Page 68 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

Bronson wraps the blindfold around my head. He moves slowly and gently, the fabric soft against my skin. The light grows dimmer with each layer that passes over my eyes until I find myself alone in the dark with only Bronson to guide me.

“Too tight?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

He steps around me and takes my hands. I walk with him, trusting him to lead me without harm. In my head, I follow our trail, knowing it to lead straight toward the bed. When we arrive, Bronson releases my hands, but his touch never leaves me as he steps behind me again. Gently squeezing my shoulders, he kisses my neck. I tremble, feeling his hands slide down my arms, coming to my waist.

Bronson grips the bottom of my shirt. I raise my arms, letting him peel it off, listening to the soft sound of it crumbling onto the floor at our feet. He plucks the button open on my jeans and pushes the zipper down, forcing both hands inside. His fingers slide down my flesh and I shudder wildly in his arms, leaning my head back against him as he sucks hard on my neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good against me,” he says, his teeth etching a line in my shoulder.

My skin burns with heat as he rubs along the front of my underwear. As the cotton shifts, I feel a wet spot down there, along with the constant, slow-burning throb in my clit.

Bronson pushes my jeans down to my ankles. I step out of them, my knees shaking. As he rises, I turn around and reach for his shirt.

Bronson snatches my hands. “No, no.”

“What?”

He cups my face and kisses me. “No,” he whispers again, taking my hands and drawing me closer to him. “Relax, Jordan.” I feel the bed graze the back of my naked thighs. “Sit down.”

I obey, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

“Lay back,” he says softly. “Head on the pillows.”

I move backward, the bedspread soft beneath me. When my back touches the headboard, I lower down, blindly centering my head on a pillow.

Bronson climbs onto the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress near my legs. I feel him crawling over me, his clothing brushing my skin, sparking goosebumps across my flesh. When he reaches my face, he kisses me, his lips soft and pliable.

“Relax,” he says again.

21

JORDAN

As Bronson’s lips caress my chin, I allow myself to sink deeper into the bed, my limbs growing heavy beneath him. He takes his time, traveling down my arms to kiss my palms before moving to the valley between my breasts.

I release a subtle groan as his lips graze my belly. In the darkness of the blindfold, I flex my fingers and curl my toes, willing myself tostay stillas kiss after kiss leaves me aching for more. I long to touch him, to roll my body against his while I run my fingers through his thick hair. But I force myself not to move, his request echoing in my mind.

Relax.

You take care of us all day.

Let me take care of you.

Sparks dance along my navel, his teasing tongue licking downward.

“Shh,” he whispers, his voice full of amusement. “You’re twitching.”

I grab the blanket beneath me, my chest heaving, thoughts of feeling him inside of me taking over. I long to spread my knees and give myself to him, but I know he wants more than that.

He wants totasteme.

Bronson goes lower.

I stiffen.

“Jordan,” he says, his breath warm against my skin.

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