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"Fuck it," he growled.
He snaked his hand around the back of my head and yanked me to him so he could curve our lips together in a kiss that consumed us both, cigarettes or not. For one, two, three seconds, he devoured my mouth, sucking on my lower lips, twisting his tongue around mine, grunting into the nonexistent space between us until, just as quickly, he released me, and we both stepped backward, like suddenly split magnets.
Both of our chest heaved, and Brandon pulled at his collar.
"Can we go home now?" he asked in a voice that made it clear that despite being a question, it wasn't a request.
I bit my now-swollen lower lip. His eyes practically turned black.
"Let's go."
He grabbed my hand, and without waiting for my response, started towing me out of the park. I was still speechless. That was what the man did to me.
~
Once we were back at the new house, it was like we hadn't already found each other's bodies twice that night. Brandon's hands were all over me as he unzipped my dress, pulled my legs around his waist, and carried me up to our new bedroom, where he set me down on the ground.
"Damn," he said as he looked me over while undoing his shirt.
I wore nothing but my lingerie––plus the blush all over my body from the way he was looking at me.
"Skylar," he said slowly as he pulled open his shirt.
My mouth dropped. It really didn't matter how many times I'd seen him like that
"Wha-what?" I stuttered, completely transfixed by his casual striptease.
Brandon smirked. "Baby, I––" he paused after tossing his shirt onto the armchair in the corner. His pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, revealing the deep V of his lower abdominal muscles before they sank below the waistband of his boxer briefs.
Finally, I was able to drag my eyes upward, and I was stilled by the fire in his eyes. The aggression of the evening wasn't completely gone, then, and he was clearly in need of some way to purge it.
"Do you trust me, baby?" he asked slowly, one eyebrow quirking upward.
I nodded. "Of course."
He smiled, slow and mischievous. "Good. Go into the closet and grab a tie."
I frowned. "What––"
"Just do it," he said in a tone that brooked no reply.
Normally I might have argued back, but my curiosity was piqued. I went into the large walk-in closet that now housed all of our clothes and, once I finally found them, started flipping through the ties neatly arranged in one of the drawers.
Unfortunately, right when I lifted up the red paisley one I liked, I saw something else that made my blood run cold.
"Christ, Red, it doesn't matter which one. I'm tying you up, not wearing it," Brandon called good-naturedly from the bedroom, where I knew I'd find him undressed.
And for once, I couldn't have cared less.
Gingerly, I reached into the drawer and pulled out the gun lying underneath the rows and rows of brightly colored fabric. I didn't know much about guns, but this one looked like the kind that police officers carried in their belts. It was heavier than I'd imagined, and the metal edges were cold.
Carrying the gun like a piece of dirty laundry, I reentered the bedroom. It wasn't until I walked to the bed that I realized I was still clutching the red paisley tie. I dropped it to the ground, where it lay like blood spilled across the white carpet.
"Took you long enough," Brandon said from where he stood in just his briefs at one of the windows overlooking the orchard. He turned around with a grin that disappeared as soon as he caught sight of me. "Shit."
"What. The fuck. Is this?"
I swallowed hard, unsure if I could even get the words out again if I wanted. It felt like all the blood had stopped running through my body.
