Page 25 of Forever Finds Us (Wisper Dreams #7)
He shook his head, his eyes tracking my path toward him like a tornado chaser ready to face the big, bad storm. “I’m waitin’ with bated breath to hear exactly what you think, Roxanne.”
“I think the fact that this is a secret is the only thing makin’ you want me. If we came out, told everyone our secret, you wouldn’t feel the same.”
“And I think you’re feelin’ unsure, and your insecurities are makin’ bullshit come out your mouth.”
Stopping in the middle of my living room as he lowered to sit on my couch, my mouth popped open, and I gaped like a fish out of water. I had no response to that.
He was right.
“So what’s gonna make you sure?” he asked as he reached forward and took my hand, then pulled me so I stood between his legs, looking down at him.
Grabbing the bottle from his hand, I gulped down a shot and swallowed, trying not to let him know how much it burned my throat. The liquid sloshed against the sides of the bottle as I lowered it and let it hang from two fingers next to my thigh. “Take me out.”
“Out where?”
“Where everyone can see us. I want you to not be professional. I want you to claim me.”
He considered me for a moment. I was asking him to define us. “You sure you’re ready for that? For my sister to see us?”
Arching an eyebrow, I dared him. “Yes.”
He stole the whiskey from my hand and took his own shot. “Alright then.”
“And your girlfriend too. I want her to hear the gossip. She’s still in town, right?” I asked the question, but I could already guess the answer because if Brand were my ex and I thought he was unattached, I wouldn’t leave town without at least trying my hand at getting him back.
“ Ex ,” he growled, his eyes still tracking me above him. “We’ll go out tomorrow night. Agreed?”
I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Now that’s settled, where’s the package?”
He swigged another mouthful, but he seemed to be having a hard time looking away from my bare chest and my breasts peeking out from behind the ripped fabric of my T-shirt. He pulled at it gently, tugging it off my body, and let the wet, ruined cotton drop to the carpet.
I looked between his legs, at the erection straining to break out of his pants.
“Not that package, Roxanne. The one I had shipped to your house.”
“Oh.” My face heated, and I giggled like an embarrassed teenager. “It’s in my bedroom.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. You told me not to.”
“Good girl,” he breathed, shifting his hips on the couch cushion, the movement the only physical sign he’d liked my answer.
He let go of my hand. “Go get it and come back to me. I’ll wait.
” He leaned back, relaxing on my couch with his hand slung over the back, the whiskey still dangling from his grip, and he crossed his ankle over his knee, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
But as he waited for me to do what I’d been told, a little glint sparked in his eyes.
“Be quick about it. Don’t make me wait too long. ”
Crossing my arms over my breasts, I cocked a hip.
In the lowest growl of a voice, he warned, “You can act like a brat all you want, but if you make me wait much longer, the punishment you’ll earn will only get more intense.”
The gasp that slipped through my lips was loud.
Brand smiled, and I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t let him know that just the thought of him punishing me was making arousal drip down my thighs.
He gripped his leather belt, let the open strap slip across the palm of his hand. I had to bite back a moan, and I ran. Not because I didn’t want him to use the belt on me, but because I didn’t possess the self-control to wait for him to put his hands on me one second longer.
The length of my hallway was maybe ten feet, but I sprinted like an Olympic runner in a relay race holding the baton.
The mystery box still sat in the chair in the corner of my bedroom where I’d left it days ago.
I was kind of surprised I hadn’t already opened the damn thing, but work had been busy the last week, and when I’d gotten off shift every night, I’d been exhausted.
Plus, the excitement of opening it with Brand and the mysterious anticipation of discovering the kinks in his head had given me the chill I’d needed to let it sit untouched in the chair.
I grabbed the box and tossed it on my bed, and then scoured every surface in my room, looking for something sharp to cut through the packing tape, but there was nothing!
My heart raced with anxiety, my breathing fast and unsteady. The urge to please Brand and get my punishment pushed me, made me feel panicked. Whatever it was he intended to give me, I wanted it bad , and like a rush from a drug, I wanted the calm that his touch inflicted on me.
I was addicted to it. To him.
Whimpering at the frustration of not being able to find anything sharp enough to cut through the tape, I balled my hands into fists, but then warm hands slid over my hips and between my arms hanging at my sides.
“Let me,” Brand said softly, and he reached around me for the box, lifted it in front of me, and ripped the thick, stiff material with his bare hands.
The sound of splitting cardboard filled my bedroom, and many wrapped items fell to my bed along with a bunch of six-by-six-inch air-filled, plastic shipping puffs.
A packing slip appeared last, and it fluttered onto my comforter as he tossed the box to the floor next to the bed.
“What is all that?” I asked, but he didn’t answer.
Instead, he lifted a sealed and discreet black plastic bag in front of my chest, and his breath rushed over my shoulder.
A dark urgency laced his voice when he whispered, “Bend over.”