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In my still-drunken haze, there was only one thing I wanted. Now it was my turn to stalk him. So I did, and surprisingly, he backed up, all the way to the thin black railing at the perimeter of the roof.
"Skylar, I want to talk," Brandon said, though his eyes continued to drift over my body, down to my bare thighs and back up to where the silver chains fell into the cleavage he couldn't help but see with his height advantage.
I ran my hands under his T-shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin again, the edges of the defined muscles that dipped into his waistband. He grunted heartily at my touch; already I could feel the length of him straining through his jeans. He wanted the same thing I did.
"I don't believe you," I said as I slipped my hands lower and started to undo the buttons of his jeans. I spread the fabric apart and pulled at the waistband of his boxer briefs, the ones that didn't exactly hide just how badly he wanted me. "I don't think that's what you're here for. And it's definitely not what I'm here for."
"Skylar––shit!" he yelped at the sudden contact of my hand closing over him. His hands, stretched out over the rickety black railing, gripped the thin metal edge tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "Baby––"
"I am not your baby," I interrupted, even as I ran my nose up and down the straining muscles of his neck. God, he smelled so good. I wove my fingers into the thick hair at the base of his neck and dragged him down to me. He met me heartily, attacking me with a ferocity that neither one of us anticipated.
"Fuck," Brandon gasped into my mouth. "Fuck, that feels so good."
He groaned as if in pain when I pulled my hand back out of his jeans. I shoved his jeans and boxer briefs over his hips, over the perfect lines of his ass and the v-shaped muscles of his abdomen. I knelt down, oblivious to the cold concrete or the fact that any of the neighbors in the taller building could see us clearly if they liked. I only had one thing on my mind.
"What are you doing? I said I wanted to talk," Brandon said, even as the obvious lust caused his voice to crack, eyes wild as he watched my descent.
"Fine, you talk. I'll listen." I took him between my lips, effectively gagging him despite being the one with a full mouth.
His hands immediately found their way into my hair, subtly urging me on.
"Skylar––fuck!" His words choked in his throat as I continued my work. "I...you know...oh my...shit!"
His breathing became more and more erratic until at last, his hands tightened in my hair and he started to rock slightly with the rhythm I had set. It didn't take long. One, two, three more times, and his entire body tensed. Brandon swore profusely, and I finished him off. Slowly. And savored every. Single. bit.
When I pulled back, Brandon was leaning completely against the railing to support his sagging weight, his face looking up to the dark night sky. His broad chest rose and fell dramatically as he worked to catch his breath. Every muscle of his legs was on display and fully tensed, the bright moonlight above us drawing shadows around their long, lean lines.
I reached to where my purse lay discarded on the concrete and stood up. All vestiges of my lust were fading fast, even though I hadn't come anywhere near completion myself. I still wanted him––God, I wanted him more than anything––but I couldn't, and not only because I wouldn't be medically cleared to do that for another two or three weeks. I couldn't because while this aching I felt, the knowledge that we just couldn't work anymore, had abated as I lost myself in him and made him lose himself in me, it had only gotten worse after.
I suddenly felt tired. And discarded. And ashamed. And heartbroken all over again.
I felt the remnants of gravel still sticking to my kneecaps, and the uncomfortable binding of this stupidly tight dress. I felt the taste of him in my mouth, and the feel of him against my fingers. The unrelenting throb of wanting him still coursed through my entire body, but my skin felt so fragile, like I was made of impossibly thin glass.
I felt like I was going to break.
Before Brandon even had a chance to pull his pants up, I fled.
"Skylar!" his voice rang out just before the heavy door slammed shut behind me. Before he could open it again, I had raced down the three flights of stairs and into my apartment.
True to his word, Eric was out for the rest of the night, undoubtedly having found what he wanted in the arms of one of the women who seemed more than ready to take him home. Our spare apartment, with its unadorned walls and ascetic vibe, mild fumes of paint still wafting from my room, was a cold, lonely refuge.
On the other side of the door, Brandon's heavy steps echoed up and down the stairs of the building. A few shouts of my name bounced off the stone floors and plaster walls. But after one of my neighbors threatened to call the police, even Brandon wasn't stupid enough to bang on anymore doors.
After thirty minutes, the footsteps faded away. I sank from my place against the door down to the hard wood floor. I buried my head in my knees and sobbed.
~
