“W-What do you want?”
“I said I want you. Are those words not clear?”
“I thought you hate being touched,” I say breathlessly. “Why are you doing this now?”
He chuckles. God, his smile. I almost want to faint.
“Is that what you think of me?” he asks.
“What do you want from me?” I continue to wriggle. “Please, let me go. I can’t feel my hands anymore.”
Brandon lifts me, then lays me on the couch, clasping my wrists and pinning my hands above me. “Better? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I squirm against him again, but he is keeping his grasp tight.
“If this is about Oliver, you should not—”
“This is about you and me,” his voice thickens. “Do you like him so much that you think this is about him?”
“You should stop. He’s been friendly to me, always.”
His eyes study me. “Let’s say he
