Free Branded Sanctuary by Joey W. Hill Page A

to his face. “It has a shape. I can‟t tell…”
    “It‟s a brand. A fleur de lis design.”
    Scarification. Marguerite had hired her from a body piercing jewelry kiosk in the mall, so body modification didn‟t bother her, but somehow she hadn‟t expected it for Brendan. He seemed so…straight laced, white knightish in a way. She hadn‟t yet seen evidence of tattoos, no piercings and he dressed with conservative fashion sense, his jeans and shirts good quality, enduring styles, not trend-trash types of stuff.
    “It must have a special significance.”
    “Yes. It does.”
    When he met her gaze, she felt it, a wall. Suddenly, she felt a little trapped beneath his body, where a moment before it had felt so good. Secrets and shadows made the fit less comfortable. “You don‟t want to talk about it.”
    “Chloe.” He framed her face. “I won‟t refuse to answer any question you ask, but I‟m requesting that you hold off on that one.”
    Her brow wrinkled. “Why? For me, or you?”
    Brendan shifted. “Both. You, because we‟re at the point it might scare you off, and me, because I don‟t want to scare you off. I like being with you too much.” She swallowed. The perfect moment was a balance between words spoken and things left unsaid. Change and dread often walked hand in hand. She could feel the bite of loneliness threatening, and she didn‟t want to feel that way with him.
    “Okay,” she said. “But you have to sing to me. Whatever song I choose.” He raised a brow, his expression easing. “Is this payback for last night?”
    “You bet your ass. And I‟m not reciprocating and singing something else. One moment of abject humiliation is more than enough.”
    “One way only,” he promised. “My punishment for breaking the mood.”
    “No.” She shook her head. “You didn‟t do that. That was me.” His fingers tightened on the sides of her face, stroking and awaking nerves that shimmered over her whole body, particularly the places that pressed against him.
    “The brand is on my skin,” he reminded her. “Anything I do that makes you sad, frightened or lonely, should have consequences. I‟m willing to do anything to fix it.” Chloe traced his brow, feathering her fingertips through the fall of hair over it. “ I Don’t Want to Close My Eyes, the Aerosmith version.” He smiled, brushed a kiss across her lips. Chloe tightened her hand on his neck to increase the pressure and he obliged, pushing her into the bed, his cock pressed in sensual promise against her mons as he devoured her mouth. He could make a kiss into a slow rhythmic dance with circles of tongue, pressure of lips, his hand holding her face on the other side and fingers stroking. In minutes she was rubbing against him in instinctive need. Her legs rose, clasping high on his hips. The barrier of denim between them helped dissolve some of her unease, reminding her that he was her toy to play with as she wished. Toys were safe, right?
    It was a mean thought, an ugly side of her taking advantage of what he‟d just offered, more than anyone should offer another human being, really. The guilt increased as he raised his head and she saw how much he could offer her. It proved how shallow a vessel she truly was right now, because she knew she‟d waste most of what he gave her, unable to contain it. Her walls were too brittle to hold a gift of such weight.
    “Sshh,” he murmured. His fingers were at the corners of her eyes, collecting the tiny pair of tears she didn‟t know had escaped. “I‟m whatever you need me to be, Chloe, as long as you need me. I won‟t ask for more than you can give.” Even if she wanted and needed him to demand more? She didn‟t know how to say that, though. She wasn‟t even really sure what it meant.
    “Sing to me,” she said, a soft plea. She needed him to sing, and to sing that song specifically. She wanted to hear that poignant wish that the moment between them never had to end. That she‟d