HUGE X2 (20 page)

Chapter 14

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.
 
Rohypnol.
 
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?”