Braden made a face. “What Scottish people have you been talking to?” his voice deepened as his melodic accent got upper crusty and kind of English sounding. “My woman was arguing pedantically about British words whilst I was trying to fuck her.”
I burst out laughing, smacking his back as he grinned cheekily down at me. “You started it with the whole tushy thing, Mr. Darc-” I sucked in my breath as his hand slid sensually down my waist, around my back and down under my shorts and panties so he was cupping my bare butt. He jerked me upwards, pressing his hard cock against me. I gasped as everything tingled—my scalp, my nipples, my sex. The atmosphere between us changed instantly. We didn’t speak as Braden pulled back onto his knees, his erection throbbing. I sat up, my eyes still on his as I reached out and wrapped my hand around him. The fire in his eyes flared as my grip tightened and I slid my hand down the hot silk of him. His hand wrapped around mine — I thought at first to guide me, show me what he liked — but instead he took my hand in his and forced it behind my back, dragging me up to his mouth. His lips were soft, gentle at first, but I wanted more. I flicked my tongue against his, deepening the kiss into something wild, lush and wet. God, the man could kiss. I could still smell his cologne on him, feel the gentle abrasion of his stubble against my cheek, and I could taste what being with me did to him. I’d never known that someone’s desire for me could be so powerful. But his was. It drove me over the edge and made me forget everything else.
Braden’s lips reluctantly parted from mine, and he let go of my hand, shifting back a little to trail his hands along the waistband of my shorts. I leaned back on my elbows, giving him better purchase, and I watched, my belly a flurry of excited butterflies, as he slowly pulled my shorts and panties off and threw them over his shoulder. Helping him out, I lifted my camisole off and stretched back, naked for his perusal.
The sex was different than it had been the day before. Braden’s touch was more deliberate, more patient, almost reverent, as he pressed me onto my back using his body, positioning himself between my legs. He cupped my breasts in his hands, holding them up to his mouth, his lips and tongue taking turns to slowly enflame my body.
“Braden,” I sighed, clutching at the nape of his neck, my own arching, my breath faltering as he drove me towards release with just his mouth wrapped around my nipple.
He lifted his head, his hand gliding between my legs. Pleasure shot through me as two fingers slipped inside me. “So wet,” he murmured, eyes bright. “Tomorrow after family dinner you’re coming back to my place and I’m going to fuck you in every room, in every way I can.”
My eyes flew to his, my chest rising and falling rapidly at his words.
“I’m going to make you scream there since you can’t here,” he promised softly, realizing this was also a reminder to be quiet since Ellie was down the hall. “But right now, I’m going to enjoy watching you bite your lip.”
And I did. He pushed inside of me and I swallowed a cry by biting my lip, holding on for dear life as his earlier, slow gentleness disappeared, his groans and grunts against my neck sexy as hell as he pounded me into orgasm.
***
I felt a little more relaxed for my bar shift on Saturday night. Braden did me a favor and gave me space—he, Ellie, Jenny, Ed, Adam and a couple more of their friends I didn’t know so well, headed out for dinner and drinks. I was invited to the dinner part of the evening, but I didn’t feel ready to be in a social situation just yet with Braden, and like I said, I wanted some space.
When I got home from work he wasn’t there, and when I woke up, I was alone.
Even Ellie gave me space.
That meant I actually did some writing. In fact, I wrote a whole chapter of my contemporary novel, and I only took one panic attack. But it was so short it barely counted, and once I got past the initial panic, I was able to deal with the memory of my mother telling me how scary it had been to come to the States alone, but how liberating it had felt to do it. Best of it all, I knew that feeling. I could write that feeling well. And I did.
“You know you should have a typewriter.”
I spun around in my computer chair at the familiar voice, gazing up at Braden lounging in my doorway in his jeans and t-shirt. It was raining outside. He should really have a sweater on. Or jumper. Another weird word we’d discussed when he was dressing to leave me yesterday. What the hell was a jumper anyway? My mom had never been able to give me an answer that made sense, and Braden had just smiled at me like he thought I was cute. I was never cute. “A typewriter?”
He nodded, eyeing my laptop. “Just seems more authentic, no?”
“Well, my mom promised to buy me one for Christmas, but she died before she could.”
I froze.
My heart sped up as my words echoed back at me.
Why did I tell him that?