Because, Brett... [BxB]

Chapter 11: Safeword

Valentine's Day Special -- Even though I know it's late (whoopsies)

It's within mere moments that everything grows more heated between us. His already hasty and needy, dominant kisses grow more intense with each second that passes. I raise my hand to his cheek, letting him have his way but not backing down and crumbling into his touch. Stubble against my fingers and fresh mintiness against my tongue, I begin to push closer. Both drinks are long forgotten as I clumsily clamber myself onto his thighs, strategically straddling his waist.

I moan into his mouth as his hands brush down my body to splay over my ass. They're strong, he knows what he wants. So naturally, I pull away.

"I don't usually do this," I tell him between heavy pants, struggling to regain the air he sucked from my lungs with such passion.

He hums, going in for my lips again and narrowly missing as I turn my head to the side a little. Chastising me with a squeeze of his hand on my behind he satisfies himself with a peck to the side of my lips. "You don't usually kiss people on dates?" He prompts.

"You know that's not what I meant," I roll my eyes at his antics but it only earns me another chastising squeeze accompanied by a nip at my ear. I chuckle.

"You make it sound like I'm the exception." It's not a question, it's a statement as his lips find my neck and he delves into the new conquest of marking my skin. The bristle on his chin along with his demanding kisses send sensations spilling through my body and I subconsciously tilt my head to grant him more access.

"Maybe."

It's only just a whisper, but it's enough for him to pull me closer still. His lips leave my skin and an arm wraps around my waist as he stands up, a hand on the arm of the chair to steady himself.

With purpose, he strides across the room with me in his arms. A single glance forward and I see the heat in his eyes, it doesn't even surprise me because I'm sure the look is reflected in my own half-lidded stare. He's so intense. And I just can't bring myself to look away.

When we reach the stairs he seems to come to a certain realisation as do I. Gently, he lowers me to my feet. He may be strong -- he is strong -- but I'm not the same string bean I used to be in high school. Since then I've filled out, my tri-weekly visits to the gym along with my dance training not having gone without notice. Especially from customers.

"C'mon." His hand slips into mine, fingers intertwining and he urges me to follow him up the staircase. I don't even think twice.

Upstairs, the house is just as flawless. So. . . Seth. But I only take glances here and there, making out the details in my peripheral for all but a few seconds before they become lost in the pit of fleeting moments that I don't care to remember. My focus is entirely on the beautiful man before me, on the feel of his rough hands that lead me away from the top of the staircase and the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

Seconds later, we step through the threshold which I can only assume marks the boundary to his room. In the middle of the back wall is his bed, a queen with a wooden frame and dark sheets. Other furniture is scattered around the room, books piled on nightstands and clothes folded clumsily and slung over the back of an armchair. His room isn't messy, not in the disgusting sense of the word. Not what comes to mind when you think of what your room was like as a slobbish teen -- dirty crockery and underwear strewn haphazardly. His room is an organised, clean mess -- there is method in the madness.

"I would've tidied if I'd known," He smiles sheepishly and for a moment some vulnerability claws it's way into his hazel eyes. As soon as it's there though, it's gone.

"Trust me," I say, gesturing to the few offending items scattered about the place, "this is not messy."

Despite my words, he swiftly manoeuvres around the room, picking up stray books, moving his laptop from the floor by his bed and placing the odd shirt with his ever-growing collection over the back of his armchair. I don't say anything as I slump down on the end of his bed, aware that he will do what he wants no matter how many times I tell him I don't care. When he's done, he returns to stand in front of me. He spreads my legs with a jostle of his knee and stands between them, the blaze in his eyes growing and every touch just adds more kindling to the fire.