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Twenty-Three
Another light snowfall was visible through the glass walls, but all I could see was Brandon.
“So,” he said softly. His eyes burned with obvious desire.
“So,” I said, just as softly.
Wires and temperature monitors didn’t matter anymore. He had already had me against one wall this evening, and now I was more than ready for him to take me on a table where the whole world could watch if they cared to look. The thought of it had me licking my lips. His eyes trained on my mouth like a big cat’s on its prey: glowing, blue and magnetic in the dim light.
Brandon breathed in and out, the rise of his chest the only betrayal of his calm. As he stood up, his shoulders blocked the shadowy moonlight. With two fingers, he tipped my chin up to make me look him in the eye.
“Stand up,” he said in a low voice just a few decibels above a whisper. It was a quiet voice, but no less menacing.
Obediently, I slid off the stool and stood before him. His gaze walked up and down my body with a heat that seared my skin.
“Take off your clothes,” he commanded. “Slowly.”
Wordlessly, I bent down; he would get an ample view of my modest cleavage when the wide neck of my blouse fell forward. I unzipped my boots and kicked them away. My socks followed, and without breaking our eye contact, I stood back up, trailing my hands up my legs until I could grab the bottom of my shirt and tug it over my head with a dramatic flourish.
When I let it drop, the vibrant blue irises of Brandon’s eyes had darkened to the color of the night sky. Momentarily, I was struck with doubt. I had never attempted a naughty striptease before. Was I doing it right? I thought I was, but Brandon’s fierce expression didn’t change.
Ignoring the nervous goose bumps rising on the backs of my arms, I offered as coquettish a look as I could manage. I drifted my hands back down to unbutton my pants and peeled them down my legs. When I stood back up, Brandon was tugging his collar away from his neck. I hid a smile. Yeah, I was doing this right.
The space heater had turned the room from a chilly glass igloo into a toasty little greenhouse, pleasantly fogging up the windows with condensation. Despite the dropping temperatures and snow outside, I was quite comfortable standing in front of him in nothing but a black lace bra and underwear. As he perused my body, I silently thanked God for my swimming habit and the presence of mind to wear decent lingerie.
Brandon reached out and traced the elastic edge of my bra, from the pin-thin strap across the delicate skin of my upper breast. He dropped into the hollow between the lace cups and back across the other side. My breath became shallow as he slid a finger under the other strap, worrying it provocatively before letting it snap back into place against my clavicle.
“I like this,” he said, his voice catching noticeably. “A lot. Where did you get it?”
“La-la Perla,” I managed to stutter.
He continued to play with the strap, and I bit my lip to prevent myself from grabbing his hand and forcing him to do the same thing with my nipple.
“How does a poor law student afford that kind of lingerie?”
I gulped. It was an indulgence—my only real one, beyond one expensive pair of shoes—that I allowed myself. I loved knowing that beneath my consignment suits and ten-year-old jeans, I was wearing something truly beautiful.
“It’s…my thing,” was all I could barely breathe out. “It makes me feel pretty.”
His eyes flickered back up to my face. “You couldn’t be anything but gorgeous, Skylar,” he breathed, and I swore that both of us could hear the thump of my heart in return. “Has anyone else seen it?”
I looked down at the set and back up again.
“Uh…no,” I answered.
Was that good? Bad? It was that irritating moment that always seemed to ruin the mood whenever any guy asked a similar question. No man, no matter how enlightened, seemed to want to think of their date as having a sexual history, but they didn’t want her to be ignorant either. It was infuriating.
Brandon snapped my bra strap again—harder.
“Ow!” I cried as I pressed at the suddenly sore spot.
“You’re thinking too much, Skylar,” he said curtly. “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask. And so we’re clear, I couldn’t give a shit if you’ve been with one or one thousand other men, because none of them are going to light a fucking candle to what you and I can do together.”
Well, that was confident.
As if he could read my mind, Brandon gripped my bicep and pulled me tight against him. “You know I’m right,” he breathed into my ear.
There was no escaping his unique scent as he hovered his mouth over my lips and cheeks, fluttering over my skin without—quite—making contact. I started to shiver with anticipation, but he dodged every attempt I made to capture his lips with mine.
