And he kissed her deeply.
She bowed into him, dropping her attaché and purse to the floor, rounding him with her arms and giving him freely what he was already taking from her mouth.
His hand slid into her hair, his other arm going around her, he bent her over it, deepening the thorough kiss, launching her straight to the heavens.
When he broke contact, she was excited, dazed, putty in his arms, open to him forming her into anything he desired.
She hazily caught his gaze to see he didn’t look even close to the same.
“All right?” he whispered.
Evangeline had no idea what he was asking.
But she sensed he needed something from her, and as with anything Branch needed, she had only one answer.
“Yes, honey.”
His hand gliding from her hair to the side of her neck, his forehead dropped to hers.
And that was when the haze cleared and she understood.
During his call that morning, he’d given her a great many cherished things.
And he’d kept from her things that she couldn’t know because she didn’t have them, but they could be far more precious.
And he knew it.
But more, he knew she did.
So he also knew she could think on all of that and come home having made a decision.
It was in her power to end this game a different way, asking him to walk out her door, something she knew, for her, he wouldn’t hesitate to do.
And he didn’t want that.
God, he didn’t want that.
For him, not wanting that might include the words “not yet.”
But he wasn’t done.
And she was far from done.
So she had more time.
More time.
Exactly what she needed.
She just hoped like crazy she had enough.
“Flatbread pizza with my secret special something that will make you think you died and went to heaven,” she whispered to take him out of a moment that he was probably not enjoying as much as she was.
“Secret special something?” he asked, not lifting his forehead from hers or loosening his hold in any way.
“Green olive tapenade and sun-dried tomato pesto brushed on the base before I add the sauce and toppings,” she answered.
Branch finally lifted his head away, but only an inch.
“Now that you’ve shared that, do you have to kill me?” he quipped.
“I hope not,” she replied. “I like seeing you tied down to my bed too much and who would give me good advice after they listened to me bitch for an hour?”
His gaze was soft and his thumb was moving, stroking the skin under her jaw. “You didn’t bitch for an hour.”
“Probably felt that way to you,” she mumbled.
“Forty-five minutes, tops,” he returned.
She grinned.
His look grew softer when he caught it.
But all of a sudden, his head came up, he looked over hers, something crossed his expression and he jerked up his chin in what appeared to be an alpha-man greeting.
He then pulled her into the kitchen, bent, picked up her things and closed the door, tossing her purse and attaché to the counter where she always threw them.
And her stomach grew warmer.
Because that was exactly where she always threw them.
“What was that?” she asked when he turned her way.
“Your neighbor just got home and she likes to watch,” he answered, striding by her.
Ah.
“Jane,” she informed him. “She’s sweet but she’s nosy. Her husband took off on her a few years ago. He got his strumpet, and according to Jane, a not-very-nice apartment since she took him to the cleaners. Obviously, she also got the house.”
Branch was at the fridge pulling out the lavash bread and mumbling, “Mm-hmm,” when she stopped speaking. Since she didn’t start again, or move, he kept his body aimed to the fridge, only turning his head her way, and declared, “Hungry, babe.”
She threw him another grin. “I live to serve.”
“Unh-unh,” he replied, straightening from the refrigerator with the bread, pepperoni and the ball of mozzarella she’d asked him to buy (and her stomach got even warmer) in his hands. “That’s my gig.”
With that, she walked up to him standing in her open fridge, got up on her toes and kissed his throat.
And when she was done with that, she rocked back on her heels, let her eyes roam his head, shot him a big smile and whispered, “I approve of the hair.”
She saw his lips quirk, took that gladly and walked from the kitchen.
She needed to change.
Then she needed to feed her man.
And after that, she needed to do whatever she had to do to dig in deeper.
All-in.
In all ways she could be.
For the win.
eighteen
Promise Me That
BRANCH
Branch felt the bed move slightly as Evangeline slid away from his body.
He then felt her fingers working at the ties on his wrists, his ankles, and finally her hand fell light on his ass as her hair glided over the skin of his back and her lips were at his ear.
She touched the plug with her jewel planted inside him and whispered, “Baby, I’ve got that meeting this morning. Need to take care of you.”
“Leave it,” he grunted, not moving except to curl his arms around her pillow and pull it to his chest.
As he did this, he felt her curls skate across his skin as she moved away.
She had an early meeting that morning but he’d returned late-ish from drinks with Ol and Clay the night before, finding when he woke her as he’d joined her in bed that she was in the mood to play.
He had not said no.
In fact, often while she went at him, he’d said fuck yes.
Now he’d had little sleep but the sleep he’d had he’d done with his balls empty, his cock jacked and his ass full so that sleep had been good.
And he wanted more of it.
She twisted the plug slightly, that drove through his dick, and he opened his eyes half-mast and slid them up to her to see she liked the idea of leaving him plugged.
“Unless you intend to do something about it,” he mumbled into the pillow, “don’t make me hard.”
“You’re already hard, Branch.”
Morning erection with his ass full.
Fuck.
“Then don’t make me harder,” he demanded.
She stroked his crack.
“Angie,” he growled his warning.
“Is my big boy sleepy?”
“You feel playful, baby, wait until your big boy recuperates and he’ll give you the show you deserve. Now I’m still wiped from what you gave me last night.”
She grinned.
So fucking pretty.
Her hand trailed over the cheek of his ass to the small of his back and she bent deeper, touching her lips to his jaw before she pulled away. “Sleep well, honey.”
He gave her a look that was contradictory to the sweet her words made him feel before he turned away from her. He yanked the bolster out from under his hips and hitched up a leg so he wouldn’t call her back because lying on his hard cock meant he needed it to have her attention. This effort made moot because his movements brought his attention to her plug up his ass and it felt fucking great.
She kissed his shoulder and left the bed.
He watched her walk to the bathroom, her purple nightie barely covering her ass.
His dick responded to that too.
But not enough to stop him from sliding back into sleep.
* * *
Showered, shaved and wearing nothing but the comfortable, stretchy pants that hung loose on his hips that Angie had given him after she’d come home from shopping with Amélie a week ago, Angie’s bed made, his jewel cleaned and sitting in the nightstand where she kept it, Branch walked down the stairs.
He found the kitchen as he always found it when he slept in and Angie had to leave before he woke up, the last three and a half weeks since their uncomfortable phone call about texting grocery lists.
The kitchen was tidy and there was a big, square, neon Post-it note fixed to the coffeemaker that he knew was set up for him to flip a switch, and within minutes, he’d be caffeinated.
The note could say anything. When she intended to be home that night, if she was cooking, if she wanted him to cook, leaving him a list of shit she wanted him to pick up at the store, leaving him with vastly different instructions, or just saying good morning and telling him to have a good day.