Pushing complicated thoughts aside, I looked to the far corner of the bar where a band was setting up.
I nodded over to them. "Are you familiar with that band?"
Brogan nodded. "I've heard them play once or twice. They're an Irish band that only plays locally."
"Can we stay for a little bit and listen to them?"
Brogan looked like he was going to protest for a minute, but I put my hands in the prayer position and smiled sweetly. He rolled his eyes, laughing softly, and relented. We finished our beers as the band played and I ordered another, although Brogan didn't.
The lead singer's voice was smoky and sensual. I was buzzed from the beer and Brogan's closeness and the way his thumb rubbed lazy circles on the top of my hand under the table. Brogan was telling me stories about some of the characters in the bar, and I was laughing and I felt young and happy, sitting next to a gorgeous, complicated man who fascinated me.
There were reasons I shouldn't feel so carefree, perhaps, but for just that moment it felt too good to deny. The liquor emptied my mind and the music filled it and I laughed and let everything else float away. It'd be back soon enough. This moment, though, this moment was mine. Brogan's and mine.
But I could also tell he was overwhelmed by the noise and the smells of this loud, crowded public place. He had tolerated it for me, which made me feel warm, but I didn't want him to overextend himself. "I want you," I whispered. "Can we go?"
He met my eyes and his were bright and filled with the same need I felt. He grabbed my hand, lifted his other one to Fionn across the bar who was sitting on a barstool with a redhead in his lap. Fionn lifted his hand in response and Brogan wove us through the crowd, my hand gripped in his until we stepped out of the loud bar into the fresh, warm summer air, the music muted behind the walls now. We walked quickly to the back lot where Brogan had parked earlier.
"How will Fionn get home?"
"Fionn will find a way," he said, letting me in the car. I had a feeling the redhead sitting on his lap would be happy to give him a ride. Pun intended. I giggled to myself and Brogan glanced over at me, raising a dark brow.
It felt like a million years before we were pulling into Brogan's garage, Brogan grabbing my hand again and almost running toward the elevator. I laughed and he shot me a heart-stopping smile over his shoulder. Once in the elevator, I leaned against one wall, Brogan against the opposite. "You know what's going to happen when we get upstairs, right?"
My heart rate spiked, lust careening wildly through my veins. "Yes," I whispered. Yes, and I wanted it. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. Did everyone feel this way about sex? I’d only had it a few times, but I felt addicted. Addicted to Brogan. To how he made me feel. Was it just him? Something told me it was.
We stared at each other across the short distance between us in the elevator, and I swore I could hear both our hearts beating, the anticipation of feeling Brogan moving inside me again so sharp, I almost moaned. I clenched my thighs together, feeling a burst of pleasure in the small movement and Brogan's eyes went lazy. "Jaysus, Lydia," he said right before the elevator doors opened.
We barreled through the front door of his apartment, and as soon as the latch clicked behind us, Brogan had me pressed against the wall in the foyer. My chest heaved as I gazed up at him, his expression hungry, light eyes intense. His lips crashed down on mine, and he pushed his tongue into my mouth as I groaned, eagerly accepting it. As we kissed, Brogan's hand moved up my waist to my breast, his thumb lazily circling my hardened nipple. I gasped, pushing my breast toward his hand. "Oh God, that feels nice," I breathed.
His lips moved to my neck and he used his teeth to nip lightly at my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath and jumped slightly, letting out a small shivery laugh. He smiled against my skin, nipping lightly again and then dragging his tongue up my throat, finally bringing his lips back to mine. "You can always trust me," he whispered against my mouth. Our eyes were open and we stared at each other—the feeling of intimacy all the greater for the short distance between our gazes.
"Spoken like a true villain," I said, my voice breathy. I felt his lips curve again, his eyes squinting slightly with his smile.
"Am I still the villain?" he asked, bringing his hand to my hair and weaving his fingers into it. "I keep losing track." Without waiting for an answer, his eyes slid closed, and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I moaned, accepting him, meeting his tongue and using my own to tangle and entwine. Our kisses grew more feverish, my blood boiling, Brogan's body hard and solid against my own.
"I can't be slow tonight, Lydia," he finally growled, breaking away. "I don't even know if I can make it upstairs. But . . ." He brought both hands to the buttons of my shirt, his mouth trailing down my throat as I tipped my head back, leaning on the wall behind me.
Our mouths came back together and as he undid my buttons, he began walking backward, pulling me with him. He finished with my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. As it fell to the ground, he unbuttoned his own shirt. We were a tangle of open mouths, probing tongues, and grasping hands. Our clothes were being removed piece by piece and left strewn across the floor as we made our way toward the stairs.
My breath came out in heavy pants as I struggled with Brogan's belt buckle. "But?" I asked. Glancing up at him, I saw that his expression was filled with both lust and the slightly pained look he got when he was overly stimulated. I paused, thinking I understood. He was desperate and full of need, but he didn't know how to rush things without experiencing a certain amount of discomfort. "We can slow down," I murmured.