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The scream was a siren as I convulsed. Brandon held me tightly as I shook out my second, infinitely more intense orgasm of the night. His own breathing was heavy against my neck long after the waves of intensity had crashed through every limb, every eyelash, every strand of hair.
Finally, once my body had gone entirely limp, Brandon removed his fingers and used the towel hanging on the end of my bed to wipe them off before returning to where I lay motionless. He gathered me firmly into his chest.
“Holy shit,” I murmured against the crisp edges of his shirt collar. I was a sponge that had been completely wrung out. Emptied. And yet perfectly content. “Holy shit.”
Brandon chuckled and stroked my hair. He was still fully dressed while I was almost completely naked. My legs, however, felt like noodles, and I was too exhausted to care.
“Can I use your bathroom?" he asked a few moments later. He gently disengaged his arm from under my heavy head and got up.
My eyes still closed, I gestured vaguely with one spaghetti-like arm. “Across the hall.”
He chuckled again. “Okay, Red. I’ll be right back in a sec.”
Alone, my senses returned, and the magnitude of what just happened hit me. I stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, which suddenly seemed to gape like canyons.
This wasn’t just a fun flirtation with my former boss anymore; with his deft touch, the balance of power had been completely knocked astray. I had just been rocked completely, irrecoverably to my core. But men like Brandon Sterling could have anyone they wanted. There was absolutely no reason for him to stick around when things inevitably got tough. If this ended—no,whenit ended—how could I be happy with anyone else knowing this was still out there?
This was bad.
I yanked the edge of my quilt up and burrowed under it, curling up like a shrimp and covering my nakedness. We hadn’t even left my apartment yet—we hadn’t even been on adate!—and I already knew I wouldn’t be able to say no to him. This wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic.
“We still have time to make our reservation if we hurry,” Brandon called from the bathroom. “Don’t worry.”
What he had just done had completely shattered every other sexual experience I had ever had, and he had only removed his jacket. Don’t worry? How could I not?
Fourteen
When Brandon returned, I had on my bathrobe. The tatty blue thing wasn’t the sexiest thing in the world, but I wasn’t putting on the dress he’d stripped off me, nor was I going to parade around my room in nothing but my bra and stockings. Sex was obviously not going to be a good way to assert myself with Brandon Sterling.
Without making eye contact, I ducked into the bathroom. In the mirror, I took one look at my swollen lips, mussed hair, and blotchy skin, and smacked myself lightly on the forehead. What the hell was I thinking? Okay, I wasn’t. Instead, I had come apart at the seams with someone I hardly knew.
The reality was that most men thought little of women they perceived to be easy. Normally I didn't care about such labels, even if I couldn’t quite flout them like Jane did. But I did care about what Brandon Sterling thought. I cared a lot.
I had been with other men, but it had never been anything close to that kind of heat. What had we done, exchanged maybe five or six words before Brandon basically pounced on me?
My insides crumbled as I realized that he must have walked in thinking I was going to be an easy score. Every obnoxious comment I’d ever heard about giving away the milk for free chanted through my head, and I knocked my knuckles on my forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Now he was probably getting ready to bolt, if he hadn’t already. How embarrassing would it be when I walked out with freshly redone makeup for no one at all? I proceeded to scrub it all off. If I was going back out there, it would be with a fresh face. It will be without pretense.
My stomach both calmed and leaped (how were such contradictory emotions even possible?) at the sight of Brandon sitting on the arm of the sofa, buffing the face of his watch with a handkerchief. He had put his jacket back on, and his shirt and tie had been smoothed into place. The only signs of our little tryst remaining were a few rumpled hairs at the crown of his head.
He looked up with a brief smile before refocusing on his watch. Shit. He seemed as unable to make eye contact as I was.
“I was afraid you’d gotten lost in there.” He reached out and squeezed my hand absently. Then he tugged me awkwardly to his side and draped his arm around my waist.
Just as awkwardly, I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” Brandon held up his Rolex. “We should get going. Are you going to wear the same thing?”
I glanced down the hall. “Uh, no. I’ll have to find something else.”
“Well, hurry. We’ve got that reservation.”
Somewhat taken aback by his curt tone, I shuffled back to my bedroom and shut the door before finding another outfit. When I discovered a sizable run down the back of one stocking, I decided to hell with his original request for a dress. I put on my favorite pair of black jeans, a slouchy, cream-colored sweater, and comfortable oxford shoes. The outfit was the opposite of sexy.
When I returned with my parka over one arm, Brandon looked confused. “I thought you were going to wear a dress.”
I shrugged. “It’s cold. And you tore my stockings.” I grabbed my purse from the coatrack and slung it over my shoulder. “You ready?”
