Setting the tickets on the side table, the coffee too, I reached a fingertip out, running it back and forth against his throat. Drifting lower, my finger hooked under the collar of his shirt, pulling him from the floor, to reach my wanting lips.
The kiss started out slow and gentle but progressed to urgent and needful in record time. In a blur, we had moved to the sofa, my back pressed against it, his hard body pressed against me.
Without instruction, my legs had parted for him, giving him access to the part of me that had never been touched before. This seemed to please him. This pleasedme. An intense ache grew between my thighs, and my lower stomach tightened in anticipation.
His mouth devoured my lips, the length of my jaw, my neck, the curve of my collarbone, and then he voyaged even lower, to my breasts. His mouth felt warm and teasing against the thin fabric and I moaned. A helpless, yearning sound that seemed to do something to him.
He made a low noise in his throat in response, a guttural sound that seemed to echo inside of me, making my lower stomach clench even tighter. His eyes.Oh God, those eyes.Hooded as though drunk, the darkness behind smoldering, all of that deep intensity aimed at me. The rage, the restraint, it would become a released storm.
It didn’t scare me. It thrilled me to the bone.
My hips pulsed up to meet his hardness, enticing him to go further, to meet the pulse that he had created and needed to cure. My lips formed words to back up the want.
“Make that sound again,” he demanded. “Forme.”
I did.
Begging. Pleading. Please. Oh God, please.His name.Brando.His name was a litany for relief.
I forgot myself completely, including hands, which ventured down his pants.
He stilled, sucked in a breath and hissed it out.
I stilled, not sure where to go from there, but eager to learn.
My hand burned with his heat, with the urge to explore even further, to watch his face as he surrendered to the coolness of my touch. There was no way for him to deny whatIdid to him. The proof was pressed against me.
Teach me,I am yours, my heart pleaded.Let me give my love to you in this way.
The answering look on his face seemed to respond.Youaremine and you will.
When?
A car engine sounded close by. Lights shone over the windows in a flash, and then the car idled in the driveway. Maggie Beautiful’s reckless laughter floated toward us before the car door slammed shut.
His eyes were still hooded, but entirely focused on me, before he seemed to force himself to sit up, giving me a hand to do the same.
I fixed my clothes, my hair, but he stopped me from fixing anything else by taking my hand and kissing it. His eyes met mine and I smiled without teeth, my cheeks as hot as flames. Embarrassed, some, but more so, still turned on.
He gave me a quick kiss on the lips, no less searing for its shortness. “Your name should’ve been a warning.” He stood, offering me his hand. “Time to go.”
* * *
The feel of him against my hand still burned. Looking down, I used a fingertip to trace the lines of my palm, checking for blisters in the darkness of his truck.
Oncoming lights shone in the darkness of his eyes, blazing for a second before fading off into the distance. That distinct smell of winter hung in the air; a mixture of burning fireplaces, smoking wood, and chill. Brando’s cologne, something more custom, his own scent, and leather drifted along with it too, all in harmony. The combination was unforgettable. Addicting.
I inhaled and then the breath left me in a rush. “Brando,” I whispered, to saysomething. He had become quiet during the drive to my parents’ place. Not displeased. Thoughtful.
All of that tension hadn’t left. It clung to the cold air as though it were wet. I got the feeling that we both needed more, more time to do what we had been doing.
He gave me a sideways glance in response to me whispering his name.
“Brando is an Italian name. It means brilliant raven, fiery torch, beacon.” Forcing myself to stop tracing the lines of my palm, I tucked my hands deep inside the arms of his (my) leather jacket. “Did Maggie Beautiful name you after Marlon Brando?” It seemed like something she’d do, given her flair for dramatics.Stella!
“No,” he shook his head. “Lucious Fausti gave me the name.”
“Oh,” I said, taken by surprise. “I didn’t realize…”
