Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  Instead, I take his hand and give it a little squeeze.

  “Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.” I whisper.

  Boone coughs.

  It’s a stalling tactic if ever I’ve seen one.

  But I’m not going to put pressure on him. The last thing a man like Boone needs is pressure from me.

  If I start asking and prodding and probing, he’ll think I’m nagging and shut down even more, I’m sure of it. A man like Boone needs to stay in control. It needs to be his decision to tell me what happened.

  So, I resist the urge to say anything else, and instead, I just sit beside him, holding his hand and sipping on my hot chocolate. It’s hard, though.

  To take my mind of what’s going on, I try to focus on something else. I stare into my mug.

  It’s a pretty good brew, I have to say. Nothing beats a real hot chocolate. It’s rich, it’s smooth, and it’s oh-so-delicious.

  Briefly, I close my eyes. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. It’s hard to get my head around it all.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago, it was only Amelia and I. Sure, I’ve known she’s Boone’s daughter, but heck, he didn’t, and I never thought I’d see him again.

  And here I am now, sitting right next to him.

  My insides are on fire, and my nerve endings are tingling in anticipation.

  “It was late one night,” Boone begins.

  His voice brings me back to the here and now.

  I look up at him. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes. There’s a certain kind of sadness in them.

  An internal wrestle match ensues. Should I say something or just wait for him to keep going?

  “It’s so long ago now,” he goes on. “Like you said. Barely matters, really.”

  There he goes again. Stalling.

  I decide to stay silent for as long as possible in response. Maybe just being here, sitting beside him is going to be enough.

  “I don’t know, Margot,” he says, shaking his head.

  He’s hurting. I can tell he’s hurting real bad. Bottling stuff up isn’t healthy. I’ve bottled stuff up, and it hasn’t helped me at all.

  In fact, it usually has the opposite effect. Once he tells me about this nightmare, he’ll feel better. He’ll see.

  “It started like any other day. The worst ones always do. I mean, if we knew things weren’t going to go well beforehand, we’d avoid them completely, wouldn’t we?”

  The way he stops and starts nearly breaks my heart. I want to lean into him, kiss him, caress him, and take the pain away. If only it was that easy.

  I sigh.

  “I guess that’s life,” I say softly, giving his hand another squeeze.

  It’s as if he’s not heard me.

  “The siren went off, and we were called in. A fire. None of us knew then…”

  The last few words are barely audible.

  His lips are, by now, drawn into a thin line. The sorrow I saw earlier in his eyes is replaced by something else.

  I try and make sense of the change. Is it anger, sadness, or something else? Of course, it could also be a combination of emotions. I know we’re complex beings and often don’t understand our own feelings or reactions to stuff.

  “Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

  Even though I know the answer, I still have to ask the question.

  Boone doesn’t answer. Either he didn’t hear me, or he’s trying to ignore me, or a bit of both.

  Action is what is needed now. I need to draw him out and get him to talk. Once he starts talking and letting it all out, he’ll be so much better.

  Without thinking, I let go of his hand.

  He barely seems to notice.

  “It took less than five minutes to get into our gear, get the fire truck ready, and head out. A record, even for us. But it wasn’t enough.”

  Boone stops again. I watch him put his mug down.

  “End of story,” he mumbles.

  I scowl.

  Liar.

  Even though I’m not going to say that to him, I know.

  But I’ve got a plan. A different plan.

  Before Boone can stop me, I stand up. I move to face him, and then I move on top of him.

  I’ve got my legs on either side of his athletic god-like body. The thin material of my panties brushes against the rough denim of his jeans.

  It’s comfortable.

  It’s exhilarating.

  The wetness between my legs doesn’t escape me. I’ve gone from the frying pan into the fire. This could lead anywhere.

  But right now, I just want to lead him home.

  Away from the nightmares. Away from the pains of his past.

  Back into my arms.

  All I want to do is wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead on his. I need to look right into those deep dark eyes of his.

  To my surprise, he doesn’t stop me. A strange sound escapes his lips. Could be a groan, a moan, or a pleasurable murmur.

  When his bear-like hands wrap around my hips, I half-expect him to lift me off him and put me back in my place—namely, next to him.

  I look him right in the eyes and lean my forehead against his. Our noses are only inches apart. My breathing is short and shallow.

  Holy shit.

  It feels as if I’ve come home. I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing.

  My fingers interlace behind his head, on his neck.

  With my hands on his bare skin, I feel the tension ooze out of him. And then he sighs.

  At the same time, his fingers increase their pressure where they’re resting. His index finger draws tiny circles on the edge of my abdomen.

  My hips start move back and forth on him, my butt grinding against his thighs.

  I open my eyes again. It looks as if he’s holding his breath. My lips curl into a smile, and I lean toward him, slowly.

  When our mouths meet, fireworks erupt, and my hormone production goes into overdrive, sending my sexual appetite sky high.

  It’s been a long time—too long.

  With our lips melting into one another and his tongue coming to find mine, I know I’ve come home.

  Multiple images race through my mind.

  In some of them, I’m naked, and so is Boone. We’re together on a bed. It’s difficult to work out where he starts and I end.

  It was a mistake to leave him.

  I can’t fix it now, but at least I know.

  I fucked up.

  I fucked up big time.

  And now that I have him here with me again…

  I don’t know if he pulls away first, or if it’s me.

  What I know is when his lips leave mine I’m left with an ache. I want more. I want all of him, and I want it now.

  Fuck the consequences. Let’s just do it.

  “Boone,” my voice sounds all strange and husky to my ears. Must be all that sexual desire pumping through me.

  It’s been a long time—too long.

  “I don’t think we should…” he starts, and I put my index finger across his lips.

  “Boone,” I whisper. “Let me make this better. Please.”

  Actions speak louder than words, right? And right now, I need more action and less words.

  “I need you,” I whisper in that same husky voice of before. “Boone…”

  Now he’s smiling at me and using the fingers of his right hand to trace along an invisible line on my lips before following my jawline and then caressing my neck. The gestures is full of sensitivity and passion.

  “Not tonight, babe.” He’s also whispering. “You’ve had a big day.”

  I swallow.

  Rejection is hard to take at the best of times, and it’s worse when you’re desperate.

  I’m desperate for his touch, his cock, and his body.

  Tears threaten to spill. I bite my lower lip, feeling like a toddler whose favorite candy has just been taken from her.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you.”
Both his hands now cup my face. “I want you more than you can imagine. But you’re not thinking straight.”

  The lump in my throat refuses to go away.

  Of course, deep down, I know he’s right. It’s not the right time.

  “Well…” I whisper and swallow. “Good night then, I guess.”

  His hand brushes the side of my face. “Good night, Margot.”

  And then his lips are on mine again. This time, there’s more force behind them. I return his kiss and feel like a drowning swimmer clutching onto a life raft.

  When we finally pull apart, the world is out of focus. I stumble back to the bedroom, blinking a few times to try and refocus.

  Without looking back, I open and shut the door, leaning against it with my back, before collapsing silently onto the floor.

  Boone

  Fuck, that feels good.

  My hands are around her waist, and hers are on my chest. She’s smiling at me, and her tits bounce up and down in sync with her movement. Like an untamed mare, she rides me.

  Try as I might to control or tame her, I can’t. She throws her head back, and her hair spills all over her back.

  She’s milking my cock with the walls of her tight pussy, and I’m in seventh heaven.

  “I love you, Boone,” she says.

  Yes.

  I want to shout because of joy.

  Gone are my questions, fears, and reservations.

  Why have I waited this long to fuck her? I should have sought her out much sooner.

  I let go of her waist and reach for her tits, those delicious delicacies. Just as I’m about to grab, caress, and massage them, her hair catches fire.

  Holy shit.

  How did that happen?

  Frantically, I look around for something I can use to quash the flames, but there’s nothing that can do this nearby.

  Horrified, I watch the flames lick her face, back, and abdomen. Soon, her whole body is burning.

  With one last desperate attempt, I reach for her, but all I’m left with is a pile of ashes.

  Something makes me sit upright. I breathe hard. I look around, trying to figure out where I am.

  I’m in my cabin.

  My eyes roam around.

  It was a dream, a fucking dream. I wipe my brow and take slow deep breaths.

  Where did this fucking awful dream come from? I try to calm my mind and think back to the night before.

  She came to talk to me. There’d been talk about her nightmares. Margot relates that someone had been in her room moments before she passed out.

  Perhaps her story prompted my nightmare.

  Whatever the reason, it was fucking frightening. There’s no chance of sleeping now.

  I sigh. In my current state, I’m no fucking use to anyone. I may as well get up and do something.

  That’s why I grab my essential gear and head for the outdoors. The only thing to do right now is hunt.

  I didn’t catch that deer yesterday, and I think its scent is still around here somewhere. On the way, I grab my bow and arrows.

  A clear morning like this calls for a good, old-fashioned hunt with a reliable weapon.

  Before I take off, I test the string on my bow. It feels good.

  My quiver sits on my back and contains six arrows. That’s about five more than I need, but heck, I may as well leave them where they are.

  It doesn’t take long for me to pick up the trail. The doe is not too far away. My nostrils flare a little as I take some deep breaths to get my bearing.

  If I kill this creature, I’ll have good meat for several months. I make sure that I use every last bit of the animal I kill, from the skin to their eyes.

  Carefully, I make my way along the path at the back of my hut. If I stick to the left, I should come upon the unsuspecting animal and shoot him with my arrow.

  I round a corner in the path and keep my eyes peeled up ahead. Then I see it. Like yesterday, its head is buried in some grass.

  Slowly, carefully, and very quietly, I take my bow and nook an arrow. As I draw back, I keep my eyes on the target.

  Shooting an animal in the wild is the same as target shooting. You pick a spot on which you focus your aim, then you shoot.

  I always aim for the heart. I don’t like to see animals suffer unnecessarily. One shot, and it’ll be a good, clean kill.

  Just as I’m about to release the arrow, a high-pitched scream pierces the silence of the night. It’s a strange kind of sound, and it’s enough to make the deer take a few startled steps forward.

  Darn.

  My eyes search the horizon. An eagle must have sounded the warning.

  So close and yet so far. I adjust my position to take my shot.

  My right eye is closed as I draw back and take aim.

  Out of nowhere, a rabbit jumps into sight. Its appearance makes the deer look around and sniff, then it makes a run for it.

  Fuck.

  That’s already two strikes. I’m not normally plagued by this much bad luck. Is it bad luck, or is the universe trying to tell me something?

  Nonetheless, I decide to preserve and follow the trail. With my bow lowered and the arrow back in the quiver, I keep walking.

  Random thoughts pop up as I take every step. There’s one, though, that won’t go away.

  By the time I see the deer again, I’m not sure if I want to kill it.

  Even though my heart’s not in it anymore, I nook the arrow a third time. This time, I draw back quicker.

  But before I can release my lethal arrow, the deer makes a getaway a third time.

  It was probably for the best that the animal had gotten away. I mean, how would I explain to my daughter Amelia that I killed a deer?

  Pictures of Bambi invade my thoughts. I shake my head. Life really takes a strange turn when you become a parent.

  Before today and before Amelia, I never had second thoughts on killing an animal.

  But suddenly, I have to think of someone else. How would Amelia take the news of me bringing home a dead animal that is plastered all over television as Bambi? Not well would be my guess.

  By the time I get back to the cabin, I feel hungry. There’s still no sign of my guests, but I figure they won’t be in bed much longer.

  I start cooking breakfast.

  Not quite sure what they like to eat, I choose to cook bacon and eggs.

  Amelia may not like eating bacon and eggs, I think.

  I am standing in front of my pantry and pondering the eating habits of a four-year-old.

  Nonetheless, I opt for honey toast and some fruits. I arrange the fruits to form a smiley face: banana slices for the eyes; apple slices for the nose and ears; and berries for the smile.

  Just as I’m looking at my masterpiece, my mobile rings.

  I glance at it before I answer.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks, Boone. How are you?”

  “You didn’t call to exchange pleasantries, so let’s skip the small talk,” I growl into the phone and put my prepared breakfast on the table.

  “How did you know that? Of course I called to find out how you’re doing.”

  I don’t reply immediately. My father never does anything without a reason. There’s a reason he called this morning, a reason that I don’t know yet.

  “I know you. We haven’t spoken in ages, because I know you. What do you want?”

  I can hear father’s sharp intake of air.

  But when he speaks again, he sounds as calm as before.

  “I hear Margot is staying with you.”

  At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. A shiver runs down my spine.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing, son. Just that it must be nice for you to have her back.” There’s a short, dry cough. “I mean, you know, after all that’s happened.”

  Because I’m not sure what he wants and I’ve got things to do, I want this conversation to end.

  “Yo
u should make the most of your time together, while you have it.”

  “What does that mean?” I bark.

  “Nothing. Only that life is unpredictable, don’t you agree? You’ll never know how much time you have left with something or someone.”

  “Look, unless there’s something specific you want to talk about, I have to go.”

  “No, nothing specific. Give my regards to Margot, and like I said, enjoy the time you have together.”

  I hang up without saying another word. To say our relationship is fraught is an understatement.

  “Sorry,” a soft voice behind me startles me.

  With the phone in my right hand, I turn around.

  Both Amelia and Margot are standing in the doorway to the kitchen. They look like angels. Margot’s hair is messed up, and she’s not wearing any make-up.

  Yet she looks ravenously beautiful.

  My throat feels dry, and I swallow.

  “’Morning,” I mumble and feel like a bumbling teenager on his first date.

  “Morning, Boone!” Amelia is jumping up and down and tugging on her mother’s hands.

  Her laughter is music to my ears and food for my soul.

  I push the sense of dread I felt when I was talking to my father and focus on the here and now.

  What did the old man say? ‘Enjoy your time with her?’ I fucking intend to.

  “Good morning, my beautiful queen and princess.” I take a little bow and earn more laughter from Amelia. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Margot bows—a sign that she has taken the role of queen.

  “Thank you, good sir.”

  “Please be so kind as to honor me with your presence at my breakfast table.”

  Amelia bounces past her mother and sits down, looking expectantly at us.

  “Breakfast is served.” I bow again and point toward the table.

  Margot laughs and joins her daughter at the table.

  With a smile, I join them, making a mental note to figure out later what my father’s phone call was about.

  Margot

  I know it’s rude to stare, but I just can’t help it.

  Boone…Boone’s body…everything about this man is so incredible in every way.

  I’m afraid that if I look away, he’ll disappear.