“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t want to end it.” His voice is so low, I can barely hear him. “Happy now?”
“No.”
“What… Why?”
“I won’t go back to the way things were.”
His lips part and he pulls on his stupid hair as his voice comes out strained, choked, even. “Then why did you ask? Why did you bring me here? Is this…a game?”
“Maybe.”
“If you think you can play me—”
“Why the fuck can’t I? Didn’t you play me enough?”
“I…did not.”
“We have different opinions about that.” I lean closer in my seat. “Here’s how it will go, Brandon. I don’t give a fuck if you come out or not. That’s your decision. But you will not leave after every time either.”
“But everyone at home—”
“I’m not hearing it. If you want me, this is how you’ll get me.”
“And if I can’t?”
“The door is right there. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”
The veins in his neck nearly pop and he grabs his hair tighter, pulling, tugging. I can see the war in his eyes and I don’t like it. I don’t like that he’s hurting himself, and part of me wants to stop it.
But I don’t. Because Bran is the type who needs to be pushed off his high fucking horse.
He’s teetering on the edge, I can feel it and taste his conflict in the air.
One more shove.
I take out my phone. “What’s it going to be, posh boy? Let me know if you’re leaving so I can call someone else.”
His eyes flash in terrifying rage and he drops his hand as his muscles tighten. No more conflict or anxiety rolls off him in waves. The only thing that remains is the coiling anger that hardens his eyes.
“So that’s your goal? Getting rid of me to return to your fuck buddies?”
“Why would you care?”
He jumps up, rounds the table, and climbs on top of me. He fists my hair, his knees pressing on either side of me. His body hovers over mine, vibrating with tension even as his voice comes out steady, threatening. “Have you touched someone else, Nikolai? Hmm?”
I stare up at him, clenching and unclenching my hand on the sofa to keep from grabbing his hip or his back. Anywhere I can touch him. God, I fucking missed the heat rolling off him and the feel of his skin on mine.
Just one more push. A tiny one.
“Why are you asking? Jealous?”
“Don’t fuck with me. I didn’t even agree to the damn breakup, so technically, we were never done. So tell me, Nikolai. Who did you fuck? Simon? Someone else? Couldn’t keep it in your pants, right? You’re pathetic.”
“If I’m pathetic, then what are you? Delusional?”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m walking out right now. Who was it? Who took my fucking place?”
“No one.”
His eyes widen and his grip loosens around my hair, even as he keeps me in place. “Really?”
“Really.”
“No one came here?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because this is our place and no one else is allowed in it.
But instead of saying that, I lift a shoulder. “What about you? Did you fuck anyone else? I’m going to need names and addresses.”
“You’re mental.” He smiles a little before he shakes his head. “There was no one. I don’t even like sex.”
“You obviously do.”
“Only with you,” he whispers, his fingers stroking my pulse point beside the bandage.
Only with you.
Pride swells inside me and I want to probe about that, but that’s not for now, so I ask the most important question. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
His answer comes in the most beautiful form.
My lotus flower sighs with resignation as he crashes his lips to mine.
23
BRANDON
I have survived weeks barely able to breathe, so the rush of life that ripples through me feels foreign.
Intoxicating.
Addicting.
I’m trapped again, completely helpless in the arms of the man who flipped my world upside down and refuses to leave.
The man because of whom I’ve barely slept since last week, sick with a level of concern I’ve never felt. Not even for myself.
I plunge my tongue against his and kiss him deeper, my fingers tugging and pulling on his hair until he groans in my mouth.
Until I’m drunk on his taste, his smell, and his warmth. On his breath and the feel of his flexing muscles beneath mine.