Page 36 of Branded
“That’s—”
“What?” I asked softly into her ear.
“Nice,” she said.
And maybe some might think simply nice was an insult, considering that what I felt was absolutely not nice, not in the fucking least. But her nails were biting into my scalp and her body was limp against mine, and?—
Fuck it.
Time to take that mouth.
A heft had her up and forward, our faces aligned.
Her pulse was fluttering in her throat like a hummingbird’s wings were trapped just beneath the surface. “Little bird,” I whispered.
“I—”
I kissed her.
It was…there were no words that I could possibly utter to describe what I felt when our bodies connected, our tongues tangled, when I had her breath mixing with mine. I wanted to write a fucking sonnet to the stars and the moon and the sky. I wanted to burn this touch, this kiss onto my brain, a permanent memory that I’d never forget. I wanted to freeze time, or to be able to reverse it, able to relive this time and time again.
But time didn’t freeze, and our brains and lungs eventually needed air.
I broke away, breathing heavily. “Fuck, little bird. Fucking hell.”
Her nails were still in my scalp, sharp little points of pain that spiked my need, made me want to rip off her clothes and feast on her. Who gave a damn that anyone could walk into her office, could see us and?—
Fuck.
I couldn’t keep kissing her.
Couldn’t get her naked.
We were at work.
She’d just barely begun to trust me.
But, fuck, I couldn’t let her go, not quite yet. So, I held tight, and I inhaled deeply, and I slowed my breathing, and…I kept her as close as possible.
“I…” she began.
“I know,” I said. “That’s what I felt when I first saw you.”
“That much?” A breath, her cheeks flushing when she glanced up at me. “I only felt…”
“Fear?” I asked.
A nod. “Fear, yeah, because you’re gorgeous, and gorgeous men don’t talk to me.”
I chuckled. “I think I’ll need to get your eyes checked. I’m pretty damned far away from gorgeous.”
“What?” Her brows drew together, and that fire came back. She pushed at my chest. “Put me down.” A beat, glare forming. “Now, Conner.”
I obeyed, setting her lightly on her feet. “What’s the matter?”
“You.” A poke to my chest. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I asked, and now it was time for my brows to do some drawing, yanking together and forming furrows in my forehead so deep that I could actually feel them. “Little bird,” I said. “Do?—”
