Chasing the Fall (Naughty and Spice)

Nine

Twiggy

I am losing my mind, one second at a time.

I’m not used to sitting around and twiddling my thumbs, and so far, that’s all we’ve done the two days we’ve been here. There’s TV to watch, meals to prepare and eat, and…more TV. I don’t even have my computer or anything sweet to munch on.

And my arm itches. I know that means it’s healing, but it’s an annoyance I don’t appreciate on top of everything else.

“Stop scratching your arm.”

I growl and jerk my hand away from the bandage, where I had been lightly scratching the wound beneath.

I peek over the edge of the sofa, finding Bran where he’s putting something together in the kitchen. “How did you even see me from over there? My soul is dying, you don’t even know.”

Bran glances over at me, his expression mild. He went somewhere this morning before I awakened and came back with bags full of groceries, and now it looks like he’s chopping vegetables.

I don’t need vegetables. I need donuts. Karla’s, preferably, but at this point I’ll take Krispy Kreme.

Bran is managing to keep himself busy, but even when he’s busy, he’s watching. His gaze follows me without ceasing, and I can’t make a move without the awareness of his attention stalking me.

“Dramatic much?” He replies now.

“I can’t take this.” I rise from where I’m sprawled, legs hanging over the armrest, and pace toward the kitchen. “I need something to keep me occupied.”

His gaze flickers over me, tracing my legs in the leggings he procured for me and pausing on the swell of my breasts beneath his sweater before finally settling on my face. His shoulder lifts in a shrug, and it’s the last straw.

I’m tired of him watching me with those relentless eyes.

Looking, watching, seeing. It makes me uncomfortable, puts me on edge, makes my skin itch more than this stupid wound does. I feel like a rabbit in a snare with a wolf circling. He needs to bite or find something else to prey on.

“Stop looking at me!” I burst. “You’re always doing that—watching. Looking at me.”

Bran’s left eyebrow arches, and with painstaking slowness, he dries his hands on a dish towel. “What’s the matter, Tallulah? Afraid I’ll see something you don’t want me to see?” He moves around the counter to stand before me, and all I can see and feel is him .

His heat.

His bulk.

His presence.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re looking at me like you want…”

“Want what?” His voice is velvet with rough undertones, making every nerve stand on end. He reaches out and tucks a single piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers ghosting over my skin and sending waves of something that feels like electricity over the exposed area.

I swallow and fix my gaze on the wall of his chest in front of me. His touch shouldn’t make my heart beat faster, but it does, and I hate him for it.

“Just…stop. That’s all.” I try to hide the way he affects me, but it’s clear as day in the breathiness of my words. I dig deep for a shred of boldness. “There’s no reason for you to be looking, anyway. Even if my cousin wouldn’t kill you, there’s nothing here to drool over. I don’t even bother shaving my legs in the wintertime.”

That eyebrow lifts further. “Is that so?” He takes another step, and reflexively, I take one back. He’s so freaking large.

The counter bumps the small of my back, locking me in place. His hands grip the counter on either side of me, caging me in. He is so close, too close.

“Y-yes. My pits, either. Or…you know.” I can’t stop the lie from slipping between my lips, but maybe, for once, it's a good thing? Maybe I will say the wrong thing, and he’ll back away.

Give me some breathing room.

A smile plays at the corners of his lips, though, like he’s trying not to laugh, and he moves closer still. “What if I said I don’t believe you?”

My next words emerge as a whisper. “I swear it. I’m hairy as fuck. It’s very gross.”

“Mm. You know, Tallulah, I don’t think I care.” His head tilts, and he leans down so close I can feel his body heat through my leggings and sweater. I can taste his breath on my lips, and it just makes me want more. “What if I told you only little boys with tiny little pricks give a fuck about a woman embracing her natural beauty?” That tiny smile widens, becomes a bona fide grin with an edge of wickedness. “And I think you and I both know there isn’t a single thing about me that’s little.”

His hands move to my waist and slide down to my hips.

“Bran…” His name is barely a whisper on my lips, and I don’t even know what I am asking him for.

He lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. Compared to what he’s able to lift, I probably don’t.

“I think you’re worth it,” he muses, his voice quieter now and the smile faded. Pressing his forehead to mine, he allows his hands to move back up my body, stopping just before they reach my breasts.

I arch toward him. Every nerve in my body is alive, waiting for him to touch more of me. I manage a whisper in reply.

“Worth what?”

His eyes meet mine, dark and determined. “Risking my life for just a taste. Even if it costs my life, it’ll be worth it to ruin you for every other man who even dares to look at you.”

With that vow, he dips his head and slams his mouth against mine.

There’s nothing tentative or hesitant about the way he claims my lips. Our first kiss, it’s nothing like I had imagined—it’s so much more. In the space it takes my heart to give a single hard thump within my chest, my eyes fall closed and my head tilts back, surrendering to the hot press of lips, the scratch of his beard, and the punishing demands of his tongue.

He surrounds me. Not just physically caging me in as he stands between my thighs, but in the way he envelops me in his scent and taste and strength, and holiest of all things holy, I am here for it.

A sound escapes my lips, thin and high-pitched. A whimper of need and a plea all rolled into that one utterance. Bran seems to understand exactly what I need. He grasps my thighs and lifts them to his hips, pulling me forward so I can feel him through my leggings. My legs curl around his waist instantly, without conscious direction, my feet not quite touching at the small of his back.

I feel him, hard and solid against my core, as he settles more comfortably into the vee formed by my hips, and I can’t stop myself from rocking against him.

More. I need more of that delicious friction. Heat and pleasure lick up my spine as he rocks into me, and I know he knows exactly what he is doing to me.

Panic flares, intruding cold and numbing into the heated sensation he’s drowning me in. He’s so much older than I am, so much more experienced. What if he doesn’t like…what if I don’t—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”His gaze feels heavy as he watches me again, measuring my responses, like he is studying me, finding the best way to take me apart and put me back together again.

I lift my chin. How hard can it be? I’m a fast learner.

“Right here,” I murmur. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as my fingers twist into his shirt and pull upward in a silent demand. Bran complies, allowing an inch between us as he tugs his shirt over his head and throws it to the side somewhere.

His skin is hot and tensile, silk over acres of hard muscle with just the right amount of hair. He’s such a man . I hum in appreciation and take my time running my fingers over his skin, feeling the way those muscles flex under my fingers as I run my palms over the light furring of chest hair that covers his pounding heart.

He lets me explore him only for a moment before he slides his hands under my sweater and tugs it up and over my head. I go still as he studies me almost reverently, taking in the plain black cotton cupping my breasts.

Does he like them? Are they too small? Too big? Uneven? I can’t tell what he is thinking, and it’s driving me crazy. I look down at myself. “I—”

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” His voice is gruff.

Leaning down, he suckles one breast through my bra, tugging my nipple into the heat of his mouth.

I arch against him as a moan of pleasure and need escapes my lips. I wind my fingers in his hair and hold on, pressing him to me as his hands wrap around me to unclasp my bra. He releases my nipple just long enough to rip the strip of fabric away from my body.

One of my hands stays tangled in his hair while the other explores the long lines and thick muscles of his shoulders. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t want to stop. Nothing has ever felt so good. His hands slide down my sides again, leaving a trail of warmth and electricity in their wake. When he gets to my leggings, he pulls them over my hips and then pauses.

I should stop this. I should stop him…at the very least, I should tell him… But no. When he looks up at me with his intense eyes, my mouth goes dry, and the only thing I can see is my own lust and determination reflected back at me.

I give a small nod, the tacit agreement echoing between us.

With one hand on the small of my back, he presses me to him and lifts me up so he can slide my leggings over my ass, taking my panties with them. He yanks them down and over my feet, and only then does he allow his gaze to settle on my core.

“Liar.” He smirks as his hands run over my bare pussy lips, spreading them with his index and ring finger. I am practically shaking with need as his middle finger slides through my slit, feeling the evidence of how incredibly turned on he’s made me, and circles my clit.

A jolt of pure pleasure shoots from my core up my spine and makes me a little light-headed.

With his other hand, Bran grabs my hair and pulls me into another deep, filthy kiss, his tongue plunging between my teeth and claiming my lips as he circles my clit with just the tip of his finger.

My thighs start to tremble around his hips as more and more pressure builds in my core. Bran breaks our kiss and moves to my neck, kissing and biting his way down the column of my throat and then back to my breasts. He lavishes them both with his tongue, laving and sucking at my nipples before kissing his way down my body.

His finger never stops, not until he pulls away from me and replaces his finger with the tip of his tongue. My body jerks in surprise, and his hands go to my hips, holding me in place while he does things with his mouth that I had no idea men actually did.

Especially ones like Bran. A tough guy. The enforcer, unconcerned with shades of gray or a woman’s pleasure.

He always struck me as the kind of man who would put a woman on her knees to suck him off before fucking her into oblivion. He’s strong and powerful but to see his head bent between my thighs, to feel his mouth on my pussy, licking and sucking in a way that betrays his utter devotion to my experience… A feeling like power roars through me, mixed with surprised recognition.

Maybe there’s more to him that I’ve ever guessed at.

“Bran, please,” I whine, my hips rocking.

I need more. A feeling is building low in my belly, tension coiling like a spring.

Bran adds a finger to his tongue, sliding it into me and curling it upward against my inner walls. “Come,” he demands, and my body obeys, as if that was the signal it had been awaiting. I can’t stop it even if I wanted to, and I don’t. He keeps licking as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, and I scream out his name.

When I come back to earth, Bran is standing before me, arrogantly proud of himself if the expression on his face is anything to go by. I make a face at him. “Not half bad,” I mutter.