Page 56 of Legally Mine

Brandon squinted, like he was trying to imagine me in the get-up, then shook his head. "Nope, it's no use. You'd be smokin' hot in anything." With another brief kiss and a frustrated grunt, he pushed off the table. "I'm going to get a drink."

The lights in the club dimmed, and a cheer rose from the gathered crowd as the band took the small stage. I slid off my stool and stood as tall as I could, buoyed by the extra height of my sandals. The club was getting hotter by the minute, stoked by the crush of bodies and the hot stage lights.

With the harsh thrum of the infectious baseline, the band launched immediately into a cover of "I Wanna Be Sedated," familiar enough that even punk virgins like myself would know it. I found myself bobbing my head in time with the music and finishing my drink much faster than I probably should have.

A hand slipped around my waist; Brandon had returned, sipping on a pint of beer. He set another whiskey soda and a water on the table beside us.

"Thought you might need a refill," he called into my ear.

"Thanks."

I took the water gratefully and drank half of it in one gulp. I was starting to feel pretty buzzed, but not so much that I was too out of it to have a good time. Brandon watched with clear approval as I downed the rest of my water before picking up my drink.

"They're pretty good," he shouted.

I nodded; it was really too loud to have any kind of conversation. Every so often I got a flash of Jane moshing at the front of the crowd while Eric lurked a few people back. Brandon's hand returned to my waist, and I was all too aware of the fact that there was nothing between my bare skin and the slightly callused pads of his fingertips. Despite the sheen of sweat on my forehead, I broke out in goosebumps.

I didn't know most of the songs played, but the band was solid and full of energy. More and more, however, I became increasingly conscious of the play of Brandon's fingers at my waist. After he finished his beer, he had rested both hands at my hips, sometimes pulling me close to fold his arms under my breasts, but mostly just keeping me close while his fingers played with my shirt, my navel, the lines of my stomach.

At one point, when the band broke into a slow cover of The Clash's "Lover's Rock," Brandon pushed my hair so it hung down one shoulder and gave him access to the other. His nose trailed up and down my neck. Suddenly I couldn't move, locked in his embrace and in the feel of his lips. His thumbs slid under the tops of my jeans, thumbnail grazing just at the edge of my lace underwear.

He hummed low, vibrating his stubbled cheek across the soft skin just under my jaw. I couldn't help but arch against him, pressing against the hardness I could now feel very clearly against my back.

"You're playing with fire there, Red," he murmured.

The light scratch of his stubble made me arch again, and this time a low moan escaped my throat. His hands clenched at my jeans, then moved around my waist and down to squeeze my ass.

"Brandon," I breathed suddenly unable to speak clearly.

All of me seemed to be standing erect for him; I was glad we were in the middle of a dark room, since my skin was likely the color of my hair. Brandon moved his hand back around my waist, up to the edge of my cropped tank, where his fingers slid just under, teasing at the edge of my bra, and then back down again to tug on my waistband.

"What is it, Red?" he asked as he continued to torment.

The band didn't exist anymore. No one existed anymore. And I couldn't take this torture for one more second.

I turned around in his arms, and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Although he was surprised at first, it didn't take him long to get equally wrapped up in me, reaching down to grab my ass hard as his mouth opened hungrily. We were so eager to get closer, uncaring of the fact that we were basically devouring each other in a room full of people.

The song came to an end, and Brandon stopped with it. Even in the dim light of the club, his eyes flashed and it almost looked like he was vibrating. "Come with me."

Without waiting for a response, he practically dragged me through the horde of bodies. We continued past the entrance of the club where a doorman was still checking IDs, and down a dark hallway. Brandon shuffled past the bathrooms, turning knobs on other doors, checking for someplace, any place where we could escape.

The fourth door in the hall opened, and we tumbled into a closet that seemed to be filled with shelves of music equipment and cleaning materials. Brandon grinned with a lopsided smile that was equal parts lust and mirth. I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn't in the mood to listen. He shut the door, enclosing us in darkness. Then he attacked.

While his fingers had only flirted earlier, now they were everywhere: in my hair, down the back of my jeans, under my shirt. My shirt was yanked up and over the lace cups of my bra, giving Brandon access to the soft, sensitive nubs that hardened under the thin fabric. His lips fastened to one, sucking while I pawed at the hem of his T-shirt. My fingers met thick ridges of muscle, and when I moaned at the contact, he returned to plunder my mouth again. He palmed my breasts roughly, grunting against my tongue while our bodies banging into the shelves and knocked over invisible objects.

"Fuck," Brandon gasped against my lips. "Fuck, I want you so fucking bad right now, Skylar. You have no fucking clue."

Then he broke away, his hands drifting down my ribs and waist like he was tracing the shape of Coke bottle.

"I want to make you come," he said as his hands found the zipper of my jeans.

The deep timbre of his voice seemed to fill the small space and vibrated through my chest. The first time we'd ever completely had sex had been in the deserted stairwell of an MIT building, where he'd turned me against the wall and taken me, suddenly and forcefully. I hadn't argued. But the frank admission of his intentions now turned me on even more.

"Do it," I murmured as I pulled him down for another deep kiss.

Brandon didn't need any more encouragement. His hands were frenzied storm, undoing my jeans in a few quick, torrid movements and wrenching the coarse material to my knees. He soon found me, playing briefly over my clit before dipping down with the clear intent to slip inside. I stiffened slightly and urged his hand back up so that he only touched what was safe.

"Just there," I said in between kisses.