Staring at it now, she was close enough to make out the words written in script, and read downwards. The sentence ended with a small heart woven into the script itself. She didn’t understand it, but it was about his past. “What does it mean?” she asked.
“What’s past is prologue,” he whispered, before lifting the shirt over his head and bringing it all the way down to cover the tattoo. “Technically, it means history repeats itself, but I like to think of it how my mother explained it. While our past does set the stage for what’s to come in the future, ultimately it’s your decisions based on what’s happened in that past—good or bad–that determine your future.
The way he looked at her when he said that last part was so piercing it almost felt personal, not as if he were explaining but rather telling her. Did he know something about her past already? Could he possibly know about what she’d almost done? Or was there something else he was trying to tell her?
She cleared her voice, trying not to sound as nervous as those last words made her. “That’s very profound. But do you really believe you can dictate the future? There are some things you have no control over. Sometimes things just happen.”
Taking a few steps toward her, he looked at her with a vacant expression. “But they happen for a reason, like you falling down those stairs and me being there to help you.” He slipped his hand in hers as he reached her. “If I had let past experiences interfere with the decisions I made after that night, you might not be here with me right now.”
He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his hard body. Gulping, because her heart was already doing that thing it always did when she was in his arms, she searched his eyes. As risky as her next question was—because he might turn it around on her—she had to know. “Is there something in your past I should know about?”
Slipping his hand out of hers and bringing it behind her neck, he smiled softly, shaking his head and mouthing the word “no.” His eyes were immediately on her lips, and he licked his own. “I can hardly stand to look at you for very long without kissing you.”
Then his lips were on hers, and she sighed against his. Regina had come to the conclusion earlier that week that nobody had ever kissed her the way Brandon did. From the very first time, he’d done so with that unabashed craze, and she’d felt it. But since then, even though the craze had calmed a bit, the passion hadn’t. Even when he kissed her softly and gently, as he did now, there was so much in those kisses. They reached a place in her she didn’t think had ever been touched. Kisses. These were just his kisses!
But they were so much more than just kisses. She wished she could explain it—understand it—because if she ever said it out loud, it would sound preposterous. They’d been together for less than a week, and already his kisses held so much emotion. Emotion he was yet to express verbally. He’d told her she fascinated him and that after she’d kissed him he was a goner—he wanted more of her, but why? Even with as much passion as he’d kissed her all week, he hadn’t so much as attempted to take it any further. It was almost as if kissing her as he did satisfied something much deeper than sex would for him. Regina felt it too, but even as satisfying as his kisses were, she was ready for more. She was more than ready.
Moaning as they moved closer to the bed, she pulled him along, tugging on his shirt. She wanted him to see—feel how ready she was to take this further. Even as they sat on his bed, he never took his lips away from her, immediately pulling her to him as they lay back. His hand moved up from her neck, and his fingers massaged her head as he continued to kiss, sucking her tongue a bit harder as the kiss went on.
Finally, he pulled away, only to breathlessly admit, “I’ll never get enough of your mouth.”
Before she could beg him to make love to her, his lips were on hers, and she was helpless to pull away. She too was beginning to feel addicted to his tongue in her mouth. What was he doing to her? She felt completely spellbound by his mouth—his tongue. So much so she was beginning to think if he did this much longer she might come undone and cry out in pleasure from just kissing him. Was that even possible?
If his mouth on hers alone could do this to her, she could only imagine if . . . The moment he took to catch his breath, she gasped. “Make love to me, Brandon. I wanna feel you inside me so bad.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Are you sure?”
She nodded eagerly then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Without saying another word, Brandon pulled away and began undressing her slowly. Luckily, there was not much to remove. When he’d left earlier, the first thing she’d done was shed her work clothes for a San Diego Padres T-shirt of his that she’d come to love in the short time she’d been staying with him. It smelled like him, so fresh and clean and perfect but with that hint of his personal scent. That first night when she’d spent the night at his house, she realized in her haste to make sure she brought everything she needed for work and all her toiletries, she’d forgotten any pajamas. He’d offered her the shirt, saying he often changed into it in the evenings after taking a shower to relax in. When she’d gone into his bathroom to change into it, the smell of it as she brought it over her head combined with the perfectly worn soft cotton fabric had been almost orgasmic. If she had it her way, she’d live in his shirt.
Brandon kissed her naked shoulders after pulling the shirt off of her. Sprinkling more kisses down her collar bone, his touch was so incredibly gentle she could hardly believe he was into the stuff in his closet. Maybe those things weren’t his, but they had to be.