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“This is going to be rough, sunshine,” he managed to warn her tightly, and she clenched around him.
“Good.” Her voice was muffled against her hand. “Thank you.”
The thank-you sent him completely over the edge, and he grunted before losing himself completely. Years of experience, of technique, of laudable bedroom skills went flying out the window to be replaced by sheer, primal animal instinct. All he felt was the need to mate, to claim, to mark someone as irrevocably his. He felt her come, more than once, and he felt a rush of possessive pleasure that he could satisfy her like that. It was the resultant swell of pure happiness that sent him into his own blinding orgasm.
When it was over, when he came to himself again, it was to stare down at Lia, then at his surroundings in dazed shock. He didn’t feel right. He stepped away from her and turned his back to tug off the condom and adjust his pants. His movements were automatic but felt sluggish, like none of his limbs belonged to him. He was hazily aware of Lia moving behind him, heard her still labored breathing along with the rustling of fabric as she straightened her clothes and probably fixed her hair. But he couldn’t seem to move. He stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, not quite sure what to do or where to go next.
“Brand?” Her quizzical voice seemed to come from far away, and he blinked and then blinked again. His confusion abruptly wore off as everything snapped into focus again. He’d been in the process of discarding the condom. He went to the upstairs bathroom to complete the task and then sat on the side of the tub for a moment to gather his faculties.
He shouldn’t have left her alone immediately after sex like that, he suddenly thought.
It was an arsehole move. He moved to the basin and dashed water on his face, roughly toweling it dry before hurrying back downstairs. She was at the sink again, and he frowned at her narrow back. How could she just go back to doing the dishes after that?
They should at least talk about what happened.
“Lia?” He kept his voice gentle. “You okay?”
She lifted her hands out of the water and dried them on a dish towel before turning to face him. Her eyes were serious, but she had a smile on her face; the effect was jarring and he was shocked to recognize that this was not a genuine smile. When had he become so familiar with her that he could tell her smiles apart?
“That was something else, Brand,” she said, her voice teasing, while her eyes remained completely solemn.
“I’m sorry. It was a bit . . . much.”
“It was intense, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”
“Maybe we should talk about it?” She shook her head, another one of those horrible fake smiles on her beautiful lips.
“No. We shouldn’t.”
“Another one of your rules?” he asked, unable to disguise the frustration in his voice.
“Uh-huh. Number five, to be exact.”
“How many are there?”
“Nine.”
“I want to read them.”
“I’ll send you the abridged notes,” she promised. “I’m nearly done, let’s leave in five minutes.”
Because Lia had no other errands that day, they spent a couple of hours at the animal shelter. Brand went straight to Trevor, while Lia helped out with the adoption fair.
Her father was at the shelter today as well. He was a busy man who ran his own practice and the free clinic he and Daisy had started in Inkululeko, the township, but he spent a lot of his free time at the shelter, and Dr. Gunnerson-Smythe often called him in to consult on the more complex cases. The shelter simply didn’t have the time or resources to cope with complicated veterinary cases, and if not for her father, a lot of animals with potentially treatable problems would have been put down.
Lia and her father had waved at each other in acknowledgment but hadn’t really spoken all morning, each busy with their own tasks. Lia was interviewing potential pet families and her father was administering treatment to some of his patients, a task he would have had to squeeze in on Saturday, after his free clinic, if not for the holiday.
Lia lost track of her father and concentrated on her own task. It was a busy, tiring morning for her, and only after the rush had passed did she realize that she hadn’t seen Brand since their arrival. She stretched, ignoring the Brand-related aches and twinges in so many unfamiliar places, and handed off the last of the adoption questionnaires to Sarah, the receptionist.
“I think we did well today,” she said with a smile. “At least ten adoptions, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Minky found a home,” Sarah said, her eyes bright with excitement. Minky was one of their golden oldies, a plump ten-year-old miniature dachshund with soulful black eyes and a graying muzzle.
