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We bristled, nose to nose despite the fact that he stood almost a foot taller than me. Christ, I thought to myself, inwardly smirking at the fact that my new priest probably wouldn't like me thinking that way. We really were like magnets.
"I'm not the one who is living in a fucking ocean of my own denial," I said through my teeth.
"Are you kidding me?" he said. "Who convinced herself that a guy trying to do every fucking thing he could think of to love and protect her was some kind of scumbag?"
"Still," I seethed. "I'm here now. I'm present. I got down on my knees in a room full of people and asked you to marry me, for Christ's sake! I'm the one converting to a religion I don't believe in for you! I'm seeing a therapist and owning the shit that's happened to me. Is that what you call denial?"
To his credit, he said nothing as I rushed on.
"I am not the one who is waking up nightly in cold sweats with bad dreams I refuse to talk about! I am not the one who thinks he has to be everything for everyone all the fucking time and is DRIVING HIMSELF CRAZY DOING IT!"
"I'm not crazy, Red!"
"Well, you're getting close!" I yelled. "If I'm going through all of this to fix myself for you, then the least you could do is see a therapist to fix whatever shit is going on in your head! You clearly have some kind of PTSD from your childhood, and something is triggering it, and––"
"I DON'T NEED TO BE FIXED!" Brandon roared, so loudly that I jumped back.
Silence fell over us, the sounds of our breaths heaving filling the small room. Brandon's naked pecs tensed and bulged in the moonlight that striped through the blinds, making him look almost tiger-like. His eyes, which seemed to glow extraterrestially, skimmed over my body, which was scantily clad in just a light camisole and underwear.
"Oh, no you don't," I said, scrambling backward and around the other side of the bed.
"Come on, Red," he taunted in a low voice that had me half-turned-on, half-terrified. "You want a little crazy, baby?"
He crawled over the bed, moving his shoulders up and down like the big cat he resembled, and a split second later, he had me cornered against the cold glass of the picture window. I shook my head vigorously, although I couldn't fully look away. There was nowhere for me to go.
"Come on," he purred as he leaned down and drew his nose up the side of my neck. His hot breath caused goose pimples to rise there, and he grazed the edges of his teeth over my artery, like he was a predator getting ready to kill his prey.
"Please," I whimpered, although now I wasn't sure what for.
"Please what, Red?" Brandon rumbled against the delicate skin. He bit down, lightly. "God, you taste good. You always taste so damn good."
As my chest heaved, my breasts tested the confines of the camisole. Brandon looked me over, a smile playing across his lips as he zeroed in on my nipples, visibly hardened through the thin cotton.
With a light touch, he pulled one strap of the camisole over one shoulder, then followed on the other side. Then he hooked a finger in the center of my shirt and tugged until both breasts bobbed over the material, naked in the light.
His finger drifted downward, also hooking on the edge of my underwear and pulled enough so that it eventually slid down my legs of its own accord. Brandon slipped his finger in between my legs, toying with the delicate skin there. I shifted, and his finger entered me.
"You're always so wet for me," he murmured as he gently pushed it in and out.
"Ummmm," I murmured, arching me back lightly against the glass. I could barely speak when he touched me like this.
With his other hand, Brandon palmed my right breast, then gently dragged all five fingers over my flesh until they closed over my nipple. He pulled on the sensitive nub while his thumb found a slightly more insistent rhythm.
I couldn't do anything but watch.
"You get so turned on by me, don't you, baby?" Brandon asked in a low, husky voice.
"Mmmmm," I said, my eyes falling closed as his hand switched to play with my other breast. "I do."
"Do you want me to make you come, Skylar?" he asked.
"Yesss..." I said as I arched backward again, my hips rocking into his hand as if of their own volition.
As the pressure mounted and I started to approach my edge, he stopped, holding his fingers still within me.
"Ssss!" I hissed. "Don't stop!"
Brandon chuckled, but obediently moved his hand back to what it was doing before. Just as I was about to explode, he stopped again, much to my bitter disappointment. What kind of game was this? As he continued to tease me, pulling away just as the sensations really started to mount, he held me firmly in his grasp. I couldn't think of anything else.
