Page 272 of Branded
For so long that I found myself looking up, my stare tangling with Cas’s again.
And braced.
He wasn’t going to let this go. Men never did.
They pushed and demanded and pounced when I wasn’t prepared, tearing me to shreds, leaving me wounded and trying to pull myself back together and?—
“Yeah,” he said so softly I almost couldn’t hear it. “Smitty decided he wanted another pitcher.”
For a second, I couldn’t respond.
Because I had been mentally preparing for that argument surely heading my way.
But Cas didn’t rush me as I slowly computed his response, just kept leaning against the bar, one strong forearm resting on the wooden surface. Springy, dark hair covering the olive skin there. Not so much that meant he’d be a full-on grizzly everywhere else, but enough that there was no doubt he was a man. Ropy muscles, thick blunt fingers I’d like to slip between my thighs, press up into the slick heat of my pussy, fucking me fast and hard before he fucked me with his?—
His hand flexed, those fingers pressing against the bar top, and I jerked again.
Shit.
I didn’t need another thing to fantasize about in the middle of the night.
“Want me to come back?” he asked.
“N-no,” I stammered, putting those fingers out of my mind, snagging a pitcher and filling it, forcing myself to focus so it wasn’t all foam. That only took a few moments, and I used that time to stop thinking about him finger fucking me into glorious oblivion.
Because it would be glorious.
I had no doubt about that.
I shivered, clenched my teeth together until my jaw protested.
Then rounded the bar, intending to bring the pitcher over to the guys’ table, so focused on trying to stop myself from fantasizing about Cas, I nearly mowed down the man himself.
“Whoa,” he said, catching my arms, steadying me—and then the pitcher—before I could dump it on both of us. “I was going to offer to carry it over for you,” he said, dropping the hand still on my arm and the other that had steadied the pitcher. “Since I’m heading out anyway.”
That didn’t make sense.
The exit wasn’t by the bar, by me, but I wasn’t thinking all that closely with him so near, with the scent of him in my nose, the imprints of his touch on my skin.
The heat of his body wrapping around mine.
Oh.
That was his hand, settling on my waist, sliding up to my arm, my hand, tugging at the pitcher.
“Here,” he murmured. “I’ll take it.”
I inhaled.
This was…strangely intimate considering the surrounding people, the noise, the complete lack of privacy. And yet, just like before, when we’d talked, our bodies close in the hallway, I felt as though we were alone, the rest of the world a blurry background.
“Jules?” he murmured, his voice very close to my ear.
“Hmm?”
God, even his beard was sexy.
How was his beard sexy?
