I follow Brandon out of House of Stars. I get in his truck. I make polite conversation on the way the bar. But the entire time, I’m on autopilot because there’s a big question I’m trying to answer.

Is this a date?

I smile at something he says. By the tone of his voice, I can tell it’s a statement, so I’m not too concerned that I’m too busy watching the chiseled perfection that is his jaw to hear what he’s saying. I have to be reading way too much into this. Brandon worked late. I worked late, Brandon saw me and asked if a coworker wanted to have drinks, I said yes. Simple as that.

Except it isn’t as simple as that. I’ve caught Brandon’s stares, felt his eyes lingering for longer than they should. Gemma said I should give Brandon a chance, and I decided to do what she suggested—put on my sexiest business outfits and try to get to know new Brandon better.

I don’t know if I’m even trying to seduce him, really—more like… get his attention. Either way, I can’t tell if what I’m doing is working. Sometimes I’m positive Brandon is into me, and other times I don’t know because he doesn’t make moves I expect.

It’s confusing, but I’ll take any chance Brandon would give me to listen to his deep, strong voice, meet his beautiful blue-gray eyes, and watch his muscles flex as he did extremely simple things like pick up a water bottle or move a chair.

After all, I haven’t yet decided if I even truly want Brandon to be into me. The lie makes me fiddle with the seat belt. I do want Brandon to like me and want me. I want that more than most things; that scares me. I have a job and classes to think about. Two words float around in my brain: ‘want’ and ‘need.’ What I need eclipses what I want, and I don’t know if I can have both.

We arrive at the bar, walk beneath the small sign that reads ‘Spinner’s Bar,’ and head inside—sort of. I think I left my heart outside when Brandon held the door open for me, the brightly lit sign outside illuminating his smile.

I’ve been in a few bars, and this one isn’t particularly more or less impressive than any others I’ve seen. The lights don’t do much to illuminate the place, but the dimness matches the dark wood tables and chairs scattered about the place. The smell of alcohol permeates everything, but I doubt anyone here notices— they’re all contributing to it. Tall stools creep around the length of the bar, and the mix of people occupying them is fascinating— morose, silent, drown-your-sorrows types, rowdy, raucous merrymakers, men and women absorbed in quiet conversation with their lovers. As far as I can see, this bar has something to offer for everyone from the casual drinker to the firm regular.

I wonder what kind of bargoer Brandon is.

We take two free seats at the bar. I feel a little overdressed. I left my formal jacket in the truck and changed from stilettos to some more comfortable, dressy flats, but most of the women in this bar went for cute or sexy, not dressy. We aren’t here for the same reasons, though. Those girls wear what they wear to impress. I’m here because I was asked and I feel like doing a little unwinding after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days.

“So, what do you drink?” Brandon asks, waving a bartender over.

“Wine, mostly,” I muse, trying not to seem as out of my element as I am. “I don’t go to bars much,” I admit, deciding honesty is better than embarrassment. “Hard to enjoy evenings when you’re working a night gig like I was before House of Stars.” My eyes run over the list of cocktails mixes, and in-house beers. “Maybe a margarita?” Can’t hurt to try something new.

“Margarita is a good choice.” I assume Brandon orders me one of those along with whatever he’s ordering himself, but I can’t hear the words that pass between him and the bartender because a table behind us just burst into hearty laughter.

“Do you come here often?” I ask after Brandon turns back to me.

“Once a week, maybe two weeks. I like this bar, and I guess you could say I’m a regular here, but not… a regular regular.”

I hide my relief. I’ve been friends with and dated regulars at bars, and they seemed to throw all the money they make immediately down a bar’s filthy drains. “It’s not a bad place,” I say, glancing around with almost a bit of fondness, now that I know Brandon isn’t like that man a distance away sitting at a four-person table, chugging beer by the tankard, and singing softly to himself.

“It’s not quiet, but it’s not sleazy, either,” he agrees.

“No one goes to a bar for quiet.” The bartender pushes a cocktail glass toward me, and I take it, gingerly raising it to my lips and giving it a sniff. It smells like tequila and lime, which is probably exactly what it is.

I take a sip. The sour lime and salty rim hit my tongue first, then the tequila ignites it all into a delicious cold burn on my tongue, then in the back of my throat as I swallow.

Brandon is watching me, waiting for a reaction. “It’s good.” I swirl the glass lightly. “Really good.”

“Like I said, a good choice.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

“So, electrical contractor.” Time to learn more about Brandon. “Did you go to a college or a trade school after high school?” I listen with bated breath. There’s a reason I added ‘after high school.’

“Not right after high school, but a few years ago, I did. I had a choice between a college and a trade school, and I picked the trade school.”

“Not right after high school?” I do my best to look curious and confused. “Did you have a different major in mind then?”

“Not a major. I wanted to join the Navy.” Brandon twists his glass in his hands, contemplating the liquid inside.

He’s apparently not entirely comfortable with this subject, but I decide to press a little harder. “Did you end up not enlisting?”

He leans his elbows on the bar with a sigh. “I did enlist, but it was one of those things… well, I guess where everyone—family, friends—” He takes a sip of his drink. “—girlfriends—expect something from you, and you can’t keep up with their expectations.”

Then, Brandon had never even wanted to join the Navy? I know that Anaja’s father was some big-wig general or something in the Navy and that he, his daughter, and Brandon’s family had all expected him to enlist, but any time I heard him talking about the Navy SEALs in high school, he had sounded and looked genuinely excited.

More of Brandon’s past remains hidden behind his stormy eyes, but the sad, reminiscent expression on his face as he stares into his drink completely melts my heart. “But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I take a sip of my drink while he watches me questioningly. “You told me you have no family here except for Rick. You’ve left those expectations back in—” I stop myself from blurting the name of the high school just in time. “Back in the past.”

“I suppose.” He doesn’t sound so sure. “So, how about you? What are your plans for life?” Brandon’s eyes fall to my empty glass, and he signals the bartender for another.

“Well, since you asked,” I start, my determination flaring once more at the chance to share it, “I want to support myself. Make those hours of staring at bills and putting my math skills to work on making ends meet a thing of the past, you know?”

“Do you want to live alone?” Brandon regards me curiously.

“Like have my own apartment?” My hand freezes on the stem of the new glass. I’ve never even contemplated the idea of making enough money to live alone. Has Gemma? “I don’t know.” I stifle the immediate ‘no’ that wants to escape my lips. “I guess I’m just so used to having a roomie that it would be weird to live alone now.” That no, had it formed, would have been so emphatic. Why am I so averse to the idea?

“It took me a while to get used to living alone.” The stuck-in-the-past look grips Brandon’s features again.

My reply is interrupted by a ringtone. Brandon pulls a phone out of his pocket and glances at the caller ID. “It’s Rick. Give me like five minutes?” His eyes plead for me to forgive the interruption.

Throughout this whole conversation, I’ve managed to forget that Brandon is the hottest guy ever to walk the planet and that a single look from him can knock me off a stool at a bar a hundred times over. “S-sure,” I stutter. Damn men with the puppy-dog face down pat.

He grins and jogs to the door of the bar, probably seeking some quiet. I take a sip of my second drink. I’ve nearly finished it, and I barely even noticed I was drinking at all. Maybe this is the real reason people drink—to hide the real cause of blushing and stuttering.

Someone sits down next to me. I glance over, far enough to look down the bar but not far enough to look at the man’s face. There are so many empty seats, some in groups of three or more between those already sitting on stools. This guy could have so easily sat in a chair that isn’t next to anyone.

“Looks like you could use another drink,” the man comments, his voice a tiny bit too loud for his close proximity to me. “Let me—”

“No,” I shoot him down immediately, not in the mood to be polite. “I’m here with someone.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the man complains. I shrink away as he tries to touch my shoulder. “Let me get you another one. You haven’t had enough to drink yet! C’mon, this is Vegas.” He draws out the word for an obnoxiously long time.

“And you’ve had too much.” Two strong hands grab the man by the back of the shirt, drag him off the stool, and shove him away. “Flirt with someone else,” Brandon growls.

For a second, I can see the danger in his eyes—why isn’t he a Navy SEAL?—then it’s gone, replaced by concern as the man shrugs and leaves. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I think I should go. It’s getting late, and we do have work tomorrow,” I point out, the volume of the bar and the people in it suddenly grating and coarse. They mask the sounds Brandon makes and the things he does. I don’t want to have to deal with these other distractions when who I really want to be distracted by is Brandon.

“You’re probably right.” Brandon pays the tab, once again holds the door open for me, and leads the way back to his truck. “I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?”

I haven’t lived here long enough to know my way around this section of Vegas yet, so I end up putting the address of the apartment into the GPS on Brandon’s phone.

Suddenly, I feel a weight in my stomach. Not an I-drank-too-much weight, but an I forgot-to-do-something weight. I twist around, checking for my jacket and purse, and laugh it off when Brandon asks me why I’m doing spins, but the feeling doesn't go away.

It only gets stronger when Brandon pulls onto the quiet side street outside the apartment building, guides the huge truck over to the curb, and brakes to a stop. There’s a light post out here, but it’s on the fritz at the best of times and isn’t shining at all right now, plunging the street around the twin headlights of the truck into darkness. I suddenly feel like I’m in high school.

Brandon puts the truck into park but leaves the engine humming. “Thanks for coming with me tonight.” He grimaces. “Sorry the evening ended like that. Guys like that are the reason a lot of bars get a bad rap.”

“It’s fine.” My voice is small and quiet to my own ears. I open my door and step out onto the curb, but something stops me from closing the door behind me.

“You okay?” Concern laces Brandon’s voice. He kills the engine and walks around the truck. “You don’t look ‘fine.’ ” His tone has gone deeper and more masculine, more… intense.

He’s right, though. I’m far from fine. My heart is thumping a million miles an hour in my chest, and my lungs can’t seem to get quite enough air. Brandon is so close. Even in the dark street, his chiselled jaw draws my gaze. His shoulder and arm muscles cast long, undulating shadows across his broad chest. It’s the kind of chest that you lick, bite, and fall asleep on all within the same night.

He takes a step closer to me. My hand grips the edge of the door frame. He reaches under my arm and pushes the door closed. I step to the side, now between him and the truck. The heat from his body pushes me back so I’m wedged between his hot body and the warm truck. My legs weaken, and my mind starts to spin with anticipation.

His hand reaches upward, grazing the outside of my thigh and tracing my curves up to my waist. He wants this too, and that’s all I need to know. A soft moan slips through my lips and his body tenses at the sound. He puts both his hands around my waist, pushing me up against the warm, silver metal. My feet leave the ground as he presses his waist into mine. I feel his huge dick and try and gage the size of the thing as its pressed hard against my thigh. I’m gasping, floating, and free.

“Brandon…” I whisper, craning my head backward. His breath tickles my neck, and his lips graze my earlobe as he brings his mouth to mine. He hovers, an inch away, our bodies trembling. His bright gray eyes seem to glimmer in the street lights, and his smooth, raven skin almost shimmers against the dim lights around us.

In those eyes, I see a piece of the football jock I crushed on in high school, but they swim with life and lust. I don’t need to remember him the way he was, because now he’s one hell of a beautiful, big, black man.

“Bran-”

His mouth collides with mine. Our tongues dance effortlessly, and his teeth nibble my bottom lip just hard enough to make me shiver. The wetness between my legs seeps through my panties and drips down my inner thigh. I’m hoping he won’t notice my eagerness.

Brandon opens my legs with his knee and pulls them around him. His fingers dig into my thighs. My skirt rips up the back under the force of his hands, and the juices between my legs soak into his jeans as I writhe against him. His cock is straining against his pants, and he rubs the pulsing bulge against my lace panties. He knows what he’s doing. Oh, god. I suck in a breath.

My hands glide across his rippling arms, shoulders, and chest. My fingertips linger in the valleys between each muscle, like an explorer mapping new terrain. He reaches up and pushes my head back against the hood of the truck. His fingers clench around my jaw, and he sinks one finger between my lips. His touch is knowing and strong, and I want it. I can’t help but to relinquish myself to him.

As I suck on his finger, he growls against my neck. His teeth find my earlobe, and it’s all I can do not to squeel. He takes my neck into his mouth as I grind harder against him. His tongue is hot iron against my skin, branding me with his kiss like the tattoos stretched across his skin.

Brandon’s course denim jeans graze my clit through my panties, then rub harder as my body lurches and shakes in response. He pushes into me, driving his body weight against the hard, slick bundle of nerves nestled in my swollen lips. I moan loud and freely, digging my nails into the thick muscles of his upper back. Deep, growling vibrations shoot through his body with each pulse of his pelvis against me.

We freeze as a door opens across the street and soft light floods the pavement on the other side of the truck. A woman and her dog prance onto the sidewalk. Our breathing doesn’t slow, and the interruption only heightens the blistering heat that’s pulling our bodies together.

Once the clickety-clack of the woman’s heels are further down the street, Brandon puts a hand under my ass and lifts me effortlessly. His skin clings to mine where my skirt had ripped, and as he leans forward to open the back door of his truck with his other hand, two fingers slip on my juices and sneak under the edges of my panties. They slither between my soaked labia as he lays me across the back seat, and by the time he closes the door behind him, his fingers sink deep into my eager pussy.

“Oh, fuuu!” I moan. He quiets me with an eager kiss, then makes his way down my neck and chest. His free hand pulls apart my blows, and buttons fly across the car. He arches his girthy fingers inside me. He’s trying to find my g-spot.

“Ah, Brandon!” I whine. As my back arches, he slides his hand up my spine and unhooks my bra. He pushes the sleeves and bra straps down my arms as his tongue stops to caress my nipples.

Damn, this man knows what the fuck he’s doing.

Once my tits are slick with the trails of his tongue, he fills his mouth with my hard nipple and my small pink areola, sucking hard. He sucks with the same rhythm of his fingers pulsing inside me, and he begins massaging my clit with his thumb.

“Brandon,” I gasp. “I… fuck… ohhh… You’re going to… ah… make me… fuck!”

I throw my hand above my head, bracing myself against the far door. The heat inside me is so intense I can almost see it, glowing hot like a young star. My vision blurs. Just as I’m reaching my climax, Brandon releases his grip and trails his tongue down my stretched abdomen. His strong hands grab my hips and pull them upward just as he replaces his thumb on my clit with his mouth.

I can feel my juices flow.

He feels them too and starts to suck. He swirls his tongue around the base, lapping up juices between my swollen folds. I glance down, and his silver eyes are looking straight up at me, hungry and fierce. His fingers arch further into me, and he sucks my clit with a force I didn’t know was possible.

I scream words I don’t recognize. I pull his hair and I fucking need this so much I realize my feet are giving him full access as they’re high in the air over; one over the front seat, the other I’m not sure. My arm pushes against the door behind my head, the driver’s seat beside me, and the floor below us, but my body is wild, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to control it again.

Our eyes remain locked as Brandon pilots me through multiple orgasms. They hit me like strong, unexpected waves; like a powerful swell pushed to shore by a treacherous storm out to sea. As one breaks across the sand, another builds beneath the pulsing pressure of his fingers deep inside me and the churning whirlpool of his tongue on my clit.

When my body begins to tremble, and my voice grows hoarse from screams and moans, he pulls his fingers out of me. I watch him lick every last drop of my juices from his hand. “You taste so sweet,” he says. With a shimmering glaze still on his lips, he leans forward and kisses me gently. He was right - I do.

I feel a dryness at the back of my throat, like a thirst I haven’t yet quenched. I glance down, and precum is soaking through the leg of his jeans. I say the leg, because his pulsing cock stretches halfway down his thigh. He chuckles when he sees me lick my lips, and unbuckles his belt.

Before I know it, he’s unzipped his jeans and starts to pull them down past his knees as we seamlessly rotate in the seat. He lays down, and I crouch between his legs.

His dick pushes well past the leg hem of his boxer briefs. I lean down and lap up the pool of precum dripping down his thigh onto the seat. I moan as the savory tastes glide across my tongue. He gasps and runs his fingers through my hair.

I pull his massive, swollen head into my mouth, nearly filling it. I swirl my tongue beneath the edges and across the smooth velvet top. Brandon moans and pushes his hips upward. My cheeks rest on the dark, buttery skin of his thigh.

Soon the teasing isn’t enough. I need his cock. I need his entire, big, black cock. I snatch the boxers down by the waistband past his knees, and he loses his mind as his dick disappears down my throat without warning.

“Ah, fuck!” he screams.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to get a third of him in my mouth, but when his salty, dripping head hits the back of my throat, my neck straightens instinctively and my throat opens on its own. Breathing through my nose, I swallow, over and over again. The strong muscles in my throat constrict and relax around his cock. Brandon bucks his hips, thrusting his dick in and out of my throat. My tongue laps around his shaft, tickling the wide, pulsing veins.

I feel a strange pressure in my throat, so I pull myself off him. I’m panting, my eyes are watering, and my face is covered in precum and spit.

“That’s right, baby,” Brandon says, “just breathe so you can swallow my cock again.” He rubs the head of his cock in his palm. He traces the line of my jaw with it down to my chin. Then he pulls it back, and lets it slam against my cheek. I close my eyes and whimper, looking up at his with a questioning glance. He slaps me with his cock again. A sharp, wet clap echoes through in my ears.

“Look at me,” he orders. His voice is deep and primal. I look up, and his eyes are brimming with heat. He slaps me with his cock again, and again, and again. He rubs the head across my lips, and the temptation puts my body into autopilot. I don’t mind it.

I take his cock into my mouth and dive until my lips curl around the base. He grips my head with a fist full of hair just above my neck. He drives his hips up and down, pulling the head of his dick to the back of my tongue, and then slamming it all the way back in.

“Fuck,” he moans between fast, deep breaths. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. You like me face fucking you with my big black dick? Huh?”

I moan around his girth, knowing the vibrations will make him tremble even more. I race my fingers across my aching clit, and I feel that strong heat building again in my pussy. At the same time, his balls tighten and his dick pulses and swells.

“Taylor,” he gasps, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum in your throat!”

I moan furiously as the waves send him over the edge. I feel hot streams of semen coating my throat, and my legs tremble as I cum on my hand. He pulls out of my mouth, and the last few shots of his orgasm splatter across my face. I smile as I lick the thick, salty liquid from my lips. He chuckles as he sweeps the rest up with his fingers and feeds it to me.

Our eyes meet again. We’re sweating, panting, and shaking against each other.

Bright blue lines of headlights beam through the truck’s steamy windows as someone turns onto the street. I duck down, collapsing onto him. His smile is huge, and my heart flutters. I lay my head against his chest and listen to his lungs fill with air and empty again as we catch our breaths. He rubs my back and twirls my hair around his fingers.

We don’t say anything. We bask in the sensual silence, our bodies telling us all we need to know. This is not just sex; it is… something.

It is beyond the fantasy I had in high school of him having his way with me in the back of his car in the senior parking lot. We are grown; we have baggage, but we know how to deal. We are out of the cliques and the social pressures; it’s just us. Us, still sweating against each other, listening to each other's heartbeats.

I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I sit up and look down at him. He’s still smiling. He cups my cheek with his hand. We hand each other clothes as we find them. He chuckles at the handful of blouse buttons he collects from the floor. For a moment I think I lost my skirt, but I find it hiked up around my waist. Oh, yeah, and with a giant rip up the back…

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. He was definitely not sorry, and neither was I. I giggled and blushed.

Once dressed as much as I could be, I walk around the truck. He gets out, too, and meets me on the sidewalk. He puts his hand on my waist, and I chew my lip nervously. We can’t help but giggle at each other. He leans down and kisses my cheek.

“Goodnight,” he says. “I’ll see you at work.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, you will.”

I turn and walk up the stone path to the apartment building entrance. I look back only once, and he’s still there, smiling wide. I take a deep breath. My heart has barely slowed down, and I’m not sure it ever will.