Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
brANDON
F ucking gorgeous.
Her voice is still breathy, sending heat straight to my cock. “That wasn’t what you initially offered.”
“Bed and silk sheets.” And I mean it. When I’m going to fuck her, it’s going to be on my terms.
She shivers but tries to cover it with a scoff. “What about candles?”
“And all that?—”
A knock at the door shatters the moment. Naomi’s spine goes rigid against my chest, her fingers digging into my forearm hard enough to leave marks.
Lydia’s voice carries through the door, all fake sweetness and barely-veiled suspicion. “Everything alright in there?”
“Fine, Mom. Just…” Naomi glares at me, a silent warning. Like that’s ever stopped me before. “…freshening up.”
Oh, I think I freshened her up real good, and if I want to have any chance at getting this further, I have to play nice. For now.
“And Brandon?” Lydia’s not letting this go. “Where did he disappear to?”
Naomi’s eyes dart around the room. “He, uh… I don’t know. Maybe took a call? Business. You know how it is.”
I nip at the shell of her ear. “Business, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
She elbows me in the ribs. “Shut up.”
“What was that?” Lydia asks.
“Nothing,” Naomi says.
“Well, we’re waiting. You both barely touched your desserts.” Lydia’s heels click against the floor, the sound fading into the distance.
Naomi sags against me, tension draining from her body.
“Mhm.” My hands find her legs again, thumbs sneaking under the hem of her dress. “So, about that dessert…”
She smacks my hand. “Just get me home, Milton.”
“Not yet.” I press my lips to her neck, tasting salt and expensive perfume. “Your mother’s expecting us back for dessert, remember?”
“I can’t.” Her pulse jumps under my tongue.
“One bite. That’s all.”
“Brandon.”
“I’ll be right here.” Close enough to catch her if she falls. Not that I’d ever say that out loud. “And then we leave. Deal?”
“Please don’t make me do this.”
A blatant fear reflects in her eyes. It’s the same look I’ve seen a hundred times before. The one that says she’s about to bolt, to run from anything that might make her feel something real or out of control.
“Naomi…” I soften my voice. “You can do this.”
She shakes her head, a single tear falling down her cheek. “Please don’t make me.”
Fuck. I can’t stand seeing her like this. All broken and scared and so goddamn fragile. It’s like looking in a mirror, seeing all the parts of myself I try to hide.
I whirl her around, tugging her head beneath my chin and cocooning her in my arms. She stiffens and then melts into me, burying her face in my chest.
That’s new.
Did making her come really open her up? Is that the only way she’s going to let me in? Pun intended.
“Okay.” I place a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay, cupcake. We’ll go.”
“Really?”
“Fuck dessert.”
A watery laugh escapes her, and she swipes at her cheeks. “My mother’s going to be pissed.”
“I’ll deal with it.” I shrug, taking her hand in mine.
She stares at our intertwined fingers, something unreadable flickering across her face.
I would deal with everything if she let me.
“Come on.” I pull her towards the door, ignoring the way warmth spreads through my chest. “Let’s get out of here before your mother comes back and breaks down the door.”
That earns me another laugh.
We’re almost at the front door when Lydia’s voice stops us.
“Leaving so soon?” she asks.
I turn, keeping Naomi’s hand in mine. “Dinner reservations.” The lie rolls off my tongue. “Thought I mentioned it earlier.”
Lydia stands at the end of the hall, arms crossed, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her forearm. “You did.”
I flash her a smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.
Lydia knows I’m full of shit, but calling me out means admitting she knows what’s really going on. And that would mean acknowledging her daughter’s… issue. Can’t have that ruining her perfect family image.
“I see.” Lydia’s tone could curdle cream and leave butter rock solid. “Well, far be it from me to keep you from your… plans.”
“Thanks for dinner,” I say. “It was delicious, as always.”
“My pleasure.” She inclines her head, eyes scrutinizing Naomi. “You’re always welcome here, Brandon.”
Naomi’s nails dig into my skin. Fuck this. I thought about saying our goodbyes to the others, but not when the woman who puts her trust in me wilts away.
“Goodnight, Lydia.” I don’t wait for a response, grab our jackets, and drag Naomi out of this awful house.
She sags against me as soon as the door closes behind us, her whole body trembling, not from pleasure or the cold.
Fear.
I look down at her, taking in the slightly smudged mascara and the pale cast to her skin. She looks exhausted, worn thin. And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to wrap her up and shield her from the world, but that would make her run for the hills.
I squeeze her hand, tugging her towards my car. “I’ll take you home.”
She nods, following me. But there’s a hesitance to her steps, a reluctance. Like she doesn’t want to leave, or maybe she doesn’t want to leave me? With me?
The thought makes something twist in my chest, sharp and aching. I push it down, focusing on the feel of her hand in mine, the warmth of her skin.
I’ll take what I can get.
She’s already too quiet, not telling me off or insulting me. The kind of quiet that makes my skin itch.
“Your place or mine?” I open the door for her, watching her face for… something. Any hint of what’s going on behind those beautiful eyes.
“What about my car?”
“We’ll get it tomorrow.”
She doesn’t move. “I should go home.”
“Should.” I grip the handle hard. “Not want to.”
“Brandon.”
“My place then. Watch me fail at cooking something.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “You don’t cook anymore.”
“Maybe it’s time I start again.” I shrug. “Unless you’re scared I’ll poison you.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “Your ego wouldn’t survive serving bad food.”
“That a yes?”
She looks down at our joined hands, thumb tracing circles on my skin. The gesture’s so small, so unconscious. “One condition.”
“Name it.”
“No more touching.” Her voice wavers. “What happened in the bathroom… it can’t happen again.”
It will. She loves giving up control, and what happened in the bathroom is proof of that. She felt something. I just have to make her admit it.
“Whatever you want, cupcake.” I will have her begging for me in no time. “Your rules, remember?”
“My rules.”