Right?
“So?” Kill shoves my shoulder with his. “Who changed your precious set of anti-monogamy rules? You can tell me. Must be killing you to keep it all to yourself.”
“You really want to know?”
He nods.
I beckon him with one finger. “Come here. It’s a secret.”
He inches close and I smack him on the nape. “Mind your fucking business and stop being nosy.”
My cousin massages the assaulted spot. “You’ll regret that.”
“Take it as payback for all the times you throw shit at me.” I break out in evil laughter and continue strolling down the street.
Kill grabs me by the arm and pushes me in the opposite direction. “Let’s grab a coffee first.”
“And croissants.” I stroke my stomach. “You think they have macarons?”
“Don’t think so.” He watches me. “Since when do you like macarons?”
“I always have.”
“No, you haven’t. Your sweet tooth usually ends at donuts.”
I hum but say nothing. I might have started indulging in them since Bran bought some once. I finished the whole box in one night and had a mini sugar coma.
He’s started hiding them from me since then and only leaves two pieces out like a stingy asshole.
“Kill!”
My grouchy cousin’s face breaks into a rare genuine smile at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice.
She’s waving us over to her table with… My, my.
My lips curl into an automatic grin when my eyes meet those stunning blues. For a fraction of a second, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, his fingers loosening from around his cup.
It’s a bit similar to his expression last night when I pressed him against the wall as soon as he was out of the elevator and fucked him there until he couldn’t stand up straight.
Chill, Kolya. Jesus, man. We’re in public.
Does he understand that logic? No, because he’s twitching against my pants in pure dick fashion.
I know Bran is allergic to being labeled beautiful, but he so is. He’s also so elegant and well-groomed. The collar of his shirt is perfectly folded, his cuffs are symmetrically rolled, and every strand of his hair falls into the right place.
He’s always dressed in refined fashion and he carries himself with silent charisma. He might bottom and enjoy it, but he’s the control freak outside the bedroom. Hot-headed, too, to the point of madness. Bet no one looks at his fancy manners and can guess he loves it rough.
While Glyn and Killian are busy sucking each other’s faces off, I slide a chair over and sit beside him. I purposefully sit with my thighs so wide apart; my jeans touch his pants.
He continues watching me as if I’m a world wonder, his lips slightly parted.
The need to devour those lips beats inside me like an urge, but I force it down and whisper, “You’re drooling. Am I that hot?”
He swallows and quickly diverts his gaze, choosing to focus on the absurd PDA across from us.
Typical Bran. To be honest, I don’t know why I keep hoping he’ll one day come out in epic fashion and kiss me in front of the world like he loves to do in private.
That’s just impossible.
I suspect he’d rather keep this going for years instead of finally being honest with himself. Not that I care. Once I graduate, I’ll be back to my life in New York and he’ll return to being the prim-and-proper London boy.
“What a coincidence,” Glyn says after she finally breaks apart from Kill.
He taps her nose. “You really think it’s a coincidence? Looks like I have a lot more to teach you, baby.”
Kill. You evil genius.
So he knew she was in this coffee shop with Bran all along, which is why he insisted we grab coffee here.
It’s nice to know I have a successful stalker cousin. Some might say it runs in the family since I’m pretty sure I caught Gareth stalking a Mercedes the other day and he used one of the bodyguards’ cars for the mission.
What’s not nice, however, is the fact that he also uses baby. Couldn’t pick another nickname?
I steal a glance at Bran, and he’s busy staring at his coffee as if searching for an answer to the fucking universe. Black, no sugar like his soul.
He’s interlinking his fingers, letting them rest on his lap and I rest my hand on my thigh, close to his, and inch closer, getting high on the warmth emanating off him.
Fuck me. He’s intoxicating.
I simply can’t exist in his vicinity and stop myself from touching him.
It’s torture.