Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Novella (8 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.  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.