here. I'll let you keep those cute little shorts on, I swear."
He stayed true to his word, taking things as slow as I wanted. It was like spending the night together as if we were sixteen and our parents were in the next room. Frustrating, but also completely a turn-on.
And now it was a little awkward.
Brandon stirred again as an old wood floorboard creaked under my feet. I froze. He raised an arm over his head and blinked lazily awake.
"Morning," he said slowly as he caught sight of me.
He propped his head up on one ridiculously defined arm and smiled. My insides tightened. Anyone who looked like that first thing in the morning should be locked up.
"Hey," I said, raising a shy hand to my face, which probably had pillow-crease marks across one cheek. "Good morning."
I slumped into my desk chair, feeling unaccountably shy. Unlike the days when we used to spend weekends together, our conversation was stunted. Brandon was guarded, and I was too. The fact was, we had hurt each other badly, and there was going to be a certain amount of time needed to heal those wounds, which seemed a lot fresher at the moment.
Brandon sat up completely, and I flushed as the sheet fell down, revealing the cut lines of his torso. He smiled wider at my reaction; seriously, it was really unfair that I couldn't hide a damn thing I was thinking.
"What are you doing over there?" A long arm beckoned me. "Come back to bed."
I obeyed. Brandon draped a familiar hand about my legs and mass
aged my bare thigh.
"You don't make it easy for a guy," he murmured at the touch. "You shouldn't be allowed to walk around in shorts like these."
His hand moved to my inner thigh, fingers finding the hem of my admittedly microscopic shorts. My breath picked up a notch, and I bit my lip. Brandon smiled, then pulled his hand away, much to my obvious frustration.
"You set the rules, babe," he said as he leaned back into the pillows. He pulled me down to lay on his chest. "Anytime you want to break them, you let me know."
I sighed contentedly, happy to have resumed contact with his warm body even though I'd felt suffocated by it before. His hand drifted up my back and started playing with my hair, and we laid there a moment, content in each other's company. But the comfort was short lived.
Green eyes or blue?
It was the question that wouldn't go away, and that guilt that never seemed to dissipate completely blossomed in my gut all over again.
"You all right?" Brandon asked, as if sensing my sudden change of temperament.
I opened my mouth.
A loud buzzing of my phone on the nightstand tore through the room. Brandon handed it to me; it was a text from Bubbe, asking how my week had gone. Her message was a reminder of what I had left in New York, and also of other things Brandon and I still had not discussed.
I sighed, closed the screen, and pushed myself back off Brandon's chest, ignoring his disappointed grunt. As if on cue, his phone also buzzed on the windowsill, revealing several messages that had gone unanswered last night and this morning. No rest for weary CEOs.
I pulled on my vintage Levi's and a black tank top. Brandon watched appreciatively, but once he realized I really wasn't coming back to the bed, he sighed and got up himself. I stumbled at the sight of his almost-naked body in its full glory: v-shaped abdominal muscles, square pectorals, long, lean thighs and calves that all flexed as he stretched his hands to the ceiling.
He caught me ogling and flashed another grin. "We could still break some rules, Red." He clearly wanted to, if the tent in his briefs was any indication.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, then shook my head and finished hooking on an earring. "Not yet," was all I could manage as I turned away to hide my intense blush. Instead I focused on taming my bedhead into a bun. The man really did things to me I couldn't control.
Brandon chuckled, but I could hear him putting on the clothes he'd draped over the end of the bed post the night before. Then he was behind me, wrapping my shoulders with his strong arms as he kissed my cheek.
"I miss you," he murmured, echoing the sweet admission he'd repeated throughout the night. "What are you thinking?"
He watched me through the mirror, his eyes looking impossibly blue in the early morning light. We stared at each other, green eyes meeting blue, daring the other to speak first. The issues between us bloomed. Guilt dropped in my stomach like a log.
Green eyes or blue?
I broke first and pressed a kiss to the forearms folded around me.
"The call was from my grandmother," I said. "She checks in every few days. We're worried about my dad."
Brandon's brow furrowed with concern, and he released my shoulders so he could back up and sit on the edge of my bed to listen. I sat down on my desk chair and turned to face him.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly.
I bit my lip. "I'm not sure we should get into it." Things between us were so fresh and tenuous. I didn't want to ruin it.
Brandon pressed his lips together and sighed. "Skylar, this is why we split up in the first place. Because you wouldn't let me help you."
I frowned. "No, we split up because you wouldn't respect my limits. I asked you not to get involved, and you did, behind my back. My entire family is paying for it now. Every time I see a call from Bubbe or my dad, I'm afraid that it's going to be another notice that Dad's in the hospital again, or something even worse. You put those extra-big targets on our backs, Brandon."
"Skylar, I'm pretty sure your dad got into gambling without my help," Brandon replied quietly, although he had the decency to look contrite right after the words left his mouth.
I crossed my arms and glared. "I'm aware that my dad has a problem, thanks. You forget that I've been here before. And see, when my dad was just a poor sanitation worker with a kid in college, these assholes let us alone once he paid his debts. They had bigger fish to fry. But now they found the biggest fish, which means they're not going to let up. And my family is just a bunch of sitting ducks, waiting there to be picked off."
My hands shook at the thought, and I couldn't help my voice cracking at the end.
Brandon opened his mouth as if to argue back, then closed it firmly. "You're right," he said finally, surprising me completely. "I'm sorry."
"You are?"
This wasn't usually how these discussions went for us. Usually, they ended with us acting like stubborn mules, unable to compromise and spouting off at each other. I'd actually smacked Brandon more than once. I know, not my finest moments.
"Yeah," Brandon conceded. He pushed a hand through his hair, gripping a moment at the crown of his head. "But Skylar, believe me when I say this: I would never let anything happen to your family. The Messinas aren't the ones with the real power here. They might want my money for what, some fancy cars? To pay off some dirty cops? I guarantee they have no idea what that money can really do."
My skin prickled at his words. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Brandon suddenly found a nonexistent piece of lint on his jeans extremely interesting.
"Brandon!" I protested. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! I want this to work, but you can't hide things from me. We have to be honest with each other no matter what. And I have to have the final say about what happens with my family."
He sighed. "Fine. To start, you should know that I removed the trust in Messina's name from the divorce agreement. Miranda started asking questions anyway, so it was better that I paid your family's debt in bulk instead. So yes, I gave Messina a larger payment to stay away from your family, but that's it. And I did take pains to route it in a way that he might just think it came from your dad instead of me."
I rubbed my forehead. Suddenly I had a massive headache.
"Brandon. I know you don't really think that worked. Victor Messina probably started sniffing you out the second you produced a paper bag full of cash like a damn magician."
"Probably," Brandon admitted. "But it was a start." He looked up with big eyes. "You should probably know that after you told me about your dad's, um, new friend, I arranged for a security detail to watch the house in Brooklyn. And, ah, you too."
I gaped around my room as if Inspector Gadget was about to pop out of my closet. "What?!"
He had the decency to look ashamed, but I recognized the set of his jaw when Brandon wasn't going to change his mind.
"I did it during dinner on Friday," he said. "Listen, you just finished telling me how scared you are that someone is going to hurt your family again. I'm just doing what needs to be done to make sure it doesn't happen."
"I don't need a security detail. Talk about a breach of privacy, Brandon!"
I turned back to my desk in a huff. I pulled the hair band out of my hair and started brushing violently. It only made it bush up, but I didn't care. I needed something to do.
Brandon continued to watch me in the mirror.
"Skylar, come on," he said, "This is me, a guy who is currently being followed everywhere by a private investigator hired by my crazy ex-wife. Do you think I want to invade your privacy?"
"She's not your ex yet," I countered petulantly as I attacked the left side of my head.
"You say you know how these kinds of people work. I do too, Red, and probably better than you. I used to run with thugs like him when I was younger. And when they want something, they don't go after the guy with the money. They go after the people he cares about. Messina would go after the people I care about, and that's you, more than a
nything else." Behind me, Brandon sighed. "Will you turn around and look at me, please?"
I stilled, but set my brush down on the desktop and did as he asked. I started braiding my hair into a thick rope. Brandon leaned over and braced his hands on his knees so he could look directly at me.
"They don't report to me unless something bad happens," he said plainly. "No one is spying on you or tracking anything other than your safety. I wouldn't do that to you. Do you believe me, Red?"
His voice was imploring, but also hard with tension. We were trying to heal, but he was still a slightly colder version of the man I had fallen in love with. I hadn't thought about the obvious stresses in his life, particularly with negotiating a divorce from someone who obviously didn't want to be divorced. And on top of that, he had been trying to help my family even when we weren't technically together. I certainly wasn't always a peach either.
"I believe you," I said.
"Good. Look, I figured you wouldn't want a bodyguard, so surveillance was the next best thing. But if you really don't want it, I'll call it off," he said, although he obviously wanted to do anything but that.
I looked down at my hands. I really didn't like the idea of being followed around everywhere I went, even if I could understand his concern. Regardless of his promise that he wasn't spying, it still felt like an overstep.
"How about this," I said. "Keep whoever is in Brooklyn there for now, but remove the Boston guys. I actually do feel better knowing someone is looking out for Bubbe and my dad. If I feel any hint of anything weird here, you can assign someone to me. Will that work?"
Brandon chewed on his lower lip for a moment, clearly wanting to insist on his original agenda. But finally, he clapped his hands together and looked straight at me.
"Deal," he said.
"And no going around my back with other plans."
He gave me a shy, guilty smile that just about broke my resolve to force him to keep his hands to himself for a while.
"Deal," he said again. "Now get over here."
He pulled me from the chair to stand in between his legs, then wrapped his big hands around my hips and pressed his lips into my stomach. The sweet gesture made my heart ache. Green eyes or blue? My fingers threaded into his hair automatically, and I sighed.
Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2) Page 15