Barred Desires (The Deepest Desires 1)

Luca

Euphoria.

That is the only way I can describe how the past week has felt. Having Branson. Kissing him. Touching him. He’s an addiction I never want to kick.

We’ve taken turns sleeping in my bed or his every night since we first hooked up, but it’s always together. It’s a miracle that Weston or Knox haven’t figured it out.

Not that I’m hiding it. We’re just so new, whatever this is. We should figure that out before we tell people. I’ve also never seen Branson with a boyfriend, so I’m not sure if he even wants that from me. Maybe this is only for fun for him.

Shit, I hope not.

We’re both currently packing for winter break. We leave for our parents’ house in the morning. I’m so excited to see them, even though we saw them a few weeks ago. It’s weird going from seeing your parents every single day to seeing them only once every few months.

I’m nervous to see how things are with us when we’re home, though. I don’t expect to hold hands or kiss out in the open, but I’m curious to see how the sleeping arrangements go. Going two weeks without sleeping beside him, or touching him, isn’t something I want to imagine.

My entire life, I thought I was straight. I’ve never looked at a guy in that way. Never in locker rooms, never in porn… just, never. Curiosity never had me wondering what it would be like to experiment. So, it’s weird that I’m not freaking out at all about my newfound sexual awakening, if that’s what you’d call it. Being intimate with Branson feels like the most natural thing in the world. I can’t explain it any other way, but I sure as fuck hope he feels the same.

Courtney texts me almost daily, demanding I talk with her, demanding we get back together. I tried being nice at first. We were together for a while, so I’m sure the break-up was hard for her, but after her relentless efforts, I was finally blunt and told her I didn’t want to speak to her. She isn’t taking the hint, though, and I’m probably going to have to change my number. The thing is, I’m not even sure if she actually misses me, or if she wants to get back together to save face and stroke her bruised ego since I’m the one who broke up with her.

I haven’t had a single nightmare since we broke up, and whether that’s a result of not being with her anymore or because I’ve been sleeping next to Branson, I’ll probably never know, but I’m happy about it. That time of my life isn’t something I like to revisit, so having it show up in my dreams is a twisted type of torture.

Branson has been trying to feel around and find out what my nightmares are about and what causes them, but I don’t know if that’s something I want him to know. It feels like my deepest, darkest secret, and I’m ashamed of it. I fear if he found out, he’d look at me differently, or treat me like I’m fragile. I know it wasn’t my fault; I didn’t ask for it. Yet, at the same time, I also didn’t tell anyone and put an end to it.

Logically, I understand that I was a child and there was probably nothing I could have done, but in my trauma-ridden mind, I feel I should have done more. Should have at least told my dad.

To this day, he still doesn’t know, and I plan to keep it that way. What good would come from telling him now, other than getting it off my chest? He would be horrified and heartbroken, and would more than likely blame himself. Besides, it’s way past the statute of limitations. The man could never be charged. So, the way I see it, telling him now would only do more harm than good.

Speaking of my dad, my phone vibrates with a new text from him.

Dad: Are you guys ready for your flight tomorrow?

Me: Yeah, I’m finishing packing now and Bran is too, I think.

Dad: Remind me what time the flight is?

Me: It’s at 9 in the morning. We’re getting to the airport around 7:30.

Me: This airport isn’t as busy as Sea-Tac.

Dad: Okay, Son. Sarah will be picking you guys up. I have a last-minute meeting I have to attend before I can be off the rest of your break.

Me: Sounds good, Dad. See ya tomorrow.

He’s taking our whole visit off, and that’s unheard of. For as long as I can remember, he has been a total work-a-holic. I respect the hell out of him for it, for the life he’s built for himself and our family, but he did miss a lot of my childhood because of it.

Finally finished with packing, I head downstairs. Branson is watching a movie when I enter the living room. Plopping down next to him on the couch, I notice he’s watching one of the Spiderman movies. “Hey, Bran Bran,” I say with a ridiculously large smirk. Recently, I started calling him that, mostly as a joke at first, but I kind of like it.

“Again with that, huh?”

“Yup. I like it. Think it’ll stick.”

He raises an eyebrow at me before laughing. I am obsessed with him, and not even ashamed to admit that.

“Where are the guys?”

“I actually don’t know,” he replies, “but Knox texted me and told me they’ll be home in about an hour.”

“Oh.” I wiggle my brows at him. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so. What are you going to do about it?”

I climb onto his lap, fully intending to show him exactly what I plan to do about it. Running my fingers through his hair, I bring my lips down on his. He tastes like mint toothpaste, and I moan when he shoves his tongue into my mouth.

Our kiss quickly turns frenzied, as it usually does with us. Rolling my hips, his whole body shudders. He’s already hard for me and that drives me fucking wild. While moving to kiss and suck his neck, I reach my hand into his sweats and take his cock out, giving it a few lazy tugs. I’m still mesmerized by his piercing. The silver ring goes in from the underside of his tip and it’s mouthwatering to me.

Needing to feel the friction of him rubbing against me, I take my own throbbing cock out of my sweats, wrapping my hand firmly around our cocks pressed together, stroking us at a steady pace. Holding the back of his neck with my free hand, my forehead rests on his. Our heavy breathing mingles as we pant and grunt. The need to taste him overpowers all my senses, as I crash my lips against his in a brutal kiss, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.

He starts thrusting his hips up to meet my strokes, eyes glazed over, neck muscles constricting. “Oh fuck, babe. That feels so good,” he moans, droopy eyes fixated on me. The passion between us is so intense, both of us drunk on lust and pleasure, that neither of us notice the front door opening… until it slams shut.

“What the actual fuck is happening here?!” Both of us jerk our heads toward the door to find Courtney standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into a sneer.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Staring at her dumbfounded for several seconds, we both seem to realize at the same time that we still have our dicks out. Quickly, we put ourselves away, standing up to face her. Branson’s the first one to speak, his voice dangerously low. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, Cuntney?” He says her name like a slur, like poison flying off his tongue, his nose curled up in disgust.

“I could ask you two the same thing.”

“We fucking live here, you psychopath,” he spits out. The vein in his neck is pulsing, and the way his jaw keeps clenching, he’s grinding his molars pretty damn hard.

Ignoring Branson completely, she turns her venomous glare toward me. “Is this why you broke up with me, Luca? To fuck your brother?” She laughs manically, the sound high-pitched and grating on my nerves.

The anger that’s been slowly simmering toward her since our break-up is now boiling to an uncontrollable level. Balling my hands into fists, taking a deep breath, I respond, “First of all, stepbrother. And no, Courtney. We broke up because you lack boundaries, which this is a prime fucking example of, and we were no good together anymore. Hadn’t been for a while. How did you even get in here?”

“Uh, the key, obviously,” she scoffs, and really has the nerve to look like we’re the stupid ones. As if it’s completely normal to break into someone's house.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snarl, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. This is un-fucking-believable.

“I have been trying to reach you for weeks, Luca,” she whines, looking at me through her lashes, trying to appear innocent. “I want to know why you freaked out so much that night and why you fucking dumped me. Though, that’s perfectly clear now. You’re fucking your brother.”

“Stepbrother, you fucking moron,” Branson grinds out. “Get the fuck out of here and give me that key back.”

Narrowing her eyes at the both of us, she steps forward, throwing the key at us. “I’m going to make you fucking regret this, Luca.” Turning on her heel, she rips the front door open, slamming it shut on her way out.

What the fuck.

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