The entire room falls away, along with every anxiety, every question, every confusing thought I had. All that's left behind is the two of us, intensely present and entirely vulnerable to whatever comes next between us. And I want Braden to decide what that might be, because I'm tired of taking the lead. I've made the first move more than once, and tonight, I don't want to ply him or convince him, or have it feel like he's simply succumbing to a craving he couldn't control. It's time for Braden to prove to me this isn't one-sided by taking the reins, just so long as I know I'll get them back at some point.
I caught a glimpse of the Braden I want earlier tonight, when the too-slick, too-skinny cowboy at the foundation dinner invaded a little too much of my space. Braden's protective yet patient gaze was on me, and I wanted to wrap myself in that sensation, sink into the experience of being watched over without being hovered over. Braden didn't storm over like a bull bent on drawing blood, or alpha his way in and deck the cowboy's lights out, even when I was ready for him to do exactly that. He acted like a man, not a hotheaded kid, and I wanted that man—the one in possession of all that control and composure—to want me.
Braden moves to stand behind me. He draws my hair away from the side of my neck, placing a kiss to the sensitive skin behind my ear, then traces his fingertips to that same spot, and my entire body comes alive. Another sweep of my hair to the side, exposing the zipper on my dress, the one he could so easily yank down. Instead his hands land on my shoulders, fingers splayed wide so he can gently knead the muscles there. My eyes drift closed.
"I haven't done this in a while," he says.
Eyes still closed, my brow knits. This impromptu neck massage is diverting, but not so much that I don't find what he just said a little surprising. Sure, Braden isn't exactly a poster child or sociability, but he is hot. His looks alone could open a few bedroom doors, and anyone who bothers to peek under his surly Superman cape would find a man who never neglects to answer a text and sometimes checks his best friend's forehead for sign of a fever. Add in that big, masculine body of his and the guy could easily get some if he wanted to, so there must be a reason why he's been on hiatus.
Braden's thumbs begin to work over deep knots near my shoulder blades that I didn't know were there.
"Why has it been a while?"
He continues to knead until he feels my shoulders wilt in relief.
"I got burnt by an ex a few years back. I hadn't met anyone worth the trouble since then. Until now."
My curiosity doubles down on those last two words. "Why me?"
I'm not sure what it is I want him to say, so long as they aren't trite words about how I look. From another man, that sort of desire might be enough, but with Braden I need something else.What, I'm not exactly sure. I just know I need more than the superficial.
Braden's hands drop to my hips and he grips them firmly, pressing his groin to my backside.
"Because you make me feel like a goddam live wire. You're in the room and I feel you. I don't have to see you, even. Because you're fucking everywhere. It puts my teeth on edge and sets my skin on fire. And I can't get enough."
He'd heard my thoughts. He had to—that's the only explanation for his being able to say exactly what I needed to hear, yet couldn't name for myself. I calm the urge to all but shout, Take me, sailor!—like some swoony matinee star from back in the day. Slowly, I turn in his grip and meet his heavy-lidded gaze, intent on kissing him or dropping to my knees, whatever feels right.
But Braden slinks one arm tight around my waist, trapping me in his grip so he can run his fingers across my mouth, his eyes fixed there so intensely my face heats under the lovely scrutiny. My lips part a fraction, ready to speak or kiss or moan, I'm not sure which.
Braden continues to stare at my mouth. "Because it's been a while for me, I need you to let me set the pace this time. Can you do that?"
My chest begins to rise and fall raggedly. "Can we take turns after that?"
Braden's face immediately cracks into a broad grin. One that's wry and exasperated, but above all, charmed . . . charmed by me.
A slow shake of his head. "You couldn't just say yes, could you?"
"You know you would have been disappointed if I had. I just want to be sure I get my turn. I want to drive you crazy, but in a good way."
His grin fades, his eyes darken, and I find myself tossed over his shoulder before I can even act like I might object.
"Fucking live wire," he mutters, striding down the hallway and ducking when we make it to the doorway, flipping on a light switch at the same time. Braden sets me back on my feet near a single nightstand next to an enormous bed.
The room itself isn't huge, so the bed takes up most of it. The frame is gray-stained pine trimmed with black wrought iron, and if I didn't know better, I'd think it was one of Trey's designs because it's industrial-looking and impossible to ignore. The nightstand holds a tower of books and an alarm clock, and there's a grocery-store bag tossed there, partially open to reveal its contents.
Condoms. Good man, Braden.
I waste no time after that, reaching for him with a tug while trying to work his belt open and yank his shirt off all at the same time. Braden's hands swoop in and latch on to mine, letting out a low rumble as he spins me to face the other direction, still somehow able to keep my wrists in his loose but commanding grip.
His lips meet the crown of my head, whispering, "My pace. We agreed."
© 2003-2024