“D-don’t,” he stammers, both his hands landing on my chest as he searches our surroundings, which are full of drunk people, before he focuses on me again, his eyes a myriad of confusion. “Please.”
“Too late, baby.”
Using my hold on his shirt, I drag him into a tight alley and shove him against a grimy brick wall.
He releases the most delicious startled sound I’ve ever heard and I’m done for.
Finished.
Absolutely jumping off a cliff, rolling and cracking a few bones and not giving a flying fuck, because I have my prize at the bottom.
Him.
My hand slides to his throat and wraps around his chiseled jaw, my fingers digging into his smooth skin. Brandon’s eyes widen to a dark, hypnotizing blue, and he rewards me with another noise, low and fucking needy.
I slam my lips to his, devouring that sound and swallowing it deep inside me.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
Fucking fucker of all motherfucking fucks.
He tastes like sweet surrender, all wound up and ripe for the taking.
I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. I think I’ve found my new favorite drug in the form of his lips. I suck the lower one into my mouth, biting down on the cushion so he feels the pain as deep as I do.
Bran shakes against me, his fingers fisting in my shirt, and I’m not sure if he’s pulling me closer or pushing me away.
I don’t give a fuck.
Tonight, I’m taking what I should’ve stolen that night I met him at the initiation.
Whether his delusional brain likes it or not.