With his other hand, Bran grabs my hair, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to angle my head. He hauls me into another deep, filthy kiss, his tongue plunging between my lips and taking what it wants as he circles my clit with just the tip of his finger.
My thighs tremble around his hips as more and more pressure builds in my core. I’m not sure whether I’m trying to get closer or get away; either way, I’m not going anywhere.
Bran breaks our kiss and moves to my neck, kissing and biting his way down the column of my throat, then back to my breasts. He lavishes them both with his tongue, laving and sucking at my nipples before kissing his way down my body—sternum, ribs, the soft curve of my stomach.
His finger never stops. It’s a constant, steady rhythm against my clit, never quite enough, always almost.
Then he pulls away entirely and I make a desperate little sound that would embarrass me if I had any dignity left.
He drops to his knees.
The sight alone nearly finishes me.
He replaces his finger with the tip of his tongue, a soft, testing lick that makes my entire body jerk in surprise.
“Bran,” I gasp, hands flying to his shoulders for something to hold onto.
His hands go to my hips, fingers digging in, holding me in place while he does things with his mouth that I had no idea men like him actually did.
Especially men like Bran. A tough guy. The enforcer. The one who’s supposed to be unconcerned with shades of gray or a woman’s pleasure.
He always struck me as the type who would put a woman on her knees to suck him off before fucking her into oblivion. Efficient. Goal-oriented. Little regard for nuance.
Seeing his head bent between my thighs, feeling his mouth on my pussy, licking and sucking with a focus that betrays his utter devotion to my experience…
A feeling like power roars through me, mixed with shocked recognition.
Maybe there’s more to him than I ever guessed.
“Bran, please,” I whine, hips rocking helplessly.
I need more. The feeling building low in my belly is almost unbearable now, tension coiling like a spring wound too tight.
Bran adds a finger to his tongue, sliding it into me and curling it upward against my inner walls with infuriating precision.
“Come for me, Tally,” he demands, voice muffled against my skin.
My body obeys.
It’s like he flipped a switch. The tension snaps, releasing all at once. I can’t stop it even if I wanted to, and I don’t. Pleasure crashes over me in wave after wave, hot and overwhelming. My hands tighten in his hair, my spine arching, a cry ripping free of my throat.
He keeps licking me through it, unrelenting, drawing out every last aftershock until I sag against the cabinets, boneless.
When I finally come back to earth, Bran is standing in front of me again, chest rising and falling, expression smug and something else I can’t name.
He looks…proud. A little wrecked. Very, very pleased with himself.
I make a face at him because I don’t know what else to do. “Not half bad,” I mutter.
His mouth curves slowly. “You’re a menace,” he says.
I reach for the waistband of his jeans, fingers fumbling with the button. “Turnabout is fair play,” I say. “I’m a fast learner, remember?”
His hand closes gently but firmly around my wrist, stopping me.
“Not this time,” he says.
I blink. “You can’t just— That’s not how this works. Reciprocity is a thing.”
