Quiet Protector: Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  After a smile that curves my knees inward, Brandon removes the wireless device from his ear, switches it off, then dumps it in the drawer in the entryway table. My heart patters in rhythm to his polished shoes when he bridges the gap between us, then it breaks into a dangerous cantor when he signs, “You are so fucking brave, so strong, and so damn pretty. I have never been more impressed in my life…” his pause almost kills me, “… or turned on. Jesus, Melody, when you put Ophelia in her place, even Grayson got hard.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Grayson gets horny when the wind blows.”

  “He does, but I don’t,” Brandon argues, stepping closer. “I thought I was broken.” He pauses again. This one is more to reflect than tease me. “I was broken. You fixed me. You resuscitated me and breathed life back into my lungs… and then you gave me back my son. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

  The sob his praise lodged into the back of my throat rattles my vocal cords when I say, “You did it, too, BJ. You fought for this as fiercely as I did. I am so incredibly proud of you as well.”

  His hands shake when he cups my jaw. He’s not scared. I’ve never met a man as strong as him. There are just too many emotions firing between us for a nonchalant response. “I want to kiss you.”

  My tongue instinctively darts out to moisten my lips before they raise into a smile. “Then kiss me.”

  An excited zap darts down my spine when he mutters, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop if I start.”

  “Then do not stop,” I reply without an ounce of hesitation, caught up in the sentiment fueling our exchange. Our adrenaline is high from our successful sting, but it has nothing on the mutual respect, admiration, and love we have for each other. The past few months were tough, but we were tougher, and we came out of it stronger.

  As Brandon’s eyes bounce between mine, he replies, “I do not want to hurt you, Mellowy.”

  I trace my index finger across the jaw of a man I’ll never stop loving. It’s stronger than it was when we were kids, more determined, but it’s still very much him. It still belongs to my Brandon. “You don’t know how to hurt me, BJ. You’re incapable of hurting me.”

  When I step back, pulling out of his embrace, the euphoric gleam in his eyes fades to vulnerability. He has nothing to be worried about, nothing at all. I’m not going anywhere.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Brandon’s chest rises and falls in rhythm with mine when I commence unbuttoning my shirt. He watches each pearl button pierce between the shimmery fabric before stalking the material soundlessly float to the floor. I’m still wearing a pleated business skirt, thigh-high stockings and a bra that’s more frumpy than sexy, but the way Brandon looks at me makes it appear as if I am naked.

  Mercifully, it’s a heated stare.

  After giving him time to absorb the tiny imperfections on my body he knows by heart, I sign, “Your turn.”

  I wait and wait and wait, praying my wish to fall back in time works in my favor.

  It’s answered brilliantly three heart-thrashing seconds later. After tugging his dress shirt out of his black trousers, Brandon undoes the top three buttons of his shirt before pulling it over his head. His impatience to get undressed forces a ghost-like grin onto my mouth.

  It doesn’t last long.

  It vanishes when I realize he’s wearing an undershirt.

  While smiling at my childish stomp of disappointment, Brandon rips off his white t-shirt like it’s made out of tissue paper before signing, “Better?”

  “Much.”

  While chewing on his bottom lip, hiding his smile, Brandon’s eyes roam over my body as he signs, “Your turn.”

  With my eyes on the crotch of his trousers that grows bigger with every millimeter my zipper descends, I release the clasp on my skirt, then shimmy it down my thighs. Hoping to give the impression of a mafia princess with money to burn, I brought lace-top stockings and a sexy boy-leg suspender package at a lingerie store earlier today while picking my powerhouse outfit.

  Well, that’s what I’m planning to tell the IRS when I claim its two-hundred-dollar price tag on my expenses this tax season.

  Brandon doesn’t have a chance in hell of hiding his smile when I kick my skirt to the side while signing, “I am really hoping you have grown averse to boxer shorts the past eight years.” I know he hasn’t, but it’s fun to tease him. His flaming red cheeks were one of the first things I noticed about him.

  My eyes bulge out of my head when the lowering of Brandon’s zipper gives me a tiny preview of the cropped blond curls spread across his groin. Before excitement can take hold of every sense I own, his thumb releases the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers, snapping them back into place.

  I pout like a baby. “You are no fun.”

  I’m lying. I’ve seen snippets of Brandon’s playful side the past few months, but it’s never had this depth, so I’m going to relish it as long as possible. He could never be accused of being cocky, but as he stands across from me without a care in the world, there’s no denying his confidence.

  Can you blame him for standing proud? His face is gorgeous, his body is divine, and his smile, although slightly crooked, is perfect. He should be strutting like a peacock. He just doesn’t know how because it was never taught to him.

  I fell in love with a courageous, handsome, and lively boy when I was only a child, and I get to stand across from that same courageous, handsome, and lively man twenty-three years later.

  How lucky am I?

  Even if he doesn’t touch me, this moment will stay with me forever. We’re stripped, naked and raw, and completely free. It’s just us. Me and the boy who piggybacked me across a sloshy field because it didn’t matter how impossible the task, he never let me down.

  Just like he doesn’t this time, either.

  When the emotions teaming between us become too much to bear, Brandon’s fingers weave through my hair, his lips land on my neck, and his arm bands around my back to pull me in close to his fit body. “Tell me your triggers?”

  Although I’d prefer to keep my assault out of our exchange, Dr. Avery is adamant this is a step we need to take to move our relationship past the friends’ zone. We need to be open and honest, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

  As my hand drops to stroke Brandon’s cock through his boxer shorts, which I’m pleased to report is virile and thick despite the uncomfortable subject matter we’re discussing, I say, “Don’t flip me over or pin my arms behind my back.”

  “Okay,” Brandon agrees softly, kissing my neck in a way that makes me want to purr like a kitten. “Anything else?”

  While using the precum pooled on the tip of his cock as lubricant to quicken my strokes, I mutter, “Don’t fully shave beforehand. Keep the stubble you had when we were kids, and you were too lazy to shave. I like the roughness.” He acknowledges he heard me by dragging his stubble-covered chin across my collarbone and over the mounds of my breasts. “Yesss…” I hiss out on a moan, “… just like that.”

  After tugging his boxer shorts the rest of the way down his thighs, he guides me onto the bed like he did all those months ago. Strands of blonde hair fall into his hazel eyes that are a little greener today when he commences sliding my lace-topped stockings down my quivering thighs. “Anything else?”

  “One thing,” I say, breathing heavily. Can you blame me for my gasping response? The person I’ve loved for two decades is perched above me, naked, thick, and staring at me like he loves me. I’d be insane to act coolly right now. I’m on the verge of climaxing. Everything is beyond me right now—including acting.

  “What is it?” Brandon’s breaths are as vocal as mine, his excitement just as palpable.

  As my eyes dance between his, I mutter, “Be you. That’s all I need. You.”

  He doesn’t formulate a response. He just smiles, dumps my stockings onto the floor next to the bed, then drags his tongue down my jittering stomach. He’s not anywhere near my aching se
x, but the sensation it roars through my body is heavenly. He’s cherishing me as only he can, loving and supporting me with both touch and emotions.

  When the travels of his tongue stop within an inch from my aching sex, panic sets in. “I swear to God, if you leave me hanging this time around, BJ, I’ll kill—”

  My threat is cut off in the most delicious way. After tugging my panties to the side, Brandon spears his tongue between the folds of my pussy before he slithers it up to suckle my clit into his mouth. With months of sexual tension feeling more like foreplay, it only takes a few flicks of his tongue on my aching bud to send me free-falling into ecstasy.

  As I shudder through an orgasmic wave, my thighs clamp Brandon’s head, saving his ears from being pierced with moans I’m certain were never this loud. I also don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed this hard. I’m drenched front to back, the silky wetness of my skin aiding in Brandon’s quest to slip two fingers inside of me.

  Fire burns through me as a shuddering groan leaves my mouth. I’m full, aroused, and on the verge of coming again. As he pumps his thick fingers in and out of me in a slow, yet mind-hazing way, Brandon applies the perfect amount of pressure to my clit with his tongue.

  “BJ…” My voice is scratchy, almost ragged. I’d cringe at how husky it is if the moan of his name didn’t have Brandon eating me more expertly. He moves faster, taking me deeper, cherishing every inch of me. “It feels sooo good. You feel so good.”

  I writhe underneath him, incapable of breathing or speaking when he hums my name into my pussy. The vibration it shudders my sex with is catastrophic to my insanity. I shimmer and shake and shout his name on repeat, loving the sensation roaring through every inch of me. The rush is frantic like fireworks in the sky or slow kisses on a rainy day.

  When I return from the haze back-to-back climaxes cause, I mindlessly beg him, lost to him, but forever needing more. “Please, BJ.”

  He answers my plea in an instant. While crawling up my body, he licks, kisses, and sucks the skin burning with need before he stops an inch from my face. He stares straight at me, beautiful yet reserved.

  “I love you,” I sign, caught up in the emotions about a time I thought would never happen again. “I love you so much.” The last of the tautness on his face disappears when I add, “But if you do not take your socks off this instant, I will finish this in the shower… alone.”

  Brandon stills for the quickest second before the rumbles of his laughter almost have me falling into ecstasy for the third time. He laughs until his eyes can’t hold the wetness of his chuckles, and his cheeks are the color of beets. He laughs until he remembers the number of times we laughed when we were kids, and the happiness of those memories overtake the horrid ones he’s struggling to forget. Then he laughs until the intimate way our bodies are joined becomes too much for either of us to bear.

  After gripping his sock-covered feet into the mattress and getting final permission from my eyes, he thrusts his hips forward, entering me for the first time in almost eight years with one precisely-timed lunge. The pain is intense, but it has nothing on the admiration beaming out of Brandon’s eyes. It’s even more passionate than the gleam they held when we gave each other our virginity.

  As he stills, giving me time to adjust to his girth, he pushes back the strands of dirty blonde locks clinging to my sweaty temples.

  Even after giving him permission to move, he keeps his hand on my face. He strokes my cheek with his thumb while occasionally dragging it over my blistered lips from the number of times I put my teeth over them as he ate me.

  In no time at all, he finds a gentle yet sexual pace to rock in and out of me.

  We’re not fucking.

  We aren’t close to that.

  We’re making love.

  Consuming each other.

  Intimately joining as only we ever have.

  The slowness of his pumps doesn’t weaken their intensity in the slightest. I’m hot all over, my core clenching as it begs for release.

  When I clutch Brandon’s ass, digging in my nails, he purrs my name in a virile, hot groan. It has my back arching off the mattress as I struggle to match the perfection of his grinds stroke for stroke.

  “God, BJ… it shouldn’t feel this good… making love isn’t supposed to feel this good.”

  As his cock thickens more, he rocks into me faster. The pain from earlier is no longer in existence, and nothing but orgasmic tingles are felt.

  As our lips lock, lust tears through me like a wildfire. His kiss is as sweet as the rock of his hips but heart blistering. It sends my mind into a tailspin. It feels so good. Almost too good. I may not survive it. You can’t shatter this well and expect to be put back together without hideous scars. It isn’t possible.

  Yet, Brandon did it without a single crack to be seen.

  As admiration snatches up the last morsel of my sanity, I shudder without control. “Oh God, BJ, oh God. I’m going to come.”

  Groaning, he spreads me wider with his sweaty hips, giving me another inch. I feel like I’m on fire. My skin is burning with desire. I expect negative images to pop into my head at any moment. I anticipate to be sickened with regret. I don’t feel either of those things. I feel loved and desired. Cherished. Wanted. So very wanted.

  My moans turn into screams when I’m blinded by an earth-shattering climax. I convulse around Brandon’s thick cock as I quiver his name on repeat. The sucks of my pussy as I ride the intense wave entices Brandon to climax along with me. He thrusts in deep before his eyes drop to mine. While staring at me like I’m his world, he brutally comes, filling me with his seed as well as the love shining from his eyes fills my heart.

  41

  Brandon

  “Good morning, punk. Late night? I haven’t heard your voice this groggy since…” Grayson pauses, lost on an excuse. “… since ever. How’s your girl? Did I remove all surveillance for the right reasons?” Don’t misconstrue his words as being caring. You can’t hear his pitch. He’s in full shit-stirring mode.

  “Melody is good. She’s sleeping.” As my eyes stray to the master bedroom of our suite, my dick twitches. Even with last night being months in the making, it went above and beyond anything I could have anticipated.

  I won’t lie. There was a snippet of hesitation in the minutes leading to penetration, but that had more to do with the fact Melody hadn’t slept with anyone since her assault. I didn’t want to hurt her as much as I didn’t want her recalling what Madden had done to her.

  Mercifully, her jest about me wearing socks soon reminded me there was no one in the room with me except the girl I’ve loved for twenty-three years. Her smile when I laughed faded the world away. It was just us—as it should have always been.

  I recall Grayson asked me a question when he growls down the line. “I swear to God, punk, if you moan one more time, you’ll have to book me in for an appointment with Dr. Avery. She might help me work through my hardness... and I don’t mean with punk-assed words either.”

  When the last half of his response comes out with a grunt, my suspicions jump. “Is someone there with you?”

  “No one important.” Grayson grunts again before cupping his phone to tell the person beating him that he’s joking. He whispers a few more words after that, but since my dick has just come out of a very long hiatus, I’m not going to repeat them.

  The squeak of Grayson’s office chair sounds down the line before its closely followed by his gravelly tone. “I did call for a reason.”

  “I’m listening,” I assure when he pauses for dramatics.

  I hear him scrub at his jaw before he sighs. “Do you recall that time I piggybacked off Isaac’s hacker’s server?”

  “The same server you infiltrated when Alex granted me access to Regan’s laptop?” When he hums out an agreement, my jaw firms. “Grayson… things are just working out for those two. Don’t fuck it up for them. Alex will kill you if you put Regan on the opposing team again.”

  “I’m not putting
her on the opposing team. I’m using her connections to put you on the opposing team.”

  “Huh?”

  I realize I voiced my confusion out loud when Grayson responds to it. “Or should I say, ‘your father on the opposite team.’” His chair pops back into place before fingers stroking a keyboard boom down the line. “We’ve got enough evidence to take down your father, we just don’t have any fucker with big enough gonads to go after him.” I almost correct him until he adds, “Legally. If we weren’t agents, we would have gotten the job done months ago.”

  He’s not lying. If you thought Madden was a sick fuck, there won’t be enough derogative words in your vocabulary to describe my father. Do you recall all those years ago when Grayson called me to tell me Melody was at the airport? Can you remember the name on one of the legitimate-looking invoices I pushed across my father’s desk while hunting for clues he had bribed the admission clerk at Browns?

  No, me neither. I had completely forgotten about my dad’s business dealing with Kirill Bobrov until my mom asked for my help to locate numerous hidden assets she was certain my father was hiding from her divorce attorney.

  The warehouses the Bobrovs and Castros distributed their drugs from weren’t owned by them. They were in my mother’s name. Their ‘rent’ went toward my father’s campaign for office. Even with their monthly rental agreement being thirty percent lower than comparable warehouses in the same location, not once the past fifteen-plus years did my father seek an increase in rent. He was happy with the agreement he’d made with the Castros, so why stir the pot when its contents aren’t close to burning. It’s not every day a married father of four gets first pick of any girl in an under-age sex-trafficking ring.

  There are times I want to blame Madden’s issues on our father, but then I realize that’s a cop-out. Joey and I were raised in the same household, and we turned out okay. Even Phoenix has gotten on the straight and narrow. Some people are just born evil. Madden is one of those people.

  Tired and somewhat uneased I haven’t had an update from Phillipa about Bobby yet, my restlessness gets the better of me. “What exactly are you getting at, Grayson? You’re kind of talking in riddles.”