CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Brandon
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Brandon
“THERAPY” — VOILà
Six Years Ago
Imust be dreaming.
I spent the better part of today driving around LA, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.
Angry at Grayson—for being someone who’s supposed to understand me and instead becoming my biggest obstacle.
Angry at Johanna—for folding so easily instead of fighting for us the way I’d wanted to.
Most importantly, angry at myself—for walking out of the house without talking to her.
Now, here she is—beautiful and completely naked in my bed after making me crawl to her.
I’m hovering over her, and I can barely take it anymore. I’ve dreamt about this exact moment every night since she got here, and now I need to feel her—in every way I possibly can.
The tip of my cock brushes against her pussy. By how wet she is—even through her panties—and the way she trembles beneath me at the briefest contact, I can tell she’s ready for me, too.
“Brandon,” she moans, pushing her hips upwards to feel me again.
“You act like you’re all in control,” I murmur against her ear. “But you’re really just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
I sneak my hand down her body until I reach her panties. With one swift motion, I tug them off her and discard them to the side of the bed. Once they’re gone, I return my hand to her heat and rub small, slow circles into her clit.
“Need you inside me,” she breathes. “Right now, Brandon.”
She means to make it sound like a command, to show me that she’s still the dominant one—but it comes off more like begging, and it takes everything I have to not implode right there.
I shift upward to open the drawer to my nightstand and pull out a condom, ripping off the wrapper and rolling it on with ease.
I line myself up and thrust into her with one smooth motion. She gasps and arches into me, closing her eyes. Her warmth wraps around me, and it’s unlike anything else I’ve ever felt in my life.
“You’re like fucking heaven,” I murmur. “So wet and tight for me, Hurricane. Better than anything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
I keep up my rhythm, slow and steady with my hands gripping onto her hips. Her eyes open again, the color reminiscent of fiery pools of pure blue. She pulls my shoulder down until I rest my forehead on hers, using her free hand to curl her fingers into my hair.
I groan against her lips as I kiss her, reveling in the way she feels. The way she fits me perfectly, like we were made for each other.
She pulls against my hair as she captures my bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.
“Deeper,” she pleads. “Don’t be gentle with me, Brandon.”
Fuck me.
“Legs over my shoulders, baby,” I instruct her.
I move closer, still inside her, as she lifts her hips up and I swing her legs over one by one until she’s got them both wrapped loosely around my neck.
If I had any form of control before, it evaporates as I plunge into her as deep as I can.
One hand grips her ass so hard I’m sure I’m leaving a handprint while the other steadies one of her legs.
Over and over again, I slam into her as she throws her head back into the pillow in pleasure.
“Brandon,” she cries out as she tightens around me, her orgasm imminent.
I slide my hand down her leg until my thumb returns to her clit, giving her just enough pressure to push her over the edge. As she finds her release, my own barrels into me. I feel like I’m seeing stars as I spill into the condom.
She’s so fucking perfect.
Nothing—no one—else will compare to her. Not ever again.
“Johanna,” I murmur her name—just to make sure I’m still alive—as I collapse beside her and roll onto my back.
The room is quiet again except for the steady hum of the ceiling fan above us and the sound of Johanna’s breathing beside me. My chest is still rising and falling heavier than usual, my arm draped loosely around her as she nestles herself into the crook of my shoulder.
Neither of us says anything for a while.
Johanna traces slow, absent patterns across my chest with her fingertips, her hair a complete mess against my pillow. A faint flush still colors her cheeks—and I swear to God I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
“Worth the crawl,” I murmur.
She lets out a soft laugh underneath my shoulder. “I’d sure hope so.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You know it’s too late for that.”
Her fingers pause just over my heart before tilting her head slightly so she can see my face. She clocks the seriousness in my expression before I even realize it’s there.
“What?” she asks.
I hesitate.
Not because I don’t know what I’m thinking—I do. I’ve known for awhile now, maybe longer than I’m willing to admit—but once I say it, there’s no taking it back.
She must see the inner debate going on behind my eyes, because she pushes herself up lightly and props her chin on her hand on top of my chest so she can study me more clearly.
“B?”
I glance over in her direction—her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
God damn it.
This girl is going to be the reason I don’t live past thirty.
“You ever notice,” I say slowly, still attempting to choose my words carefully, “how everything gets quiet after a storm?”
Her brow lifts.
“Are you comparing what just happened between us to a natural disaster?”
“Pretty sure Hurricane is already your nickname—and I didn’t even give it to you.”
She nudges my ribs lightly.
“Rude.”
I smile faintly.
“I guess I’m just saying,” I say. “I’m glad this morning didn’t scare you off.”
“I don’t scare easily,” she replies softly.
I know she doesn’t.
Studying her for another moment, questioning one more time if telling her this is a good idea, I decide to just go for it—because who knows when the next opportunity may come.
“Johanna,” I murmur. “I’m in love with you.”
Her breath hitches. She goes completely still. She stares at me—waiting for me to say more.
“I tried to stop it,” I tell her quietly. “Every night since you’ve been here, I’ve listed all the reasons why I shouldn’t—but I can’t help it. I don’t care if it’s wrong, or what your brother has to say about it.”
My heart punches against my ribs in full force as I say the words out loud for the first time.
“I love you, Johanna Harris.”
She blinks, her gaze flickering slightly. I wonder if I’ve just detonated something I shouldn’t have before she moves up from her spot on my chest to press a soft kiss against my lips.
“No one else besides my family has ever said that to me,” she whispers. “I couldn’t be more glad that the first time was from you.”
“Just being honest,” I say.
“You’re something else, Brandon Jackson.”
Not exactly the response I expected. I think anyone’s desired response would be I love you, too—but I know those words don’t come easily to her. She just told me as much.
“Yeah, well… Don’t you forget it.”
She shifts closer to me again, resting her head against my chest like she had been before.
After another beat of silence, she murmurs—
“You might regret saying that tomorrow.”
I almost don’t hear her, but when the words register, I frown slightly.
“Why would I regret it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she presses another soft kiss against my chest before settling more comfortably into my side.
“You worry far too much,” she says finally.
My arm tightens around her instinctively.
“Someone has to.”
She gives a soft hum in response as I run my fingers lazily through her hair.
Whatever tomorrow brings—whatever she’s worried about—we’ll figure it out then.
Together.
For the first time in about twenty-four hours, everything actually feels right—and I’m not about to burn it all down tonight.
Thin streams of early morning sunlight push through the gaps in the blinds, stretching pale stripes across the wall opposite from the bed. I blink my eyes open, trying to remember what time it is—what day it is.
My head feels heavy with sleep, my body pleasantly sore from the unexpected work out the night before.
Then I remember—she’s here.
Johanna.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth before I’ve even fully opened my eyes. Shifting slightly beneath the sheets, I instinctively reach to pull her closer. I’m expecting the warmth of her body, but instead, my hand meets cold, empty space.
My smile fades, my eyes finally opening fully as I register the emptiness on the other side of the bed. It looks like someone slept there—rumpled, twisted sheets from the night—but she’s nowhere to be found.
I expect to hear her rustling around in my bathroom, but I don’t.
Maybe she’s just quiet about it.
I glance over to the ensuite door—it’s closed and the lights are off.
“Jo?” I call lazily, my voice rough from sleep.
No answer.
Maybe she’s down the hall, back in her room.
I can’t imagine she’d be downstairs, not with Grayson likely home from wherever he and the guys disappeared to last night.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and drag my hand across my face, still trying to wake myself up. A small knot of unease begins to form in my chest as I stand and pull on the pair of sweats discarded on the floor.
The house is still unusually quiet as I sneak into the hall.
Tony’s alarm clock isn’t blaring obnoxiously. Eric isn’t roving around the kitchen making coffee. No one’s arguing.
Unbelievable.
Maybe they never did make it home.
“Johanna?” I call again, now outside the door to her room.
Still nothing.
The knot in my chest turns to fire.
Where the fuck is she?
I knock—still no response.
I reach out and grab the door handle. I have to—at least—make sure she’s alright.
When the door swings open, my heart stops. The bed is perfectly made. The dresser drawers are empty. Her suitcases—all her clothes and shoes—are gone.
It’s like she wasn’t even here.
Like I’d conjured something in my mind and none of it had been real at all.
For a moment, my brain refuses to accept what’s right in front of me.
“No,” I mutter under my breath. “There’s no way. She wouldn’t.”
Not after last night.