He wasn"t the one who couldn"t be in the same room with him, the one avoiding him at work, the one who"d leapt away from him when they"d barely touched.
Goddamn that asshole, he wasn"t going to pretend their kiss hadn"t meant a thing to him—good or bad—and then let it ruin their friendship.
Fuck. That.
Locking a hand on either side of Patrick"s face, he took full advantage of Patrick"s jaw dropping in shock, slamming his mouth down and thrusting his tongue past Patrick"s stunned lips. Patrick didn"t move, didn"t even flinch, his eyes open and unblinking, neither engaging in the kiss or shoving away as Brandon swept his tongue through every corner of Patrick"s mouth.
Brandon was expecting the first punch. Braced for it. Hell, he was looking forward to it. He watched Patrick"s shoulders flex, knew his arms were coming up and drove his tongue deeper, further, taking what he could get before the first blow could land.
His breath left him in a whoosh when Patrick"s arm wrapped around his waist. He would have torn his mouth away but Patrick fisted a hand into his hair, holding him still. Holding him close.
In the blink of an eye Brandon went from kissing Patrick to being thoroughly kissed.
Sweet Jesus. Not again.
Patrick"s tongue stole over his, his lips yielding, responding, working at Brandon"s mouth. Each touch, each parry of Patrick"s tongue sent electric shocks zinging through Brandon"s body. He acquiesced, giving the kiss over while sinking deeper into it. It was so sweet. So good. Patrick ran a thumb over Brandon"s jaw and he let his eyes close, simply losing himself in kissing Patrick.
God, how could anything so fucking stupid feel so good? He couldn"t stop. Didn"t want to. Three days of jerking off hadn"t even come close to easing the ache. But this.
His blood sang on its way south, his head spun from its rapid retreat. Every nerve ending was on full alert, gathering in sensations, swamping him with data.
31
Samantha Wayland
When Patrick shoved him back, he was certain the kiss was over and the really ugly stuff was about to begin, but Patrick stumbled with him, their mouths never parting, leading the kiss and their bodies as he drove them across the kitchen. Patrick steadied them when their feet tangled, pressing their chests together, their knees bumping until Brandon"s back slammed into the wall. The impact might have been painful, but was forgotten when Patrick"s hips caught up, pinning him to the wall and grinding his enormous erection against Brandon"s. A spike of pleasure shot through him and settled in his tightening balls.
Oh God. It was so big, even trapped in those tight jeans. He wanted to touch it.
Taste it. Feel it filling him. He pumped his hips against Patrick"s, pressing hard, Patrick"s answering growl so thrilling he could barely breathe.
How could this be happening?
Then Brandon"s oxygen-deprived brain had a moment of perfect clarity.
Patrick wasn"t freaking out because he found kissing him repulsive. He was freaking out because he liked it.
A lot.
With a desperate grab for sanity, he tore his mouth from Patrick"s and shoved him back. Patrick stopped just inches away, his breath shuddering in and out of his chest, his eyes wide and sightless. Brandon"s pulse pounded in his ears, his chest heaving, his cock aching for more and there was no doubt Patrick was feeling it too. As his heartbeat slowed, he watched Patrick, hating the moment that Patrick regained his senses. His control. In so little time it made Brandon"s heart hurt, Patrick"s face transformed from flushed, panting arousal to pale-faced, abject shock.
“Fuck! ” Patrick"s voice was rough as he ground out the one word that perfectly summed up the entire mess. It didn"t warrant a response.
Wiping a hand over his swollen lips, Patrick closed his eyes for a moment. Then the stupid bastard turned and walked out of the room without saying another word.
Brandon sagged back against the wall. The first kiss might have been Patrick"s doing, but that second one was all on him. And based on Patrick"s reaction, it hadn"t helped matters. Quite the opposite.
Without a word or a glance for Destiny standing frozen and wide-eyed by the stove, he walked to the front door and let himself out.
32
Destiny Calls
Chapter Four
Destiny was waiting for Brandon when he arrived home from work the next night.
Rocking gently on the porch swing she and Patrick had helped install, she saw his surprise and then weary resignation. The setting sun streaked through his blond hair, casting shadows on his face under those killer cheekbones. She could only imagine what he was thinking, feeling. She ached for him.
In more ways than one.
Rising, she went down the porch stairs and waited for him on the bottom step.
When he finally reached her, she cupped his face in her hands.
“I love you, you know.”
His smile was sad. “I love you too. Doesn"t make this week any less shitty, though, does it?”
She pulled him to her, tucking his head under her chin, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while his enveloped her waist. “No, I don"t suppose it does.” They stayed there, just holding each other, for a long while. They might have stayed there all night, but the sun slid behind the neighbor"s house and the mosquitoes swarmed in numbers great enough to carry them off.
By silent agreement, he tried to shake off his melancholy and she gave him some space.
Moving into the house, they sprawled out on the couch and ordered pizza. It was hard, but eventually old habits kicked in and they relaxed. At least, mostly. Destiny couldn"t quite suppress the edge of
