Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
brANDON
“ C ome here, cupcake.” I scoop Naomi up and carry her to my jeep, trying to ignore how she fits against me better than my favorite chef’s knife.
How right this feels.
“I can walk.” Her fingers curl into my shirt, and her breath tickles my neck, warm and sweet from the cocktails.
God, I’d carry her anywhere she needed to go.
“You’re repeating yourself.” I adjust my grip, keeping her secure against my chest while fishing for my keys. “Besides, where’s the fun in that?”
“Brandon…” There’s that tone. The one that means she’s overthinking everything.
I hit the unlock button. “We’re not doing the whole analysis thing right now.”
She shifts in my arms, trying to create distance. “We should?—”
“Here’s a crazy idea. Stop thinking for five minutes.” I brush my lips against her temple. “Just let me get you home. Okay?”
“Only if it’s your place.”
“Naomi.” I set her down next to the passenger door, keeping her trapped between me and the car. “You sure about that?”
She tilts her chin up, eyes flashing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Christ. This woman’s going to be the death of me.
“You’re drunk,” I say.
“Not that drunk. Just… buzzed.”
“You don’t text me like that.” I lean closer, watching her pupils dilate. “Ever.”
Her lips part, but no denial comes out.
“I wish you would text me like that sober.” I trace her jawline with my thumb. “Although even drunk, you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Did I?”
My hand finds her hip. “You wanted me here.”
“Fuck you.” She arches her back, brushing her tits against my chest, even as she glares up at me.
“Maybe when you’re sober again.”
She runs her hands up my chest. “I’m sober enough.”
She’s a contradiction in herself. “Stop.” I catch her wrists before she can undo my self-control.
“You’re right.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “I wanted you here because I want you.”
Fuck me. I forgot that Drunk Naomi is the biggest tease.
“Yeah?” I grip her wrists tighter, pinning them above her head against the car. “Your rules still apply?”
“No kissing.” She rolls her hips against mine. “Everything else is negotiable.”
I press my thigh between her legs, making her gasp. “Not when you’re drunk and can’t think straight.”
She whimpers, grinding against my thigh. “I’m thinking perfectly clear.” Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat.
I want to taste it, to feel her pulse pounding beneath my tongue. Want to feel her lips against mine. But I don’t. Because she said no kissing and even drunk off her ass, I respect her boundaries.
Doesn’t mean I can’t push them a little, though.
I drag my knuckles along the curve of her breast, watching her squirm. “Do you have an exhibitionist kink I don’t know of?”
“Maybe.”
My cock twitches at her breathy tone. “That right?”
“Brandon, please.”
“Please what?” I lean in close, lips hovering near her ear. “Use your words.”
She arches into my touch. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you.” My thumb grazes her nipple through the thin fabric. “Right here.”
“More.”
“More what?” I slide my hand down her thighs, stopping just below the hem of her dress. “Here?”
“Higher.” Her nails dig into my hands, holding hers together.
“Nah.” I pull back, drinking in her frustrated whimper. “Not tonight.”
“What! You can’t just stop.”
“I just did.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because.” I release her wrists, stepping away. “When I finally fuck you, I want you stone-cold sober.”
Her eyes flash. “Who says you’ll get the chance?”
“You do.” I open the passenger door, fighting every instinct screaming at me to take her right here. “Every time you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to climb me like a tree.” I smirk as her cheeks flush. “Get in the car, cupcake.”
She huffs but gets inside. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” I shut her door, circling to the driver’s side. “You just hate that I’m right.”
And I need to calm down. I’m harder than a goddamn rock, and she didn’t even touch me.
The drive’s quiet except for Naomi’s fingers drumming against her thigh, pressing them together and shifting every few minutes, her dress riding higher and higher. My hand itches to caress that exposed skin and feel how wet she is for me, but more than that, I want to wrap her in a blanket and make sure she’s okay. Keep her safe. Protected.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, fighting both. “Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not.” But her fingers still. “And I’m not that drunk.”
She’s making me worry about her more than usual, which I didn’t think was possible. “Right.” I flick on my turn signal.
She stretches, arms above her head, pushing her tits together, and I nearly crack a tooth, grinding my jaw.
“Keep teasing, cupcake,” I say. “See where that gets you.”
“Mmm.” Her hand lands on my thigh, fingers trailing up the inseam of my jeans. “Where will it get me?”
I catch her wrist before she can reach her target. “Behave.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll find out exactly how creative I can be with punishment.” I press a firm kiss into her palm, my lips lingering just long enough to make her shiver. “Only good girls get rewarded. Remember?”
She yanks her hand back, slumping into her seat, pouting. That seems to have done the trick. But it only holds that long.
The moment we’re inside my apartment, she kicks off her heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor.
Her eyes lock with mine as she reaches for the zipper of her dress. “Hot in here, isn’t it?” She drags it down with deliberate slowness.
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” The dress slides off one shoulder, revealing black lace underneath. “Problem?”
“No.” Yes. I track the movement of her hands. “Feel at home.”
“I’m not seducing you.” Her dress hits the floor, pooling at her feet. Black lace hugs every curve, and my mouth goes dry. “If that’s what you think.”
“Because this is how you usually walk around here.” I drag my eyes up her body, lingering on the matching set. “Around me.”
She shrugs one shoulder, the movement pure sin. “Maybe it is.”
My fingers crave to touch her, my dick wanting to pound that tight and most definitely wet pussy.
“Got any water?” She sways toward me. “I’m parched.”
“In the fridge.” I don’t move from my spot. “Along with your dignity, apparently.”
“Funny.” She heads to my kitchen, and I force myself to breathe.
Count backward from ten. My stocks plummeting. Anything to keep from ravaging her like a madman.
She opens the fridge, bending over and giving me the perfect view of her ass. “Found it.”
I dig my fingers into my biceps. “Good for you.”
The bottle cap hits my counter with a ping.
She takes a long sip, throat working, and water dripping down her chin onto her chest. “Oops.”
“Fuck.” My voice is strangled. “Naomi, I don’t know what’s eating at you, but?—”
She slams the water bottle down. “I’m not?—”
“You are.” I close the distance between us, cupping her face. “And that’s okay. But I won’t be your distraction. Not in that way, not tonight.”
“Brandon.”
“Bed.” I step back before I do something stupid. “Now. To sleep.”
She blinks. “But?—”
“Not up for debate.” I point toward my bedroom. “March.”
To my astonishment, she does, the sultry confidence exchanged with the grace of a five-year-old-pouting toddler.
I have to grab a shirt of mine to cover the thing that’s driving me fucking insane. It’ll be big on her, but it’s better than nothing. Better than that fucking lingerie taunting me all night.
I follow her into my bedroom, tossing her a fresh shirt. “Here.”
“I’m not naked.” She catches it against her chest.
“Yeah, and that’s the problem.” Quite literally, in both cases. I turn, giving her privacy. “Put the damn shirt on.”
Fabric rustles behind me. The mattress creaks. “Done being a gentleman?”
I face her. “Done being a brat?”
My shirt drowns her, hitting mid-thigh, and somehow, that’s sexier than the lingerie.
“Never.” She sprawls across my bed like she owns it, hair fanned out on my pillow.
I grab spare blankets from my closet. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pats the space beside her. “We’re both adults.”
“That’s debatable after your little show.” I drop the blankets on my chair.
The thought of having her that close, that vulnerable… it’s too much. Too tempting. But the alternative is leaving her alone. And that feels even worse.
“What’s really going on?” I ask.
Her smile falters. “Nothing.”
“You know what I think?” I sit on the edge of the bed. “I think you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “Whatever’s happening here.”
“Nothing’s happening here.” She won’t meet my eyes. “You said it yourself.”
“So, you got drunk and then suddenly want to have sex?”
“Would you…” Her voice gets small. “…leave if we don’t?”
“Is that what this is about?” I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You think I’m only here for sex?”
Her lower lip trembles. “Aren’t you?”
“Christ.” I drop my hand. “Who put that bullshit in your head?”
She sits up, knees pulled to her chest. “Serena said?—”
“Of course she did.” I bite back a growl. “Because Serena’s such a fucking expert on relationships.”
“You did leave.”
“I left because I had to deal with my shit.” I run a hand through my hair. “Not because I didn’t want you.” And I still hate myself for it. For wasting that precious time.
“Because you’re so good at dealing with things.”
“At least I’m not trying to fuck away my problems.”
Her head snaps up. “Screw you.”
“Already tried that tonight, remember?” I catch her wrist as she tries to slap me. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Let go.”
I tighten my grip. “Come on, Naomi. You want to hit something? Hit me. You want to fuck something up? I’m right here.”
“I hate you.” But her voice cracks.
“No, you don’t.” I pull her closer. “You hate that I see through your bullshit.”
She struggles against my grip. “You don’t see anything.”
“I see everything.” I release her wrist, letting her stumble back. “I see how you check out when someone mentions Anne. How you flinch every time your mom or dad calls. How you can’t keep food down when you’re stressed.”
“Stop.”
“I see you, Naomi.” I lean forward, catching her gaze. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears spill down her cheeks as her shoulders shake. “You can’t promise that.”
“I’ve wanted you since college. If sex was all I wanted, don’t you think I’d have moved on by now?” My hands itch to pull her close, to shield her from everything, including herself. “I’m like a bad penny, cupcake. Or better yet, that stray dog that keeps showing up at your door because you fed it once. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Everyone leaves.” She swipes at her eyes. “My dad. My mom. Anne. You’ll?—”
“I’m not them.” I cup her face, thumbs brushing away tears. “I’m right here.”
Her hands grip my wrists. “Brandon…”
“So no.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “We’re not having sex tonight. Or any night until you believe I’m not going anywhere. And now, sleep.”
“Stay?”
Like she needs to ask. “Always, cupcake.”