Chapter eighty five

Chapter eighty five

“Oh—wow…” I gasped as Brandon suddenly pushed me back against the wall. We had barely made it into his living room before his hands were already at my waist, quickly unbuckling my pants like he’d been holding himself back the entire drive here.

“Someone’s eager,” I muttered, a little breathless.
He didn’t answer.
Not a single word.

And that was the strange part. I still didn’t know what I had said wrong back at the restaurant. After that question he asked me, everything between us had gone quiet. Too quiet. He barely spoke on the drive, barely even looked at me. Then suddenly, the moment we stepped into his house, he grabbed me like this.

Like he was starving.

I had to call Noah and Lucas to stay with Bea for the night. God knows if she would even come out to open the door for them, but right now I was way too high on Brandon to even think about going home.

“Relax… is something wrong?” I managed to pull him back for a second.

We were both breathing hard, chests rising and falling as we stood there. His pheromones were a complete mess, leaking recklessly into the air around us. Normally when Brandon was turned on, his scent got heavier—warmer, almost intoxicating.
But this wasn’t that. And he was being too rough.

“Hey… Brandon.”

He still wasn’t saying anything.

His eyes were dark, locked on me like he was trying to drown out whatever was going on in his head by focusing on my body instead.

I didn’t like that.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

He tensed instantly and stepped back.
I gave a small nod, lowering my hand. Okay. We were clearly still not in the touching phase.

“I just need you out of those damn clothes,” he muttered, tugging his tie loose with an impatient groan. “They’re starting to get on my nerves.”

I swallowed and did as he said, pulling my shirt over my head and kicking off my shoes until I was left standing there in just my shorts.

“All good?” I asked carefully. “Are you sure you want this? Because right now you’re making me really anxious.”

“It’s… no…” He dragged a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to steady himself. Then he exhaled slowly.

“I want this.” he said quietly.

“It’s okay… even if you don’t. Okay?” I said, letting out a small laugh, trying to ease the strange tension between us. “We don’t have to fuck every time.”

Brandon didn’t laugh.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on me like he was trying to figure something out. For a moment I thought he might pull away again, but instead he stepped a little closer.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for my face.
I leaned into his hand without thinking, closing my eyes as his fingers brushed along my cheek. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, like he was testing whether this was real.

“Fuck…” he whispered under his breath.
A second later I felt him lean forward, his forehead briefly brushing my temple before his head lowered to my neck. His breathing was still uneven at first, but it gradually started to slow.

His fingers continued moving over my face, tracing my jaw, my cheek, my lips, like he was memorizing them.

“Kingsley…” he murmured softly.

Then his lips pressed a slow, gentle kiss against my neck.

I shivered.

I let out a small breath and tilted my head slightly when his lips brushed my neck again. 

“You’re shaking,” I whispered.
“I’m not,” he muttered.
“You are.”

He huffed softly against my skin, like he knew I was right but wasn’t going to admit it. His arms finally moved, sliding around my waist as he pulled me closer until our chests were touching.

“How about we just go to sleep instead?” I offered. “I will still be here till morning”. 

His eyes moved over my face like he was trying to read something there.

“You’d stay?” he asked.

I raised a brow. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“You’d stay,” he repeated, softer this time.
“Yes.”


I woke up to the sound of cries, groaning. I forced my eyes open to see Brandon murmuring about some words in his sleep. 

“Bran,” I say quietly as he lets out another bad sound. He’s breathing hard. The room is dark, but my eyes are adjusted to it, and I can see him twitching.

I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. It doesn’t wake him up, so I shake him. He lurches up with a broken cry. 

His head whips my way. Before I can figure out what to say or do, he scrambles away from me.
“Brandon!” I shout as he tumbles out of the bed. He hits the hardwood floor with a thump. I lurch after him, but he’s already scrambling to his feet.

He races to the bathroom and slams the door shut. Heart racing, I kick the sheets aside and bolt out of the bed after him. I stop at the closed door when I hear him throwing up.

Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?
A nightmare, obviously, but … holy shit. A nightmare so bad enough to make him throw up?

The bathroom is still dark. I don’t think he’s moved. Then the toilet flushes, and I hear him walking. Light glows around the edges of the door. The faucet turns on, and the water runs for a long time. It shuts off.

“Brandon?” I called again, not sure if I should go in or not. “Are you okay?” Cautiously, I open the door. With his back to me, at the sink.

His hands are gripping the edge of it, and he’s leaning against them. His head is bowed so that even in the mirror I can’t see his face.

“Brandon … fuck, are you okay?” He glared at me and for a second I thought he might yell.