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We are frenzied, kissing, licking, biting lips, pushing, and pulling at one another. Years of longing exploding in a frantic embrace. I wind up with my back against a brick wall, my dress rucked up to my hips and him settled between my thighs. When I hear the rip of fabric, I realize he has torn my panties off.
“Paisley,” he growls, his fingers coasting between my legs, “let me touch you. Please, babe,” he sounds pained, and I whimper, nodding my head.
“Yes, yes, please,” I cry, throwing my head back and tangling my fingers in his dark hair.
I moan long and loud when his rough fingers spread me open, the wetness dripping there making his touch loud. I should be ashamed that I am so turned on but, no. I was never ashamed of how badly I always wanted him. At what he could reduce me to with a few kisses or simple touches.
Bran knows my body better than I do. He was the first person to please my body, to really find the spots that turn me on and make me come. He spent time figuring out all the ways to drive me crazy, to make me beg for more, and I don’t care if he uses those on me now. I have not been touched this way in so long—not since him.
“God so wet,” he growls again, shoving his middle and ring finger inside of me until he hits that magic spot, “there she is. There’s my girl. Only you feel this way. Only you get this wet, this hot, this fucking tight, for me. Just for me. Five years or fifty, this won’t ever fucking change. Your body belongs to me.”
Whimpering, I nod my head because we both know it’s true. This is why it could only ever be him. Why I maybe flirted with men since him but could never even think of letting them touch me. Because only he could touch me this way, could play my body like an instrument, stringing out a melody only he knows.
“Bran, please,” I moan, rocking my hips as his fingers pump into me, the tips rubbing at that tender spot.
“I want it to last. I missed watching you come so bad,” he hisses, pulling his fingers from me to rub at my swollen clit, “I don’t want you to come yet. I want it to last all fucking night. I want to be inside you when you come.”
“Yes,” I cry, nodding my head as I lower my hips, my hands going to his belt, “yes, inside me. I missed you filling me. I need you, Bran,” I plead, pulling at his button and zipper, and letting my hands dive inside his slacks.
“You want me inside you,” he groans, pushing his hips forward so his hard shaft fills my hands, “what about after, babe? You stayed away from me for four years. You going to come back to me? Or do you just want my cock?” There is pain in his words, and it wakes me up, even with his touch still working me to orgasm.
Bran strokes his fingers over me once more and I can’t hold back. Staring into his eyes, I come so hard I shout and shake against the wall. It burns through me like a fuse going off, starting off slow before combusting all at once. I curl up against him as it sizzles through me, needing him to hold me up as I come apart. I pant against his mouth as I try to decide how to answer him.
Only how can I tell him I don’t know how to answer him?
How can I tell him the hurt we caused each other is still so fresh and so raw I can’t tell him anything but that I regret it and I miss him? I cannot promise him more than this. But I can’t deny that I want him like I always did before. Like I always will.
“I don’t know. I do want you,” I admit, flushing as I kiss him between shy words that are hard to get out, “I miss you, Bran. I miss you all the time. But we tried before and....”
“That was before, babe. We were young and stupid, different people. Don’t tell me yes right now. Just don’t tell me no. Come home with me. We can start there. We want each other like we always have. Like we always fucking will. Let me have you for tonight. For tomorrow too. Please.”
“Yes,” I admit because there is no point in lying, “yes, I want to go home with you.”
That is how I wind up in his car, his hand holding mine, and one of the old playlists he made me playing as he drives me home.
It almost feels like old times.
CHAPTER 8
Bran
* * *
Taking Paisley home feels so right.
Tonight, I had hoped to take her on a date at the Tapas place, like I promised her. Well, the stranger she was flirting with over a dating app promised her that. When she showed up and saw it was me, she was not surprised. Even though she stormed out and got me to chase her—I always did love chasing after my girl—she knew damn well it was going to be me there waiting to meet her.
All this time we talked using that app as an excuse to hide behind, she knew it was me. I know she did. Paisley would never have told a stranger the things she told me. Including that she missed me and wanted to talk to me. Knowing that and holding back from going to her before tonight has been almost impossible. When she admitted that, I wanted to go to her, but I knew I had to wait because she said she was not ready.
“You could have told me,” she whispers now, playing with my hand where it sits at her thigh, stroking her silky skin.
“And risk you not talking to me? No chance, babe,” I say evenly, my thumb rubbing at the tattoo garter at her thigh. Fuck, that tattoo always turned me on—seeing it peeking out from her sexy little dress tonight drove me nuts. I can’t wait to get my mouth on it.
“Why...why did you let me go four years without talking to you, Bran?” she wonders softly, her voice sad. I turn to look at her in the darkness, the moonlight making her creamy skin glow.
Sighing heavily, I bow my head. I am ashamed I let her get away from me for so long. I am the one who screwed up. Who told her we could not make long distance work because I wasn’t going to hold her back. Letting her ever think I could move on after her, and so quickly, was the biggest mistake I could have ever made.
“At Milo’s party,” I stop then start again, my words unsteady, “I was angry at you. I was hurt. After you left, I think I packed my shit to go after you fifty times, babe. I never really thought we would be done for good. I just figured you were better off going after what you wanted.” I sigh.
