32. Brandy

32

Brandy

R eed watched as I took a bite of my sandwich, the chips in the center crunching as I leaned over the plate sitting on the comforter of my bed. I sat closer to the pillows while Reed sat on the end of the bed, facing me.

“What is so interesting that you have to stare at me while I eat?” I asked after swallowing my bite.

He let out a burst of air, shaking his head. “Chips on a sandwich.”

“It’s delicious.”

He raised his brows as if he hardly believed it before taking a bite of his not-so-crunchy turkey and cheese sandwich.

He was wearing only his boxers, his shirt now in my possession, as it was the only article of clothing I wore. It fell to my thighs, covering what it needed to. But I guessed that wasn’t important after what went down not even twenty minutes ago. He decided to stay for lunch, even though I hadn’t been able to muster the courage to outright ask him to. I was thankful he understood the words I was having a hard time speaking.

“Lettie and I always had these as kids. Did you Bronson brothers not get lucky enough to enjoy this type of delicacy?”

He rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his water. “We had finer things for lunch, like beef jerky and sunflower seeds.”

“Oof, Lettie told me about the sunflower seeds,” I said before taking another bite, a stray chip falling out the back and onto the plate.

Reed chuckled, and the sound stopped me mid-chew. That little glint of teeth, his mouth spreading into a smile he so rarely cracked. He was undeniably handsome with his dark hair and tattoos winding all over his skin, but he rarely grinned. And when he did… Well, the whole world stopped to look.

“Yeah, now that I think back on it, it was kind of fucked up of us to tell her the empty shells would grow.” He put the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth.

“Why don’t you do that more often?” I asked.

A crease formed between his brows as he finished chewing, then asked, “Do what?”

“Smile.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re asking me why I don’t smile more?”

I nodded confidently.

“Brandy, you’re the grumpiest woman I’ve ever met. I think you should be asking yourself that question.”

“I already know why I don’t. I’m asking why you don’t.”

His tongue moved around in his mouth, thinking on his answer. Maybe he didn’t have a reason, and this was just the kind of guy he was by nature.

“I save them.”

“Save them?” I questioned.

He dipped his chin. “For moments when they really matter.”

I frowned. “The whole town of Bell Buckle thinks you’re an asshole because of it.”

“What, all twelve people?”

“Our population is bigger than that, Reed,” I stated before I finished off my sandwich.

“I don’t need all of them to like me,” he said, setting his plate on the nightstand. “Just the ones that matter.”

“So that means you like me?” I asked, as if that wasn’t becoming clearer each time we did…this.

But then he narrowed his eyes on me, and I knew I’d asked the wrong question, because I barely had time to move the plate out of the way before he was shoving me back against the pillows and straddling my hips. I let out a laugh as he grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head on the pillow.

“No, Brandy, I hate you,” he said, looking down at me.

“Okay, good, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same—”

His mouth covered mine, cutting off my sentence with a kiss. It didn’t last long before he pulled back, his nose ghosting against the tip of mine. “I hate the way you feel under my body.” His gaze scanned my face. “How your cheeks flush that cherry red when you’re wound up in all the right ways.” His tongue darted out, running over his bottom lip like he was remembering a decadent meal. “I hate how your taste lingers on my tongue for hours, if not days, and all I crave is more.” He shifted his hips, his fingers sliding in between mine where he still held me captive. His eyes darted between both of mine, like he needed to make sure I knew he wasn’t serious. And I did. But why did that almost scare me?

“Does any of this make you think I still hate you?” he asked, his boner pressing right between my legs where I wanted it most. But if we went that far, was this solidified in the stars? Could I handle that?

“Well…” I contemplated, needing to make light of the heaviness this turned into.

“Seriously,” he said, his tone losing that light it carried briefly.

I opened my mouth to reply, but my phone buzzed on the nightstand next to us and cut me off. Reed didn’t take his eyes off me as he released my hands and straightened. I shoved up on my elbow to reach over and grab my phone, seeing that Lettie had texted me.

Lettie Can you go to the Orsons’ and help them set up their pumpkin patch? I told them Bailey and I would but we’re both sick with the stomach flu now

I shifted to hold my phone in both hands so I could reply.

This is what you get for swapping spit with that man

Lettie You’ll understand once you finally lighten up that black heart of yours

You’re not being very nice for someone who is trying to convince their best friend to cover their ass

Lettie Oops sorry yacking all over my HUSBAND gtg

That is in no way making me jealous of your relationship, just so you know

Lettie Are you going to the Orsons’ or no

Fine

Lettie Yay love you!!

Love you too weirdo

She sent back a green puking emoji before I set my phone back down on the nightstand. Lying back on the pillow, I looked up to find Reed staring at me from where he was still straddling my hips.

“Are you ever going to stop that? This feels weird. I much prefer your scowl over”—I waved my hands around—“this.”

He kept staring rather than responding, like he was waiting for me to tell him who I was texting.

I gasped, slapping a hand over my heart. “Is Reed Bronson jealous again ?”

He frowned now, not giving in to my deflecting. He was too good at the blank face game.

“Lettie needs me to go help set up a pumpkin patch. I guess her and Bailey are sick,” I finally explained.

“Is she okay?” he asked, ever the protective brother.

“Just a stomach flu, from what she told me. I didn’t really have time to ask as I had this broody man staring at me over the top of my phone.”

He ignored my jab. “At the Orsons’ farm?” he asked. It was the only major pumpkin patch in Bell Buckle during the fall time.

I nodded.

“I’ll come with,” he said, getting off me.

I sat up, bending my knees. “She didn’t tell you to go. She told me.”

He grabbed his jeans from the floor, slipping each leg into them. “She didn’t tell me not to go either.”

He buttoned his pants before fixing his belt, and then my jaw fell.

“Is this because they have two sons?”

“No,” he stated simply, but I didn’t miss the deepening of his voice.

“ Reed . They’re, like, nineteen.”

“It’s not because of them,” he reiterated, crossing his arms once he was done with his jeans. His eyes fell on his shirt I was wearing.

Slowly, I started to scoot away to the farthest side of the bed from him. “You can’t go anywhere without your shirt.”

“So give it to me,” he grumbled.

“I think I’ll keep it,” I said before shooting off the bed.

He uncrossed his arms and darted for me, easily lifting me by the waist and tossing me back on the bed. Before I could right myself, he was tugging the shirt over my head, leaving me naked.

“Reed!” I shrieked, shoving my hair out of my face to find him already sliding the shirt on himself.

“Problem solved,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Get dressed. We leave in five.”

“Fucking men,” I muttered, shoving off the bed.

“I heard that,” he called from down the hall.

“I wanted you to!” I shouted back.

I yanked open the closet door, scanning my clothes for something I could wear to taunt him. If he wanted to be like that, I’d make him drool until he fucking exploded with need.

***

I kept stealing glances at Reed as he stacked hay bales in the formation Mrs. Orson instructed him to. I was working on sorting the pumpkins by size on their makeshift shelves made of the bales, but I kept getting distracted as the tattoos on Reed’s arms flexed along with his muscles, the shirt I was wearing not even two hours ago fitting him like a glove.

I’d chosen to wear an open-back sweater solely for the purpose of watching Reed’s jaw twitch with every male interaction I had. No one was looking—they knew I’d carve out their eyes if they did—but the statement still stood. If Reed wanted to be pushy, I’d shove right back.

“Hey, Brandy,” Henry, one of the Orson twins, said as he approached from where he’d been setting up a separate display with his brother. He had blonde hair that swooshed down over his brows, the sides a bit shorter. His brother, on the other hand, had close-cropped hair.

I turned to face him with two pumpkins cradled in my hands, my back facing Reed.

“Hey,” I said, holding the pumpkins closer to my chest.

“The pumpkins are looking good,” Henry acknowledged, gesturing to the ones in my hands.

Behind me, a loud thud sounded, and we both looked to find Reed standing atop a bale next to the one he’d thrown down, brushing his gloved hands together as he stared down at us.

I ignored him and whatever display of possessiveness he was trying to show, turning back to Henry.

Henry cleared his throat, combing a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I just came over to let you guys know we can probably take it from here. We really appreciate the last-minute help.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was cut off as Reed hopped down beside me, his boots kicking up dust. “Sounds good.”

“Reed! Brandy!” Mrs. Orson’s shrill voice came from the little makeshift shop as she emerged from between two wooden beams. “I have a little something for you two for your time!”

She held a large basket in her hand, the wicker filled with all sorts of fall goodies. She stopped next to her son, holding it out to us.

Reed pulled his gloves off and stuck them in his back pocket before taking the handle from her. I turned to set the two pumpkins on the bale behind us.

“You two were so nice for coming out in place of Lettie and Bailey. You really didn’t have to,” Mrs. Orson said.

“It’s no problem at all, ma’am,” Reed replied.

The way ma’am rolled off his tongue…

I swallowed, pasting on a smile. “Always happy to help. Thank you for this. You really didn’t need to.”

Mrs. Orson waved me off. “Please. It’s no biggie. I always have extra every year anyway. Might as well not let it all go to waste.” She peeked in the basket, pointing at a few items as she listed them off. “There’s cinnamon streusel muffins, caramel apples, some extra homemade salted caramel. All the good stuff.”

“Thank you,” Reed said.

“Of course. And if you’d like, you can take home a pumpkin or two to carve,” she offered.

“Will do,” Reed replied. “If you need any more help during the season, let us know. I’m sure one of my brothers will be available if we’re not.”

She grinned. “You all are always so helpful.” She set a hand on Henry’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off like he was embarrassed by his mother.

“We try our best. I’m sure we’ll see you around soon,” Reed said, turning to grab two pumpkins from the bale. I could tell he didn’t want to take them for free, but if he’d offered to pay, Mrs. Orson likely would’ve insisted we take them, along with more.

“Of course,” she replied before turning with her son to head back into the little shop.

“I can take one of those,” I said, eyeing the basket dangling from his hand as he held both pumpkins along with it.

Reed shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

I let out a sigh as we approached his truck, stopping by the back tire on the passenger side. “Are you seriously going to go back to being stubborn now?”

He set the two pumpkins in the bed, pausing with his hands on the side. “You did, didn’t you?”

He left me standing there with a frown as he got in behind the wheel. I supposed I should drop it, but this was typical for us. It felt a hell of a lot more normal than whatever domesticated dream we were living back at my house a couple hours ago.

I opened the passenger door and slid in, buckling myself before I grabbed the basket off the center console and set it in my lap. Reed started the truck, shifted into drive, and headed for the main road.

We were both quiet the whole way back to my house, the only sound the tires on the road as the heater warmed my legs. Within twenty minutes, we were pulling up my driveway.

“Are you mad at me or something?” I asked as he pulled to a stop.

“Why would I be mad?”

I rolled my lips together. As if the answer wasn’t obvious. I’d worn a revealing sweater solely to spite him, and he’d clearly been jealous Henry had complimented my pumpkins. And yes, I was well aware he meant the pumpkin display and not my tits, but the insinuation stood.

“If this is about the Orson boys, I have no interest in them,” I stated.

He stayed quiet, his hand still gripping the wheel.

I tossed my head back and forth. “Although, having a pair of twins—”

Before I could finish my sentence, he turned off the truck and got out. A smirk crested my mouth as I shifted the basket so I could unbuckle my seat belt, the fabric retracting as Reed opened the passenger door.

He lifted the basket off my lap, setting it on the ground next to him before his hands lifted me under the armpits and pulled me out.

“Reed,” I warned, unsure of what he was doing.

He remained quiet as he set me down, then turned me so my back was facing him. Before I could question his actions, he set a hand between my shoulder blades and forced my breasts to the warm seat.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him.

But still, he kept his mouth shut. His fingers came around my front, quickly undoing the button and zipper on my jeans before shucking them halfway down my legs.

“Reed!” I shrieked. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You want to be a tease, Brandy?” Something popped behind me, but whatever it was, he held it from view so I couldn’t see. “Flaunt your pretty back for a bunch of boys when the only man you need is five feet away?”

“I was only—”

“I know what you were doing. I know you wanted a reaction out of me. We’ve been doing this for years, Brandy. I’m not blind to the game you play.”

“I’m not blind to yours either,” I snapped before he yanked my panties down.

“Good.” He gripped my sweater before ripping the bottom, and my mouth fell open. “I wasn’t trying to hide.”

“You just tore my sweater,” I stated, almost in shock but silently writhing over wherever this was going.

“I did.” He moved my hair over my shoulder, and then something cool hit the top of my spine, oozing its way down the center of my back.

“What is that?” I asked, trying to look over my shoulder to see, but he forced my face forward again.

“Caramel.”

My eyes widened. “Your punishment is dripping caramel on me?”

“Nope.” He landed a hard smack to my ass, his palm blissfully stinging my skin. “That was.”

My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip as the sticky substance trailed a path down my spine, going lower, lower, lower.

Soon, it reached my tailbone, then continued heading south between my ass cheeks.

“Reed…”

“Yes, Little Devil?”

“How are you planning to—” But my words were cut off as he got to his knees and set his hands on my ass, spreading the cheeks. His tongue met my center, and then he dragged it up through the stream of caramel as he drizzled more over my hole.

I sucked in a breath, the sensation more than I was expecting. He took his time lapping his tongue gently over my hole, thoroughly cleaning it before he continued upwards along the sweet path.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered as his hands coasted up the sides of my body as he made his way north.

My spine lit like a Christmas tree, every nerve in my body reacting to the feel of his tongue. I was almost sad he was nearly done cleaning his mess. Maybe I’d convince him to make another.

Once he reached the top of my spine, his tongue disappeared. With a light smack to my ass, he stepped away, the warmth of his body leaving mine. “See you later, Little Devil.”

My head whipped around as I straightened. “I’m sorry, what?”

He was already heading around the front of the truck, back over to the driver’s side.

“You’re leaving me with this sticky mess?” I asked when he didn’t reply.

“Yep.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He looked at me over the windshield. “This is what punishment feels like, Brandy. Don’t like it? Be a good girl.”

But that was a challenge in itself.

Reed Bronson knew I’d never be a good girl.

And he fucking loved it.