Page 10 of Branson's Promise

“Oooh fancy, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants.” He threw a dirty smirk my way andthat combined with the sparkle in his eyes, sent a shiver racing through me.

God, he was sexy with his ruffled, dirty blonde hair and his rosy lips and matching pink tinted cheeks.

“Who says I’m not?” I asked, leading him to one of the unoccupied sofas where he plopped down with little finesse, crossing his right leg over his knee and watching me while I poured two glasses of wine.

“Friends don’t hit on friends, Noel,” Branson playfully chastised me.

“We still playing the ‘just friends’ game, kitten?” I took the seat next to him, turning so we were face to face. This close up, I could see the line of freckles that ran across his nose as well as the small scar he had above his one eyebrow. All things I had missed at the wedding. We’d kissed then, but it had been rushed and messy. Now looking at him, my eyes focused on his lips, and I wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick them. I wondered if he tasted as sweet as he had before.

“We are friends. It’s not a game. But I get why you’d think otherwise, I mean, I am irresistible.” Branson licked his lips then and I wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or not until he chuckled. Ripping my eyes from his delicious lips, I turned and took a sip of my wine, ignoring the heat starting to pool in my groin, the stirring of desire building with every second we were together.

“That you are, Branson. That you are. Now tell me, how’s New York treating you?” His attempts to keep his distance were cute, but I could see the lust in his eyes, it was the same look he gave me on the dance floor that night at the wedding. I was on a mission to woo him. Woo him right the fuck into my bed and my thousand thread count luxury sheets.

“Eh, it’s okay,” Branson shrugged before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s loads of fun and I’ve had a great time here, but it’s not what I had expected when I first moved over.”

“In what way?” I asked, curious as to why he felt that way about the city.

“It’s not one thing. It’s just a lot harder here than back in London. I miss my friends and my mum and though I’ve made connections, it’s not the same. And the guys I've met have all treated me like….” his words trailed off and I bristled. It wasn't jealousy, it was a deep dislike at the idea of anyone upsetting him or treating him badly.

“Treated you like?” I prompted, but he just shrugged again, sipping on his wine.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say, I haven’t found what I’m looking for in New York City. How about you? You like it here?”

“I do, but I get what you were saying about missing people back in London. Some days I feel homesick.”

“And what do you do when you feel that way?” Branson wore a small, somewhat hopeful smile as he leaned closer, resting his leg against mine.

“I hop on my jet and go to London.” It really was as simple as that, but I knew as soon as I said it that it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

His smile dropped and was replaced by a frown. “Oh, well, I guess that’s a good plan if you have the means.”

Foot in mouth.Well done Noel.

Not knowing how to backtrack on what I had said, I changed the topic. “I saw August and Caleb last month soon after they returned from their honeymoon.”

His features perked up at the mention of his best friend. “How were they? It sounds like they had the best time.”

“Um, horny?”

Branson burst out laughing and it washed over me like warm water. Sweet and melodic with a hint of playfulness that was part of the very essence of the man next to me.

“That tracks,” he said, his lips curving up into a beaming smile.

Silence fell between us and time seemed to pause, warping into a space where only the two of us existed. The look in Branson's eyes, the sparkle, the hunger, it all boosted my confidence and I leaned into him and pressed my lips to the spot just below his ear. His breath hitched and his body shuddered ever so slightly.

“You shouldn't look at me like that,” I mused, my nose tracing the pulse in his neck.

“Like what?” he breathed out.

“Like you want me to lay you out on this sofa and devour you. To press you down into it and make you fly.” His gulp was audible, and I chuckled, my lips still exploring the skin on his neck.

In one swift movement, I reached both my hands around his waist and hauled him onto my lap. He let out a shocked gasp but didn’t protest as I nestled him against my hard cock and placed one hand on the back of his neck.

“Noel,” he whispered, and it sounded like a plea, but a plea for more or a plea to stop, I wasn't sure.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Branson shook his head, no, but at the same time said, “Friends don’t do this.”

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