Branded Sanctuary (30 page)

“Oh God. Chloe.”

“Now,” she urged, working him just a little bit faster. “Look at me. I want you to look at me.”

It was a sheer loss of control, of will, of everything but the need to release, to spill himself in her. His hips rose and plunged, the climax taking over, overriding even her command as involuntary movement took over. She encouraged it, whispering, and he let out a hoarse cry, his hips jerking beneath the clutch of her hands on his ass, his chest expanding against her breasts, trying to get the air it needed.

She‟d thought to remain a fascinated audience, but as he pistoned inside her slick sex, the hot kernel of arousal she‟d thought would take longer to build to eruption exploded. It took her unaware as his cock rubbed her deep inside, his friction on the outside galvanizing her swollen clit to convulse and reach climax again.

She couldn‟t hold her concentration then, arching her head back and crying out, a sound that echoed off the walls of his home, the space that held all the sights, sounds and essential being of this man.

Even if there were skeletons literally in that closet, she was pretty sure she was on her way to wanting to keep him indefinitely. Maybe forever, if she‟d dare Fate by making such an absurd declaration. Though her mind might not have the courage, her heart whispered it all the same, echoing and mirroring his words.

Mine.
Mine.

Yours.

It felt so good to sleep. Really sleep, with no shadows or currents of uneasiness running through her dreams. She‟d slept fitfully even at Marguerite‟s, but here, with Brendan‟s warmth curled around her, she‟d woken only once, and that was to find his arms wrapped around her possessively. It was a side he didn‟t show as much when he was awake, but which dropped her pleasantly back into slumber.

After her outburst on the Ferris wheel, this felt like she‟d lain down in the bottom of a wooden boat, sailing down a never ending, slow moving river. As she lay there and had no worries, she watched the clouds float above, the birds and forest insects making their usual noises of life in cacophonous song. The boat rocked her, a cradle in moving water, a river sister.

When she woke in the morning, she was surprised to realize she was alone. Well, not technically. The sheets and blankets that smelled like Brendan were tucked around her, an aroma security blanket, and he‟d left her plush puppy in her arms.

Smiling a little, and realizing how long it had been since she‟d woken with a smile on her face, she straightened, running fingers through her rumpled hair.

Her nose told her tea was being brewed, as well as coffee, a nice mingling of feminine and masculine scents. His Cirque du Soleil T-shirt was on the end of the bed, so she slid it on, liking the way it felt. Leaving the puppy in the blankets, she did a trip to the bathroom for the usual reasons—call of nature, and the important female need to make her morning wake up appearance as “naturally” appealing as possible when waking with a lover. Then she headed downstairs.

The kitchen was full of indirect sunlight from a pair of open French doors that led out to a little patio framed by potted flowering plants. Most were from the vine family, spilling out in lush handfuls, artfully arranged to look wild, making her think that Brendan had some of Tyler‟s green thumb.

Continuing proof of his fastidious nature, the counter was relatively clear, holding only a few silver computerized appliances. He was standing at the center island, cutting up strawberries. Wearing only a pair of cotton pajama bottoms that looked a bit stretched and faded, since they hung temptingly low on his muscular waist, he made an appealing picture. Particularly since he‟d not yet shaved and his hair was tousled in a sexy way that would make her envious, if a wave of comfortable morning lust didn‟t wash it away.

“Good morning.”

He looked up at her, capturing her appearance, from her bare toes to her unruly hair. Before she could have an instance of self consciousness, his gorgeous smile dispelled it. “Yes, it is. Particularly now.”

“Charmer. Can I help?”

“I‟ve pretty much got it. I was about to go see if you were ready for some breakfast.”

She glanced at the clock, blanched. “It‟s ten o‟clock.”

“Yep. You needed the sleep.” Leaning over the island, he snagged a piece of the T-shirt, reeled her in and around the marble countertop. Folding her into the shelter of his body, he brushed his cheek to hers, lips to her ear then her mouth, a caress that made her lay her palm on his chest, curl her other hand in the waistband of the trousers as she contoured easily into the curve of his body.

“You‟re so little,” he mused, tapping his chin on the top of her head and giving her body a squeeze to underscore it.

“My father calls me Bug. Said it was because I was so short, yet always scuttling off to do something like I had six legs.”

“Sounds fairly perceptive.” Brendan chuckled. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“I don‟t know. Do I?”

His smile broadened. Obviously, that had been the right answer.

“I thought we‟d eat a light breakfast, then I‟d take you to one of my favorite national parks to spend the day. There‟s a water view and hiking trails there. And an incredibly good deli on the way that could pack us a picnic.”

“I‟d like that.” Despite a twinge of guilt. “You should have been at the carnival today, and last night. I‟m sorry for that. I know it was a big deal, and I took you away from it.” She‟d have more apologies to make to M as well, she knew.

She gave a surprised squeak when two very capable hands lifted her onto the island, seating her bare bottom under the T-shirt on the cool surface. Brendan braced his arms on either side of her, his body pressed between her thighs as he gazed at her with that mixed tenderness and desire in his gaze. “I‟m where I want to be, with the only person I want to be with. Besides which, I got lucky in the past few hours, a couple times, so you paid me back for any inconvenience.”

She made a noise of mock annoyance, but then he caught her lips in a kiss, making it powerful, so reminiscent of the most intense moments of the early hours, she could only hold on as he pressed her back, his arm steady around her waist. He kissed her thoroughly before drawing back, leaving her out of breath.

“So, how does the picnic sound?”

“Well.” She cleared her throat, giving him a narrow look to tell him that she wasn‟t completely bowled over, though of course she was. “I did have a couple other hot dates lined up, come to think of it.”

“I‟m your transportation,” he pointed out. “So you‟ve got zero chance of making those.”

“Aren‟t you supposed to do what I say? My wish is your only desire? Or something like that.”

She didn‟t know how comfortable he‟d be with the teasing, but she needn‟t have worried. He gave her a pleasurably provocative look.

“Every sub has his limits.”

“So a submissive is allowed to be possessive?” She thought of the way he‟d slept, with that arm tight around her.

“You remember Mac and Violet, at the wedding? Mac‟s a sub.”

“No way.” She knew her eyes must have rounded and her mouth dropped despite herself. But who could blame her? She remembered the big cop, his protective demeanor toward his pregnant, feisty wife, who was also a state trooper. Violet was the only other adult at the wedding as short as Chloe. “He looks like he could take on a biker gang and win.”

“He would. And he‟d tolerate someone touching Violet, or sharing her, about as long as it would take him to throw the misguided bastard through a wall.”

“Wow.” She watched him reclaim the knife, begin to slice again as she sat on the table next to the cutting board. The marble felt intriguing on her bare ass, the slightly sore lips of her pussy. Her mind was turning. “This isn‟t really all that clear cut, is it?”

“People who are subs and Doms are as complex and diverse as any other person.

You know what they say. A million people mean a million different religions.” He offered her a strawberry. Thinking, Chloe took it from him with her mouth, but closed her hand on his wrist so she could lick the juice off his fingers. It was something to see him go still in that way she was beginning to anticipate. The way he watched her so closely, his muscles tightening like a dog on a chain. Hunger flashed through his expression as she suckled a finger, teased a palm with the tip of her tongue. She let her gaze drop as she did it, watched with feigned clinical interest as his cock thickened and stirred under the thin pants.

When she let him go at last, he started to lean forward. Testing, she put a restraining hand on his chest. “I want my breakfast,” she murmured.

He straightened, a muscle twitching in his jaw, those hazel eyes holding her gaze for a moment before he quite deliberately lowered his attention back to his task.

Wow.
She swallowed, not sure if she‟d ruin her little experiment by jumping him now. Fortunately, he provided a distraction, so she didn‟t give away how lousy her willpower was.

He dipped his head toward his kitchen table. “I‟ve been keeping some flowers for you, if you want to check them out.”

Glancing that way, she saw a bouquet there. She realized the profuse number of blooms were paper flowers, made from what looked like magazine and news papers.

“Oh.” As she slid off the counter, he offered a steadying hand, his palm managing to slide along her bare ass, revealed when the shirt hiked up. When he flashed an unrepentant grin at her, she swatted his solid abdomen, got a kiss on her abused knuckles for her trouble, but then extricated herself with a sniff to wander over to the table.

The flower shapes were held in careful wraps of green floral tape for the stems.

There were a full two dozen, more than could have been done this morning, unless he‟d been up awhile.

“I‟ve been collecting them for you,” he said. “You can pull each one off, open it to see what the picture or text is.”

She touched one crinkled paper, slid it free of the tubular stem and unfolded it. The slick, heavy magazine paper showed a photo cut from a
National Geographic
article on an archaeological dig. Two sets of bones had been unearthed, skeletons who had apparently been buried in one another‟s embrace.

Brendan came to see, glancing over her shoulder. She smelled the scent of strawberries on him. “That was found at a Neolithic dig in Italy. The skeletons are somewhere between five and six thousand years old. I thought you‟d probably consider that one for your happiness book. Then…there‟s this one.” Peering over her head, he slid his arm around her waist, pressing his body close to reach around her and pluck another picture. This one was probably from a perfume ad.

Chloe saw a woman‟s slender back, bare down to the flare of her hips, her long hair held up in one hand to show the nape. A tattoo, shaped like a rope of autumn-colored maple leaves, twisted down her spine and then flared out into a free fall of the same leaves, as if they‟d been scattered out toward the rolling landscape of her smooth buttocks. A butterfly rode on one spinning leaf, jewel blue wings catching the eye among all the earth tones.

“I‟m sure that‟s airbrushed, not a real tattoo, but I thought you‟d like it. You don‟t have to use any of them. Just throw away the ones that won‟t work. If—” Picking up the hand on her waist, she brought it to her face, and inhaled strawberries. Pressed her face fully into his palm, her mouth against the callused heel.

She turned, standing so close to him they could be one person, her feet inside the span of his. She put her lips against the base of his throat by laying her hands on his arms and stretching onto her toes.

“I‟m going to wake up and find you were the nicest, most incredible dream I‟ve ever had,” she mumbled against his flesh. “Damn it.” Those sneaky tears were threatening again, and they weren‟t supposed to do that. Hadn‟t she let some of it out last night? Couldn‟t it be over, and she go back to being the Chloe she‟d been? Why couldn‟t all the fairy tale enchantment of last night have lifted the curse of her rollercoaster emotions?

Before she could get upset about what felt like a giant step backward, he eased her down into a chair by the bouquet and dropped to one knee, framing her face as he kissed the corner of each eye, catching the tears before they happened.

Strawberries, heat and Brendan. As he moved his lips to hers, she let herself get swept away by him again, her hands naturally creeping up to hold onto his biceps. His body insinuated between her knees so they bumped against his hips, his upper thighs.

When he lifted his head, she wasn‟t ready for what she saw in his face. She squeezed one unyielding arm muscle instead.

“Don‟t. Let‟s pretend I didn‟t get all weepy and weird. M says you‟re a swimmer.

That you usually get up at some ungodly hour and go do a thousand laps.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he could respect her wishes, as well as blow off the top of her head with unrelenting lust.

“Today‟s a day off. I have something better to do.”

As his gaze flickered, and he leaned in to take her mouth again, desperate humor fluttered in her chest, so she spoke right before his mouth closed the distance.

“Was that a double entendre?”

“I think it was a blatant suggestion, if you‟re willing. Instead of a thousand laps, I like the idea of bringing you to climax a thousand times.” He kissed her mouth, her cheekbones, under each ear and then her collarbone, punctuating each word.

“I didn‟t open your closet.” He‟d been so generous, she felt obligated to mention it, though the expectations she might find there gave her gut a nervous twist.