“Yeah. I’m ridiculously falling for you, too, Brandon Hayes,” I say softly and push back a piece of hair that’s fallen on his forehead. My heart is pounding like a stampede at what’s to come and what I need to say next.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asks as I let my fingers trace over his face, his nose, and his lips before keeping my hand on his cheek.
“Remember when I told you about how I was diagnosed with clinical depression?”
“Yeah.” He nods and then stops. “You’re okay, right? Like I’m not pushing you or anything? Please tell me if I do.”
“No. No, you’re perfect and patient. But one of the side effects with the medication I’m on is lack of…” I pause as I look for the right words. How do you tell someone that a lack of sexual desire isn’t because of them? “It can be a struggle to have any sort of sexual stirrings because of my medication.”
“Oh,” is his response.
“Yeah. And I don’t want you to think it’s because I’m not attracted to you, because I am. I want to be upfront with you and let you know that it might take a little longer to find my release, or I might not always be in the mood.”
“Patience and communication. I can do that,” he says.
“Thank you. Can you kiss me now?” I ask, and his smile is the last thing I see before he leans forward and closes the inches of space between our lips. We fit perfectly together. Weirdly, I knew this the first time he kissed me and all the times after that. But until this moment, I haven’t let myself notice. The eldest Hayes brother and I fit together like a complicated puzzle and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Brandon’s arms wrap around my waist and any remaining distance between us is eliminated in that movement. This kiss makes all the others seem like child's play. This kiss is all tongues and teeth, groping hands and tugging on clothes, hands going under shirts to feel the other, and breathing each other’s air. Brandon pulls me onto his lap, but my knee bumps into the underside of the piano, preventing us from moving further.
“Hold on, baby.” He says into my mouth and moves us off the bench.
My legs wrap around his waist as he walks back over to the couch and sits down with me in his lap. My breath catches as I feel his obvious erection through the worn jeans he’s wearing. The thin fabric of my sweatpants does nothing to stop me and my nipples are pressing into the fabric of my top. As our tongues tangle and the sound of our ragged breathing is heard in the otherwise empty room, my hips begin to move, seeking friction that only he can give. Brandon’s hands land on my hips and he helps guide my choppy motion over his stiff dick. I rise up on my knees and sink back down, sighing into his mouth and letting the feel of him at my entrance ignite me. Our kiss stutters and my breath catches in my throat as the feel of us together grows more real and one of his hands leaves my waist as it travels to the front of my body.
“Is this okay?” he asks as his fingers rub along the seam of my sweats.
That, with the added feel of lust coursing through my veins, has only one word coming from my mouth. “Yes,” I whimper. “Yes, that's more than okay.”
Brandon leans forward and takes my lips in a breath-stealing kiss as his fingers rub maddening circles on my clit driving me to an orgasm. All of it is too much, and I weave my hand through his brown strands and tug, making him groan into my mouth.
“I can feel the heat of your pussy through your sweats,” Brandon says as he rips his mouth from mine and trails his lips over my cheeks and to my neck. He finds a spot that makes me melt and chuckles. “What do you need?”
He expects me to form words?“I need you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
Smartass. “I need you to make me come with your fingers.”
He pauses where his fingers are rubbing my clit and pulls his head back. His pupils are blown, his lips are kiss-bruised, and his hair is wild from my hands. “Stand up for me.”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion.
“Up, Angela.” His firm tone of voice leaves no room for objection.
I do what he orders and my brain actually short-circuits when he sticks his thumbs in the pockets of my sweatpants and pulls them down my legs. I kick them away when they’re at my ankles and stand in front of him in just an oversized shirt that comes down to mid-thigh. I’m thankful we’re far enough away from the street where no one can see. But still, the notion that we’re in the front room and not the privacy of a bedroom thrills me.Is now a bad time to mention I’m not wearing underwear?
Brandon holds his hands out for me to take and pulls me toward him so I’m straddling his lap again. He alleviates any of my nerves and takes my lips with his again, licking at my bottom lip, and rubbing soft circles with his thumb over my hip. Slowly, I relax into his hold, and my building orgasm flies to the front of the line as the hand on my hip makes the familiar path to the front of my body, and I break the kiss. His hazel eyes darken when he notices my lack of underwear, and I whimper at the first real swipe of his thumb over my clit.
“Fuck, you’re fucking drenched,” he says as he rubs in slow circles over my sensitive spot, pulling another whimper from me.
I feel like this is the first time anyone has really touched me. And in a sense, it is. Before it was just a quick fix to get off—no feelings, no talking. Just sex and a lackluster orgasm. But with Brandon, this feels different. I feel like I’llfall and come faster than ever with how much I like him and his touch combined with how real this feels.
After Liam died, the ways I sought comfort weren’t healthy. I was drowning and I was yelling for someone to save me—to see me, and the only way to do that was to willingly hook up with willing strangers from the TapHouse. They numbed the pain for a little while, but afterward, I just felt cold. And more empty than before. But not with Brandon. Just this small moment between us has warmed me all over. Actually, every moment before this one has warmed me all over.
Brandon pulls back from our kiss to watch for my reaction as he slips a finger inside, but pauses, waiting to see if I’ll stop him. When he sees nothing but sated bliss and a challenge on my face from just this small touch, he sinks his finger inside my pussy. I clench around his finger at the intrusion, until my body relaxes–letting him inside. A moan slips from my throat at the feel, and I rise on my knees and sink back down.
“Fucking beautiful,” he muses, and I feel him add another finger as I ride his hand and barrel toward the finish line of an orgasm that is not of my own doing.
“I need more,” I choke out, because at this point, his fingers are no longer enough.
