Samantha
Brandon takes me to the hospital to get checked out even though I tell him I feel fine. The drugs seem to have worn off and the only physical damage I have is sore wrists and shoulders from being bound. My head’s still a little woozy but I don’t say because I don’t want to make him worry more. When we get there he tells me I need to call my dad but on this I get my way. There is no way I’m going to call my dad from a hospital and worry him to death when I’m safe. It’s a conversation for another day, when he can see me in person and know that I’m fine.
The doctors look at Brandon suspiciously. He does look very disheveled and frantic, pacing back and forth in the room as they observe me and take blood tests. His black t-shirt is smudged with dirt. He still has bloody scratches on his arms and battered knuckled from before, and they make him look dangerous even though they have started to heal.
Eventually the doctor comes back to confirm what we both suspected. Roypnol. I shudder when I think about what usually happens to women that have that drug slipped into their drink by a stranger. I may have had a pretty terrifying experience but it could have been a lot worse. Brandon goes and stands against the wall, about as far away from the bed I’m in as he can get, holding his head in his hands.
“Bran,” I call out when the doctor has left. I’m well enough to leave but Brandon seems paralyzed. “Can we get out of here now?”
“It’s all my fault,” he says, rubbing his hand across his face then balling his hands into fists at his side. He turns away from me as though he doesn’t want me to see his reactions and I slip off the side of the bed, gown flapping as I walk towards him.
I put my hand on his tense shoulder and tell him that I’m okay, that I’m safe and that he did that. He found me and got me out of there. And now I want him to take me home. Bran looks at me as though he’s buried somewhere in his guilt and can’t quite hear me.
.
“Take me home,” I say again. He’s lost in his own guilt and I know it’ll be up to me to get us out of here.
“Okay,” he says, reaching out to stroke over my hair.
I go to the chair where my clothes have been placed and begin to take off my gown. Bran gasps a little when I stand in my underwear. He’s watching me but when I look over he turns his back. “Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath and I smile a little at his bashfulness even in these pretty awful circumstances.
I pull on my skirt and blouse, but leave the jacket off. I feel ridiculous in my high heels but it’s all I have to wear.
“I’m ready,” I say and Brandon turns around, looking relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with me half naked.
“Come on then,” he says, making me sit in the wheelchair so he can push me outside.
We get into his truck and drive the half hour back to my apartment in near silence with only the ‘oldies’ station that he’s tuned into for background noise.
In the lot he dashes around to open my door and help me out. He keeps a hand on my elbow the whole way into my apartment as though I’m some kind of invalid. It’s cute and what I expected from Brandon, despite his rugged outward appearance. He always was a very caring person, gentle and empathetic.
He tells me I need to go and rest while he makes me something to drink. I take a quick shower, desperate to wash away the horror of the day. In the shower I allow myself to cry. Although I don’t remember much before Brandon came into the room to rescue me, all the fear I felt during our escape is there. I shudder as I process what could have happened if he hadn’t been successful in getting me out of there. I’ve never been that close to death before and I never want to be again. I dry myself, wiping away my tears and blowing my nose, vowing to remain calm when I step into the den. Brandon feels guilty enough for everything that’s happened. He doesn’t need me wallowing and wailing about it all. I’m a warrior, I tell myself. Fuck them if they think they can make me weak. Fuck them. I put on some grey yoga pants
, a camisole and a brave face and go to find Brandon sitting in the den. He’s just staring into space, hands resting on his knees and a grim look on his face. I wish I knew what he’s thinking and feeling. I’m so raw, from the day’s events and the feelings that are bubbling inside me for my stepbrother. It’s so hard to look at him without getting crazy with love and longing for the way we once were. And it’s all mixed with a craving that should feel wrong but feels too strong and good to be anything I can be ashamed about. And then there’s the utter gratefulness. I’m safe because he came for me. He risked himself for me.
.
“You need to get into bed,” he says when he catches me leaning against the door frame watching him.
“I will,” I say. “Go take a shower, Bran. You look beat. I’ve got a t-shirt and some old running shorts you can wear.” It makes me feel better to fuss over him, it gives me something else to focus on.
He looks torn but then he nods and we walk back into my bedroom together so I can get him a towel and clean clothes. I slip into bed while he cleans up, curling up on my side. My body feels weary and my head is still a little foggy from all the crying and the after effects of the drugs. I must fall asleep because I don’t remember Brandon coming out of the bathroom and when I come around, the room is suddenly dark. I turn in bed, finding him lying next to me on his side, respectfully still on top of the covers. He’s sleeping, his long fair lashes casting fan-shaped shadows onto his beautiful high cheek bones. His skin is so smooth and peppered with freckles, just like when he was a child. I lay and watch him breathe slow and steady through slightly parted lips. He’s lovely like this, with no stress marring his brow or worry in his eyes. Everything feels familiar to me. But so different too. His hands that used to be just a little bigger than mine are huge, his biceps and forearms containing so much strength. I can’t stop looking at him even though I worry it’ll be weird if he wakes up and catches me. I want to take him all in while I have the chance. I even look at his feet, marveling at their size and slimness.
I’ve never felt this way before, finding everything about a person so right. It sounds cheesy or cliché to say that he feels like a part of me, but it’s true. We are connected in a way that’s special. I feel it all the way to my marrow. And I know it started when we were young and stepsiblings but I don’t care about that. He used to be my best friend and we’re not related in any way that matters. I have no doubt in my mind that he’s meant for me and I am meant for him. And now he’s so close, I’m not letting him go again. This could be my one chance to make him see it too. No matter what has happened today, I’m not going to let this chance slip through my fingers.
I shift closer, carefully moving out from under the covers. He stirs but doesn’t wake and I stay motionless for a while. When I’m sure he still sleeping, I lean forward and kiss his top lip very gently, running my tongue along the inside to taste him. He exhales against my lips, still locked in his slumber and I move closer, kissing him again and slipping my hand under the fabric of his shirt. His lips move slightly, like an automatic reflex, and I feel on fire, like I might combust with the longing I feel for him. I snuggle even closer until our knees are touching and his curled hand rests against my breast. His skin is so warm under my palm, his chest so solid and muscular. I kiss him again and this time his tongue touches mine. He’s still sleeping, I think, but it doesn’t take away from the pure sexual rush I feel between my legs. He shifts closer to me, reaching out for me and pulling me close, even though he’s still lost in his dreams. I feel the rigid press of his cock against my belly, and I want to moan so badly I have to bite my lip.
Tucked into his arms I feel warm and safe, exactly what I need to put my anxiousness to rest. His roaming hand slips up my ribs, pushing up my camisole until he palms my breast. Brandon moans in his sleep, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. I’m watching his face when his eyes pop open, bleary for a second until he realizes where he is and what he’s doing. He goes to pull away, heat flaring across his cheekbones but I hold his hand against me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly trying to release himself from my grasp.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe, leaning forward to kiss him again. His lips are reluctant at first but as I squeeze his hand harder on my breast I feel his reluctance start to wane. I slip my tongue into his mouth in the most explicit way I can, licking over the roof until I feel him shudder. “Make me feel good,” I whisper. “I need you, Bran. Let me show you how much I want you.”
For a second we stare at each other, his lovely blue-green eyes searching mine, and I know what he needs to see. He needs to be sure I’m not doing this for the wrong reasons, because I’m disturbed by what happened. I smile and stroke his face. “I love you,” I say, and that’s all it takes, then he’s on me with all the passion I’d been hoping for. Underneath his weight I feel tiny and overwhelmed in the best way possible. His free hand moves into my hair, gripping hard and angling my head so he can kiss me deeply. The thigh that he’s pushed between my legs now presses upwards, grinding hard.
“Sammie,” he murmurs against my neck as I run my hands up his sides, grabbing onto him in frenzy. His hand scoops my knee upward and follows my thigh to my ass. When he grabs it roughly and I feel his hips thrust against me I almost can’t bear it. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m here Brandon, I’m yours,” I say softly, stroking over the short buzz of his fair hair. “I’ve always been yours.”
He turns my face so we’re nose to nose, and I see so much warmth in his eyes. “I love you, Sammie,” he says, stroking my hair. “I always have, baby.”
“I know,” I say kissing him again. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” Then I tug on his t-shirt. “Take it off. Let me see you.”
“You need to rest,” he says with all the concern from the hospital etched on his brows. I pull on it again and I guess he must realize that I won’t be taking no for an answer, as he gives in and reaches behind his head to yank it off in one go. I almost swoon at the sight of his broad, heavily muscled chest dusted with the softest golden hair. His nipples are tight and brown and when I stroke over his shoulders and pectorals and down across them, he moans. “Look at you,” I say reverently and he kisses my mouth hard. Then his hand is on the waistband of my yoga pants and I know I have him. He’s gonna do this. We’re gonna step over the boundary of our relationship and into more. He used to be my friend and my stepbrother but now…well, now he feels like a lover.
His hand slides down slowly, his palm cupping my ass and I know he can feel that I’m not wearing any underwear. He rests there for a second, looking into my eyes. “Are we really going to do this?”
I nod and he looks like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. I feel the same. Fifteen years we’ve been apart and even with all that time between us I still feel like he’s my home. We kiss some more as his hand moves slowly, with so much gentle care, until one of his fingers touches where I’m wet and he moans against my mouth. “Oh god, you really want this don’t you?” he asks.
“I do, so much,” I tell him, helping him pull my pants over my hips and down my legs. He’s kneeling up between my legs now as I draw my camisole up and over my head. His gaze runs from my thighs, so slowly over my body, until it reaches my face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, resting his hands on my calves, squeezing slightly and stroking upwards. “Smooth skin, perfect curves. You’re all grown up.” The look in his eyes is enough to raise the hairs on my arms. His palms graze my thighs, thumbs running up the inside, eyes on where he’s heading and I have to remind myself to breathe. I marvel at how natural it feels to be naked in front of him; there’s no shyness or embarrassment. And I want him to touch me so badly I feel my legs shake. “It’s okay,” Brandon says gently. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll always take care of you.”
He pushes my thighs apart gently until I feel the air cool against my pussy. His thumbs press into the crease between my leg and hip, pulling me open and he touches the tip of his finger to my clit, making me rise up from the bed. Leaning forward, he replaces his finger with his tongue, and the heat of his mouth is almost too much.
“You taste so good,” he says, licking a slow line down to where I’m wettest. I throw my arm across my eyes and relax into the sensations, relishing the press of his fingertips into my soft flesh, radiating strength and dominance. Even if I wanted to pull away I wouldn’t be able to and the thought sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t know if it’s the edge of the forbidden that makes me feel so hot but when I feel Brandon’s tongue pushing against my entrance I can’t control myself. It’s so good but I want more. I want him so deep inside me.
He pushes his hands underneath my ass, raising my pussy to his mouth as though he’s drinking from a bowl. The tip of his nose grazes my clit and I feel him breathing against my skin. Each lick and caress takes me closer but it’s not enough until he pushes the very tip of one finger inside me and presses upwards in little rhythmic pulses.
“Oh...,” I say, trailing off when he adds another finger and taps my clit with his tongue. It’s perfect pressure, over and over, and I’m getting so close, but it’s when he moans against me that I go over the edge. My orgasm starts with warmth in my belly that spreads through my pussy and outward in pulses so strong I have to grip onto his head and the sheets to bear it. His fingers keep slipping in and out of me, the slick sounds and my long moan ringing out through my apartment.
“Fuck,” he says, rising up and pushing the shorts I gave him to wear down his thick thighs. His cock is as beautiful as the rest of him, smooth and hard and just the right side of big. Kneeling between my shaky legs, he grips it like a weapon, squeezing and pulling as though he’s in some kind of lust trance.
I watch, mesmerized at the sight of him, the pure masculinity of his body and the utter beauty of his face. But it’s more. I see him; inside and out. I know him in a way I’ve never known a man before. I know that he’ll always put me first, no matter what the circumstances. I know he’ll protect me always, body and mind. It’s those thoughts and the slightly desperate look on his face that have me stirring from my post-orgasmic fog and rising to my knees. He’s made feel so good. Now I want to do the same for him.
I place my hand over his and then slide up the length of him until we are skin to skin. Only then do I look up into his eyes.
“Sammie,” he says, almost like a warning. Maybe, in his eyes, it wasn’t a big deal for him to make me come, but the idea that I might give him pleasure back seems almost too much for him now.
I lean down and lick over the head of him, holding his gaze as I do it, wanting to see the pure, raw desire there. When I wrap my lips around the tip and suck gently, his hips buck. “Oh fuck, that looks so good,” he mutters, moving gently in and out while I hollow my cheeks and use my tongue to lick along the sensitive little spot that I know will make him moan. “Ah, keep doing it like that…just like that,” he says, his voice cracking by the end. I hold onto his thighs, feeling them tremble as he uses my mouth and it’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever experienced.
When his cock begins to swell he pulls out, squeezing himself hard, then he’s on me, pushing me back against the comforter, using his thighs to spread my legs and his hands to hold my arms up over my head. His breath is coming fast, as I know mine is, but time seems to slow as he stills, gazing at me with such adoration I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes.
“I can’t believe I have you back in my life,” he whispers, peppering my face with the softest kisses. “I can’t believe that we’re doing this.”
“But you want to?” I ask.
“Fuck yeah,” he laughs. As if to press the point he shifts his hips so his cock slips down through my wetness. “Have you got a condom?” he asks and I shake my head. His face falls; he obviously isn’t prepared either.
“But I’m on the pill,” I say. “If you’re clean?”
“I’m clean,” he says, “if you’re sure.”
I nod quickly, desperate to feel him fill me up. The head of his cock presses forward gently. There’s nothing rushed about this. It’s as though he wants to take every sensation and store it up in his head. He’s so big, stretching me out so slowly I want to push upwards so I can take him all in, but I don’t. I want him to have this his way. I want to give him what he wants because that’s how it’s always been with us. We’ve always been in harmony. It seems sex is no different.
He shifts up onto his knees leaving just enough space to look between us. We watch as he pushes inside me with slow easy thrusts, opening me an inch at a time. It feels so good and looks so explicit I have to exhale a shaky breath. I’m so swollen and he’s so hard it’s almost punishing but he stops when our hips meet and he’s finally all the way in. The grip he has on my wrists loosens and he rests over me, bending to lick over each of my nipples with tender circles followed by a bite that sends waves of pleasure to my clit. I want him to move but he stays still, buried to the hilt and it’s like he wants to mark his territory, to stake his claim on me for as long as he can. Maybe he’s just too damn excited to risk moving. I feel that way too, like one or two hard thrusts could make me gush all over him. He still has my hands in his grasp so I can’t run mine over his short golden hair or caress his shoulders and back as I’d like. As if he can read my mind, he releases me and uses his hands to clasp my face. He looks into my eyes. “You don’t know how it feels to be with you like this. I’ve been lost for so long but being here, with you, like this…it’s like I’ve finally found the thing that’s been missing for me after all these years.”
I hold his face in my hand and stroke my thumbs across his cheekbones. He blinks his lovely blue-green eyes and I pull him towards me for a sweet, gentle kiss that I know will tell him I feel the same way. He moves inside me then, tentatively, watching my expression tenderly and leaning in to kiss me to the rhythm of his thrusts. He’s got a way of twisting his hips and nudging upwards that has me writhing, toes gripping into the sheets for purchase. When I reach down to clasp him to me I feel the roll and clench of his strong ass as he grinds out our pleasure.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, and he nuzzles my neck in response.
“Sammie,” he says against the shell of my ear, breath tickling the nerve endings there. “I love you…you’re mine now and I’m never letting you go.”
He has one hand in my hair, gripping tight, and the other around my hip, holding me just where he wants me. I move with him, undulating my hips to match his rhythm, slick, wet and so close to coming I feel like I might burst with pleasure and happiness. This man, who I’ve been without for so long, has become everything to me in such a short space of time. My protector, my lover and still the best friend I ever had.