Page 20 of Branded

He releases my wrists and rolls off me in one fluid movement, standing beside the bed in all his naked, tattooed, heavily muscled, amazing glory. Holy fuck, Lennox, quit looking at the man. I know you want to climb him like a tree, but remember he’s an asshole. My brain screams at me, but God, I want to ignore it.

“Get dressed,” he says, walking toward what I assume is a closet, his ass flexing with every step. Even his back has ink, something across his shoulder blades I can’t make out at this angle. “I got clothes delivered for you. They’re in the living room.” Then he disappears through a doorway.

I force myself to sit up, ignoring the protest from every muscle I possess. My feet find the floor. I look around for something to wear, but the silk robe from last night is still crumpled on the living room floor where Sebastian stripped it off me.

I wrap the sheet around myself like a toga and stand. The bedroom is massive now that I can actually see it in daylight. More floor-to-ceiling windows, more expensive art, a sitting area with leather chairs I didn’t notice last night. The bed itself is a California king, probably custom-made, with posts but no canopy. Black satin sheets that probably cost a fortune and are now stained with evidence of what we did together.

I move toward the living room. The sheet trails behind me, and I stop dead in the doorway.

The living room, the huge space with its ocean views and expensive furniture, has been transformed into a clothing boutique. Racks of clothing line one entire wall. Dresses, pants, blouses, skirts, all look to be my size, somehow. Shoes arranged beneath: heels, flats, boots. A separate rack holds lingerie and a table displays folded jeans, T-shirts and workout clothes.

It is a store’s worth of clothing. Thousands of dollars of designer labels and luxury brands.

I stand there, clutching the sheet around me, staring at the evidence of how he seems to think of everything. He had all of this delivered while I was asleep.

“It’s all yours.”

His voice comes from behind me. I didn’t hear him approach, and I almost jump out of my skin. He moves his hand around my waist, then with a quick tug, he pulls me back against his chest. He’s half dressed in expensive tailored pants, sitting low on his hips, but remains shirtless. I feel his warmth against my bare shoulders where the sheet slides down.

“I had my personal shopper pull everything in your size,” he continues, his breath hot against my ear. His hands press me to him, possessive, claiming me even through the fabric. “You’re a Drake now. You’ll dress like one.”

His hands find my hips through the sheet, fingers pressing into the bruises he left there.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, and I can hear the dark amusement in his voice.

“I don’t think I had a choice; you exhausted me.”

“Mmm.” His lips find my neck, and he kisses the bite mark. “Your stamina will improve, once your body gets used to my desires.”

“I’ll never get used to you or your desires.”

“We’ll see.” One hand slides down my stomach, lower, finding me through the sheet. “You didn’t mind coming for me.”

I consider pulling away, but his other arm has banded across my chest, holding me in place against him. His fingers press between my legs through the fabric, finding wetness that I couldn’t control if I tried.

“Still wet?” he questions. “Or wet again from me touching you? You seem to what you want, Lennox. These two years promise to be interesting.”

“Stop,” I huff, but did I mean it?

“We need to get ready for Margaret.” Sebastian doesn’t stop; his fingers work me through the sheet. He moves his other hand up to cup my breast, thumb finding my nipple. “She’ll want to see all the marks I left. The bite on your neck. The bruises on your hips. Maybe I should add a few more before we go.”

“Sebastian.”

He spins me around suddenly, and the sheet falls away, leaving me naked in his arms. His hands grip my ass, lifting me, and my legs wrap around his waist before I know what they’re doing. He walks us backward until my back hits the wall beside the clothing racks, pinning me there.

“I want to hear it again,” he demands, his face inches from mine. “Say you’re mine.”

“Go to hell.”

He grinds his hips against me, his erection pressing against my pussy through his pants. I gasp at the pressure, the promise.

“Say it, or I’ll fuck you right here against this wall and make you scream it.”

My core clenches with need, and he feels it, his smile dark and satisfied.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

“Louder.”