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Brandon's mouth stilled for a moment. "You sure?" he asked even as his fingers started to find a consistent rhythm that definitely worked.
I arched against his hand, my eyes fluttering in the dark at the familiar pulse growing inside me. At some point, Brandon had learned to do this better than I ever could, and it was getting hard to think straight.
"When you're inside me, I want, um, you inside me," I fibbed through shallow breaths.
I wanted that to happen right now more than anything, but I had to wait. I couldn't see what he looked like, and maybe it was for the best he couldn't see me. He would probably see the guilt written all over me, fighting with the desire his quick fingers were creating.
"Your wish is my command," Brandon said as he quickened the pace.
His teeth trailed over the top edge of my ear, nibbling slightly before his mouth moved lower to suck at my neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Ah!" I cried at the sudden mix of pain and pleasure. His fingers found a more consistent rhythm, and my hips began to rock with them, as if of their own accord.
"The last two months," Brandon growled. "Every day. Every day I've dreamed of this body. This body is mine, Skylar? Do you hear me? Every orgasm. Every ache. Every pull. Mine."
I shuddered at his words, climbing closer and closer to my climax. But even if his words pushed me closer to the edge, they drove other desires too. As his mouth found me again for a kiss that was almost painful, my hands tore at his belt buckle. He grunted in surprise as I unfastened his jeans and my hand took hold of him.
"Mine too," I murmured as I started to move my hand up and down his considerable length, matching the rhythm he had already set.
I could feel, rather than see, Brandon's mouth fall open, lips powerless as we worked each other's bodies. I could hear people moving in the hallway, could feel the vibrations of the band's insistent rhythms through the flimsy door. But here in this closet, his touch, my touch, we consumed each other. With each small caress, we brought each other closer to finishing, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, groan to groan.
"Fuck!" Brandon finally left out a hoarse yelp. His head fell over my shoulder and pressed into the door at my back. "Are you close?" he croaked into my ear.
His thumb pressed slightly harder, then he seized my clit between two fingers and squeezed.
"Brandon!" I cried out.
I bit his shoulder through his shirt, which seemed to push him over the edge, and both of our bodies tensed together, finding our finish as waves of mutual pleasure overtook us. Brandon muffled both of our cries with a kiss as I fell apart under his hand. A few seconds later, my upper thigh was covered with his release.
After we had managed to catch our breaths, the jiggling of the doorknob snapped us both out of our post-orgasmic dazes. It appeared to be a drunk concert-goer looking for a bathroom. Whoever it was soon tromped away, but suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I was standing in a custodial closet, shirt above my tits, pants at my knees, and thighs smeared with the sticky residue of Brandon's pleasure.
Brandon swallowed as he refastened his jeans, then pulled out his phone to shine a light around the dark, humid space.
"Aha!" he exclaimed when he found a stack of spare paper towels.
I cleaned myself off, then awkwardly reassembled my clothes while Brandon rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. It wasn't until I looked up again to find him watching me adjust my bra with lust written all over his features again that I realized I had no need to feel uncomfortable. When he caught me looking, his mouth twitched.
"Slow, huh?" he whispered with a half-smile.
I bit my lip. "Slow for us?"
We could never seem to keep our hands off each other, even in those moments when I hated his guts. That had never been the problem.
"Can we get out of here?" Brandon asked as he leaned in for another kiss. "I don't want to be arrested for public lewdness."
"We're not having sex tonight," I said as he nibbled on my neck. I'd have said the man was insatiable, but I was feeling the same way.
With a reluctant groan, Brandon stood up straight. "Can I at least stay over?" he asked. At my expression, he held his hands up in mock-submission. "No funny business, I promise." He blinked, his eyes wide. "I just want to be with you, Red. I miss you."
I leaned into him. We needed to take things slow physically, but that didn't mean I didn't want to be around him just as much.
"Okay," I relented. "You can come over."
"Great. You leave first and get a cab back to your apartment. I'll follow in my car."
Checking first to see if I was completely redressed, Brandon opened the door and guided me out. There were a few other people in the hall looking for bathrooms, but no one seemed to care that we had just emerged from a closet together.
"Got everything?" Brandon asked.
I checked for my purse, made sure nothing had fallen out. "Yep."
"Good. Here's for the cab."
Before I could stop him, Brandon pressed a crisp fifty into my hand. With the effects of two whiskeys running through me, I was too slow to summon a rebuke before Brandon guided me to the club entrance and asked the doorman to hail me a cab.
"I'll see you there, Red," he said, with a brief stamp before nudging me out the door.
A car was waiting for me when I reached the curb. I glanced back to where Brandon was peering from the interior shadows, likely checking for signs of a tail. I waved at him, and he waved back with a rueful smile. Then I was shut into the cab, alone and on my way home.
~
