Chapter 49 Have Your Cake #2
Oh my God. I’m seducing him. And I knew I would be—but now that I’m in the moment, the air charged, I’m wondering what on earth I’ve agreed to.
When I purr, Mr President—slow, breathy, ridiculous—I catch the stricken look on his face.
He’s in a crisis. I’ve never felt so desirable in my entire life.
But poor Brandon…he’s going to die, aroused and embarrassed, in front of everyone.
And I’m in no better state—my entire body tingling, fingers trembling on the strings as everyone claps. I feel shivery and lightheaded, my mind replaying the memory of sensual touches in the dark, his hands—and mine—roaming, coaxing pleasure.
Anticipation rolls through me as I draw a shaky breath, our eyes meeting.
I want him.
I need him.
Somehow, it doesn’t happen.
The song requests pour in, and we hardly get a moment to ourselves.
It’s encouraging to know that I can play well on a guitar other than my Cole Clark—that my ability isn’t bound to one instrument. Obvious, in hindsight, but a revelation all the same.
When it’s time to go to the pub, Ellenor thrusts a large paper bag into my hands.
“I got you a little something in town—you know, for my birthday. You should wear it now.”
“Oh no. Whatever it is, I’m not—”
“Shh. Trust me. It’s pretty.”
I level her with an unconvinced stare but head inside anyway.
Up in the bathroom, I slide the dress from the bag…and stop breathing.
The fabric spills like liquid metal across my hands—a luminous gunmetal grey in a metallic fabric that catches the light yet is soft against my skin. I willingly try it on.
Ellenor knows me well. The skater style is elegant and comfy, with bare shoulders and a respectable length, though the V-neckline dips a little lower than I’d normally choose, hinting at cleavage in a way that would normally bother me.
I twirl once, and the skirt flares out like a dancer’s. Maybe not quite so respectable after all.
I smile at my reflection. Even with sneakers and an ankle brace, I feel beautiful.
Brandon appears in the doorway.
He stops. Completely.
“Lily.”
Just my name, nothing more, but something in his voice hits low, like velvet dragging over my skin. My pulse jumps.
He came looking for me.
He’s staring, gaze roving down, tracing the shimmer of the dress, the bare line of my shoulders, then returns to my eyes as he catches himself.
“You’re wearing that?” he croaks.
Suddenly, I’m the one forgetting how to speak.
I nod, offering a helpless smile.
He moves before I can think, closing the distance in two quick strides. His hands find my waist, lifting me onto the edge of the vanity with effortless strength. I gasp, fingers curling in his shirt.
“Brandon—”
His mouth finds mine, decisive and consuming.
One hand brackets my jaw, tilting my face to deepen the kiss.
The other slides along my calf, grasping my knee before gently easing my legs apart.
He steps between, thigh pressing forward, firm and insistent, spreading me further.
The solid heat of him crowds against me, the hard press of friction drawing a moan from my lips as every coherent thought is erased.
“I—think—we have to go,” I manage, the words falling apart between kisses.
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“We do,” he says, voice unsteady. “But not yet.”
He drops to one knee before me, lifting my skirt higher, and I stammer, “The others will be waiting—”
“Let them wait,” he growls.
He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee, then higher, his mouth tracing a deliberate path along sensitive skin. Each touch is unhurried, building anticipation until I’m trembling beneath his hands.
His fingers deliver gentle strokes through my satin panties.
“Maybe, I should take them off—”
I draw a sharp breath as he tugs my panties aside, his other hand braced against my thigh, keeping me spread as his mouth finds me with devastating heat.
The first touch of his tongue sends heat spiralling through me, molten and insistent.
He works me with focused intensity, each movement unravelling me further. My fingers tangle in his hair as my head falls back against the wall, his name breaking from my lips in fragments.
I can’t believe…
His mouth, down there.
No one’s ever done that before. Not Toby. Not the boy I dated before that.
I know what they liked. I never thought I would be on the receiving end.
The fact that it’s Brandon makes it overwhelming.
The tension coils tighter, unbearable, my hands threaded in his hair, my breathing harsh amidst stifled moans. Each hot, wet, stroke of his tongue makes me writhe with want, driving me towards the edge until finally, pleasure crashes over me in waves.
I’m trembling, panting for air, but he doesn’t relent until I’m limp against the mirror, his whimpered name still echoing around us.
He rises slowly, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Now we can go,” he murmurs against my temple.
The smugness in his tone stirs something awake. He served me—now I want to serve him.
“W-wait,” I manage, sliding off the vanity and along his body until we’re chest-to-chest, his hands on my side. “Not yet.”
I’m shaky on my legs, but I press my hand to his chest, advancing with determination, walking him back until his spine hits the shower door.
“Lily?” he asks as my hands slide down his chest.
My lips brush his jaw, the faintest stubble grazing my skin.
I reach for his belt, a small smirk on my lips.
His gaze sharpens—hunger, longing, and pure disbelief flickering there.
“Lily…” His voice cracks on my name.
His obvious want fuels my confidence, my movements precise as I undo the buckle.
The metal clinks, and I slide the straps free, then I move to the zipper, lowering it slowly, deliberately, the zzzp loud in the charged silence.
And then I go down with it, careful of my ankle as I sink to my knees on the bathmat, never breaking eye contact.
A rush of air escapes him in a long, low exhale.
I ease him free, the heat of him heavy against my palm as I stroke his length once, twice—slow, deliberate—before guiding him between my lips. The taste of him, salt and want, teases my tongue.
His hand shoots out behind him to steady himself, gripping the edge of the towel rail like he’s drowning.
“Lily…”
It’s a warning and a prayer, my name spoken like he can’t believe I’m real.
Somewhere in the house, someone calls his name.
With a frustrated growl, Brandon swings the bathroom door and locks it.
“Should I keep going?” I ask, half-teasing, but my heart is racing, nerves forming at the thought that the others are wondering where we are. How long have we been here?
“Don’t—” His voice catches. “Don’t stop.”
It’s half-plea, half-command, his pupils blown wide as he surrenders. I like seeing him like this. Undone. Relinquishing control. It makes me feel powerful. I grip him, his body jerking to my touch, his head falling back to hit the glass.
I take him deeper, slow and deliberate, feeling the shudder that rolls through him. His hips flex involuntarily; his head falls back to hit the glass with a muted thud.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Lily…you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
I do know. And I want to do a lot more of it.
Loud knocks on the bathroom door.
Sean’s voice. “Sorry to do this to you, mate. But we’re going to be late.”
“Fuck.” Brandon rubs his eyes tiredly.
“Should I keep going?” This time, I’m definitely teasing him, my lips curling as I pull back just enough to let cool air brush his broad head before brushing a feather-light kiss to the broad tip.
He twitches, hands curling into a fist as he looks down at me, his expression wrecked.
“Oh fuck.”
I rise slowly, my hands gliding over his jeans, his shirt, feeling the planes of his abs, his chest, before trailing kisses up his neck, grazing his jawline. His hands settle on my waist, drawing me against him.
Another sharp knock.
“We should go,” I whisper.