Cinnamon & Nutmeg Volume 2: Where I Want To Be

7: Dom

Take what you need,

take what you need from me.

~The Goo Goo Dolls, "Stay With You"

Brian's lips go still against my neck. He lifts his head in fractions, as if forcing himself away. Eyes hooded, dazed. Unfocused. That expression of lust has me licking my lips, wanting to devour him. Wonder how far back in time those feelings reach, the ones I see exposed.

For a few moments all I can do is stare at him. That gaze. I have to swallow, hard, just to form words. "Shot glasses. Two of them. One of 'em's Campo. Saw him come out of the room."

"And the other?"

"Whoever was with him."

Brian's hands tighten on my neck, thumbs sliding along my jaw. "How'd you know?"

"Saw where you went." Would've narrowed my eyes at the blonde, how slow can he be, but it wouldn't have the impact I want. "Might not have a badge, but I ain't stupid."

Brian's touch falls away, head comes up sharply. "Never thought you were." He crams his hands back into his pockets. Makes his jeans ride down even further. "I should take them back to the field office. Get them running the prints. It'll take a while." Lips twist into a grimace. Gaze wandering everywhere to avoid looking me in the face.

Unless there's something really interesting crouching on the roof of the Chevelle? I got no idea what just happened any more than Brian does. Run a thumb along the hip bone jutting against my palm. Brian exhales slowly, eyes widening. But he looks at me. So I lean in and drag my lips over Brian's mouth, grinning. "Better now?"

"It's relative." Brian's voice is husky, words formed slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh."

"How's that work." I trail my mouth over to the line of Brian's jaw and drag my teeth over the day's growth of stubble. The blonde's head moves like his neck muscles just lose all rigidity. Surprises me. Once was a coincidence, but this... Forming coherent thoughts is difficult when Brian makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat every time I put my teeth to his skin. When the heavy erection hiding in denim twitches every time I sink my teeth in and bite down. "Like that?" Irrelevant question, but my brain cells aren't firing in any kind of logical order.

Brian's response is a growl and a long-fingered hand clamping down on the back of my head. Not holding, but definitely encouraging. "Talk too much," Brain comments, half distracted, panting again, obviously not aware of the words he's forming.

Me and chatty don't belong in the same sentence. I smile against Brian's neck, glad I succeeded in short circuiting a few connections in that too-quick head. Might not be talkative, but that don't mean I can't use my mouth.

And I'm definitely eager to use my mouth. Brian's skin tastes like musk and salt, smells faintly of the ocean. Does he still surf? Slide a hand up Brian's side, over his ribs, imagine all that smooth warm flesh bare to the sun, wet and glistening and tasting of salt and brine and Brian.

I growl and bite down hard just above the man's collarbone, slide my hand around to grab Brian's ass. Just enough to anchor, to grind my hips forward, give us both some friction. If Brian gets me any more aroused, I might go blind or something. Sensory overload. Threatening to fry the circuits. Sparks will start flying off my skin any minute now.