Page 291 of Branded
So, I was happy in my own skin and body.
But I wasn’t beautiful.
“Cas,” I whispered, shaking my head.
One more brush of his thumb along my lips, the simple action doing everything to remind me of the kiss.
Of how he’d kissed me.
It should have been icky, bustling me into a bathroom and kissing me with the toilets all too close. But it was the way he’d held me and washed my cuts that had melted me, had made me desperate to taste him.
And instead, he’d tasted me.
And oh, had it been good.
“I’m driving you home.”
And since I was firmly in dream kiss land, this time I couldn’t even formulate the smallest protest or dry comment. He knew it, too, the fucker, his mouth tipping up before he retracted his hand and placed it back on the steering wheel, confident and capable as he pulled out of the parking spot and turned onto the quiet streets.
Not a lot of cars on the road after three in the morning.
And considering it was even later than normal, that wasn’t a surprise.
A hand on my jean-clad thigh, drawing my gaze from the empty street to Cas—or rather, to his hand. His palm was strong and broad and almost covered the entire expanse of my thigh. And the touch was hot, almost shocking, as the heat of his hand soaked through the fabric of my jeans. Hot. Strong. A little rough. I could imagine that hand drifting over my bare skin, sliding up my naked thigh, dipping into the damp heat pooling between my legs.
God, it had been so long since I’d had sex.
Not that it had been all that good with Nate. I’d had a few tinges, a few moments of pleasure, times where I’d thought I was coming because it felt good. Thought, because it wasn’t until I’d gotten a vibrator and did a deep dive into my body that I’d understood what I’d had with Nate wasn’t close to everything.
There was more—oh, how there was more.
And I’d bet there would be more—much more—with Cas.
It wouldn’t require a deep dive or toys or severe concentration on my part and intense focus on his.
He’d know.
How did I know this fascinating little tidbit? Because every single time he touched me—whether it be on my face or my hand or my leg—I felt it in my pussy.
So yeah, he’d know.
He already knew how to touch me and make me feel good.
The only problem was that if I allowed all that good to continue, it would ruin everything.
“Wanna tell me where to go, gorgeous?” he said softly, and I shoved the inconvenient attraction from my mind, used another corner of my brain to schedule an appointment with my vibrator, and then put the rest to work on the getting home portion of my evening by providing Cas with directions.
Luckily, I didn’t live far from CeCe’s, so it didn’t take a lot of focus to tell him when to turn (thank God, since my mind was full of thoughts of Cas and the vibrator and the things he could do with it—which, of course, would be eclipsed by the all the better things he could do with fingers and cock and tongue) and to point out my apartment when we’d pulled into the complex.
A little while later, we pulled into my parking spot.
Right.
Vibrators, shoo. My brain no longer allowing any thinking about what Cas could do to my body.
I grabbed my jacket, my purse, reached for the handle of the door.
It opened before I could fully grasp it, but when Cas would have swooped me up again, would have held me against his big, warm body and carried me inside, I put my hand up, shoved against his chest.
