Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
brANDON
S he releases my wrist, spinning to face me like a whisk in a mixing bowl.
“Just… shut up for a second.”
I lean against the wall, making a show of zipping my lips before crossing my arms. Like a good boy. Which I’m not, but hey, I can play along when I want to.
Her fingers twist together as she paces in front of me. “I… I’m not good at this.” Her hands flutter. “The whole…”
My lips twitch, but I maintain my silence. Christ, she’s adorable when she’s struggling to find words. A tiny, angry cupcake with murder sprinkles.
“Stop looking at me like that. This is hard enough without you—” She gestures at my face, “doing that.”
I arch an eyebrow, channeling my best ‘who, me?’ expression, while inside, my heart’s doing backflips. She’s actually trying. Really trying.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I nod slightly, feeling my dimples deepen. Can’t help it. She brings them out like butter brings out flavor.
“Asshole.” She resumes pacing. “I’m trying to apologize here.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. I want to grab her, kiss her, tell her it’s okay. But no. She needs to do this. We need this.
“Fine. You know what? Never mind. I take it back. All of it. The kiss, the?—”
She barely makes it a step before I catch her wrist and guide her between my legs.
Watching Naomi try to express her feelings is like watching a temperamental chocolate soufflé rise at precisely 347 degrees. One draft of cold air, one slam of the oven door, and the whole thing deflates into an expensive puddle of cocoa and regret.
I know this is hard for her, but please.
My thumb finds her pulse point, tracing circles over the flutter beneath.
“That’s cheating,” she says.
I shrug, holding her gaze. Everything about her calls to me, the slight tremble in her voice, the way she’s trying so hard to be brave. My fierce little cupcake.
“I…” She swallows hard. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For running. For—fuck, Brandon, say something.”
“Why?” My voice comes out rough. “You’re doing so well.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” My fingers trail up her arm, counting the goosebumps rising in their wake. “Keep going.”
“You’re seriously going to make me do this?”
Another shrug, but I let my eyes show her how serious I am. How much I need this.
“Fine.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for making you think you weren’t enough. You were—are more than enough. I just… I got scared.”
“And?” My heart’s going crazy.
“What are you, five?”
My hand slides up to cup her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. “And?”
“And I’m sorry for making this harder than it needed to be.” The words tumble out faster now. “I’m sorry for using the safeword to avoid dealing with my shit. For not trusting you enough. For making us both miserable because I couldn’t handle?—”
“Handle what?” Come on. Say it. Please.
“How much I…” Her throat works. “How much I need you.”
My other hand finds her hip. Finally. “Keep going.”
“You’re seriously going to make me spell it out?”
“Please.” I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I feel. “Because I need to hear it. All of it.”
“I need you.” Her voice breaks. “Not just for the arrangement. Not just for…” She waves her hand between us. “This. I need your stupid texts at 3 AM. Your terrible jokes. Your smile. The way you look at me like—like that. Like I’m worth something.”
“You are.” My chest tightens. “You’re worth everything.”
“See? That. I need that. And it terrifies me because what if?—”
“It’s everything you’ve ever wanted?”
“What if you realize I’m not? What if you see all the broken pieces and decide they’re not worth fixing? What if?—”
I can’t take it anymore. I kiss her, swallowing her fears. She’s everything I’ve been craving. My fingers tangle in her hair as I pull back just enough to speak against her mouth.
“I’ve seen every piece of you, Naomi Smith. The broken ones, the sharp edges, all of it. And I’m still here. When are you going to believe in me?”
“Now.” Her voice shakes. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing away her tears. Holy shit, she means it. “Really?”
“Yes. I believe in you.” Each word hits deep inside. “I trust you.”
“One more time.”
“I—” She gasps as I brush my lips along her jaw. “Brandon…”
“Hmm?” I graze my teeth against her neck, feeling her fingers dig into my shoulders.
“I trust you. I want you.”
I search her eyes. No walls. No deflection. Just Naomi, raw and real, and mine. “You mean that?”
“Yes.” Her fingers thread through my hair, and I’m gone. “But if you make me say it again…”
I laugh, the sound rumbling up from somewhere deep and happy. “What? What are you going to do about it?”
“I might have to show you instead.”
“How?”
“By starting with thanking you properly for giving me the choice.” Her fingers trace lower on my chest. “For letting me come to you.”
“Bed and silk sheets, cupcake.” Because if she keeps touching me like that…
“Not for that.” She drops to her knees, her fingers working at my belt while my brain shuts down. “I want pancakes in the morning and stupid arguments. I want you following me into bathrooms with baking soda. I want?—”
I drag in a breath as she frees my cock. Every muscle in my body tenses with the need to move, to take, to claim.
“I want you to stay. Even when I push you away. Even when I’m difficult. I’m done running. Whatever this thing is between us, I’m all in.” She looks up through her lashes. “The good, the bad, the ugly. I want it all with you.”
“Naomi…” My fingers thread through her hair, gentle despite every instinct screaming at me to take control. “I’m not exactly easy either.”
“We’re both fucked up. But maybe… maybe that’s okay?”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” Then her mouth wraps around my aching cock, and holy.
My fingers clench in her dark strands while she draws me in further. The sight of her like this—trusting me, wanting me—it’s almost too much. Every lick, every movement of her tongue sends sparks through my body.
“Fuck…” The groan tears from my throat.
I try to keep my hips still, to let her set the pace, but she’s making it impossible to think straight.
She pulls off with a pop that should be illegal, her hand still working me. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”
Jesus Christ. My eyes lock on hers. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do.”
“You sure?”
She licks her lips. “Green.”
That one word snaps my control, guiding myself back into her mouth. The trust in her eyes, the way she just gives herself over—it makes me want to wreck her and protect her all at once.
“That’s it.” I growl, watching her take me. “You’re doing so good.”
She presses her thighs together, making me even harder. Knowing she’s getting off on this, on pleasing me—it drives me crazy. Tears gather in her eyes, spit drips down her chin, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Look at me,” I manage to rasp out, and when she does, I almost lose it right there. “Will you swallow it for me?” Please, fuck, please.
She hums around me, and that’s it.
“Prove it.” The words barely leave my mouth before everything explodes.
My vision whites out as I spill down her throat with a groan that probably is audible through the entire rooftop. Don’t care. Can’t care about anything except the wet heat of her mouth, and the way her throat works around me.
Pleasure ricochets through my body, each aftershock making my fingers tighten in her hair.
I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel her taking everything I give her.
When the world stops spinning, and my heart rate settles enough that I can form coherent thoughts again, I pull out and run my thumb over her swollen lip. “Show me.”
She tilts her head back and opens her mouth. The sight of my release on her tongue, proof of what we just shared, nearly undoes me all over again.
“Now swallow,” I say.
Like the good girl she is, she closes her mouth. I watch, entranced, as her throat works, knowing she’s taking a part of me inside her. Making herself mine in the most primal way possible.
Heat and possession surge through my chest, making my fingers tighten against her scalp. “Good girl.” The words come out like a prayer, filled with all the pride and need, and want coursing through my veins.
She’s finally mine. Really mine.
She shifts in place, clenching her legs tight again, and a smirk tugs at my lips.
“You’re squirming an awful lot down there, cupcake.” My thumb traces her bottom lip. “Are you wet?”
Her cheeks flush, but she holds my gaze. “Why don’t you find out?” Defiant even on her knees. I love that about her.
“Was that a challenge?”
“Maybe.” She licks her lips, making my spent cock twitch with renewed energy. “Or maybe I just want you inside me.”
“Yeah?” I tug her head back, exposing her throat. “After what you just did, I think you deserve a reward.”
“Brandon…”
“Stand up.”
She does, and I spin us so she’s against the wall, feeling the slight vibration of the bass through the concrete. Out there, people are dancing, drinking, living their normal lives. In here, everything’s changing.
My hand slides down her stomach, under the hem of her dress. “Fuck.” She’s soaked. “All this from sucking my cock?”
She bites her lip, hips rolling against my hand.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” It comes out breathy, desperate.
“You like being on your knees for me that much?”
Another roll of her hips. “You know I do.”
I circle her clit slowly, barely touching. “Tell me why.”
“Because—” She gasps as I press harder. “I want you to take over.”
Those words hit me harder than any touch, and I slide my fingers lower, teasing her entrance.
“Keep going.”
“I like…” Her head falls back against the wall. “I like giving you control.”
I grab her hips, grinding my cock against her soaked center. The friction is incredible, even through the fabric of her thong.
Her hands fist in my shirt. “Please…”
Bed and silk sheets. Bed and silk sheets. I know what she wants. What we both want. But not yet.
Instead, I reach down and pull her thong to the side. With a groan, I slide my cock along her slick folds, coating myself in her arousal.
“What are you—ah!”
I position myself at her entrance, pushing just the tip inside. “I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet.” I fight every instinct to thrust home. “But I am going to mark you as mine.” Shove my cum so deep inside her, not her, not anyone will think our relationship is anything but real.
I start to move, shallow thrusts that never go more than an inch or two inside her. It’s maddening, exquisite torture. For both of us, I’m sure.
“More, please…” she begs.
“No.” I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. “This is your punishment for making me wait so long.”
She whimpers but doesn’t argue. Good girl.
I feel my release building quickly. The sight of her flushed and wanting, the feeling of her wet heat around just the tip of my cock.
With a growl, I pull out completely and come, painting her pussy and the inside of her thong with my release.
And now to the best part.
I gather it all with my fingers, shoving it into her with deliberate intent.
Her eyes widen as she realizes what I’ve done.
“Now,” I press down on her clit, savoring the way her breath hitches, “you’ll feel me every time you move. A reminder of who you belong to.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“And every time someone talks to you, you’ll know.” I curl my fingers. “That you’re mine.”
She’s close. I can feel it in the way her insides contract, see it in the flush spreading down her neck.
“Brandon…”
“I’ve got you.” I press my forehead to hers, increasing the pressure on her clit. “Let go for me.”
Those mesmerizing eyes lock onto mine, wide and vulnerable, and it hits me right in the chest—how much she’s giving me, how much she’s letting me see.
“Please…”
“What do you need?” Though I already know. I just want to hear her say it.
“You.” She rocks against my hand. “Just you.”
“You have me.” I press harder, working her faster. “All of me.”
Her legs start to shake, and I wrap my free arm around her waist, holding her up as she falls apart. The sight of her coming undone, knowing I did this to her, it’s better than any five-star review I’ve ever gotten.
And I watch every second of it—the way her mouth opens in a silent scream, the way her eyes squeeze shut, the way her whole being seems to break and then reform. It’s perfection.
I keep my fingers inside her, gentling my movements and feeling every aftershock, every little spasm.
When her breathing steadies, I bring my fingers to my lips, tasting us.
It’s the best dish I ever made.
Her eyes track the movement, darkening all over again.
Bed and silk sheets.
I tuck myself back into my pants before carefully adjusting her thong. “You okay?”
She nods, then winces as she shifts position. “That was…”
I smirk. “Yeah?”
“Shut up.” She looks different, like admitting her feelings unlocked something in her. Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.
That critical moment after a soufflé sets—when the structure finally stabilizes and you know, deep in your bones, that all the precise temperatures and careful handling paid off. That sometimes, patience and the right touch can transform something volatile into something beautiful.
Either way, I’m not letting her run this time.
“You sure you okay?” I ask again.
“Green.” She rests her head against my shoulder. “Very green.”
My hands stroke down her back, feeling the slight tremors running through her. “You’re trembling.”
“Good trembling.” She presses closer. “I meant what I said before. All of it.”
“I know.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing her in. “You’re still shaking.”
“Maybe because someone just—” Her voice turns to a whisper. “I don’t even know how to describe what we just did.”
“Want some water?”
“In a minute. Can we… stay like this? For a bit?”
“As long as you need, cupcake.”
We stand there, her heartbeat steady against my chest as my fingers trace patterns on her skin. For once, everything feels right. Complete.
“Missed this,” I tell her. “Missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Waking up in your bed.”
I chuckle, joy bubbling up in my chest. “That a promise?”
“Yes.” She withdraws to look at me. “But I need a shower first.”
“I have one of those.” My fingers trail to her thigh. “And clean sheets.”
“And breakfast in the morning?”
“Anything you want.” My heart does that thing it only does for her.
“Brandon?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re together now. For real. Aren’t we?”
“We are.” I lift her up, and her legs wrap around me as I carry her outside. Finally fucking right.
“Show-off,” she mutters against my neck.
“You love it.” And she does. I can feel it in the way she holds onto me, trust me, chooses me. My fierce little cupcake, finally home where she belongs.