Off Limits, Brother's Best Friend

Chapter 1: Freedom Wasn't Easy

Brianna

I felt lips pressing against mine as I moaned, they were kissing me so passionately and his hands pulled me into him. He started ripping my clothes off, opening my eyes to Callan was leaning over me, his lips pressed against mine. His lips moved down, slowly kissing my neck and I tilted my head back to give him more access. He trailed kisses down across my collarbone and to my breasts, gently sucking my nipples into his mouth, my moan getting louder. He bit my nipple, tugging on them and I pushed my breasts up towards his mouth, begging him to suck more on them. It feels so amazing, I could stay here with him forever, with him seducing me.

His hands slowly began pulling my panties down, my hands unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off as I stared at his perfect abs that were covered with beautiful tattoos. The urge to take his nipples into my mouth was so strong, I wanted him, I wanted to taste his body. Laying here naked and entwined, every inch of my body is aching for him. His lips started kissing my navel, slowly down to my pubic bone and my back arching and pushing up to his mouth. His tongue trailing down to my pussy and then attacked my clit, I moaned as his tongue circled and teasing me faster and harder. My hands gripped his hair, pushing him down and trying to make him go deeper.

His tongue started moving faster and he pushed two fingers inside my hole and began to move slowly. He was sucking my clit and finger fucking me and I can feel my orgasm taking over my body. His fingers picked up the pace, pumping in and out of me faster as his tongue worked on my clit. I screamed as I was on the edge of climaxing, throwing my head back, the most intense orgasm ripped through my body and my hand holding his head there as he continued to pleasure.

Suddenly, I began hearing the sound of my alarm in the distance. I didn't care though, I didn't want him to stop. The sound grew louder, I jumped up and my eyes fluttered open. Looking around, I am in my room, all alone and when I reach down to my pussy, I was all soaked.

“Fuck,” I cursed, this is one hell of a dream.

This can't happen, I can't be having this kind of dream about my brother's best friend. He is off limits and nothing like that will ever between us. Or will it? I am going to stay with him now and both my brother and Callan live together. This is going to be interesting.

I had spent four years of my life completing fashion school, and moving in with my brother in Port Harcourt felt like a huge step—especially as a brand-new graduate with no clear next move. Over those years, I’d collected more clothes than I could count and a mountain of shoes. Design was my passion, and chasing it had cost me a lot, but it had given me even more.

My elder brother, Bryce, kindly paid for a moving company to haul my belongings across the city. Rolling my luggage out of the pickup station, I expected to see him waiting. Instead, a man I’d never met stood there holding a sign with Brianna Fletcher written boldly across it.

When I walked up to him, I could immediately tell he was an Ogume man, like my family. He looked like someone who enjoyed his pasta—and his solid, bulldog-like stance made him hard to miss.

“Umm…hello?” I greeted, unsure how to approach this stranger. His eyes snapped to me and he gave a curt nod.

“Miss Fletcher?” he asked. I nodded.

“My name is David. Your brother is unavailable today, so he sent me to pick you up,” he explained.

“That’s lovely. Did he mention where you’re taking me? Last I heard, we couldn’t move into his new apartment for another month,” I said, watching him expectantly.

David, dressed in a full suit, tucked the sign under his arm, grabbed my luggage, and started toward a sleek car. Bryce and I had always been close, but life had separated us for years. We came from a troubled home—a narcissistic, abusive father and a weak, compliant mother who always put him before us. Bryce couldn’t stand it. At twenty, fresh out of high school, he enlisted in the army. I was eleven then, and the years that followed were pure hell. He spent three years in training and another six in special forces. For eight long years, I barely saw my brother.

I left home at seventeen in a desperate escape that left scars. I worked for a seamstress who taught me everything about sewing and clothing design. Growing up, my father demanded perfection in appearance to uphold his public image, and I found freedom in fashion. My parents refused to support my dream—my father wanted a lawyer he could brag about—so I fought for a scholarship and, by the grace of the goddess, earned one to study in Asaba for three years.

Fashion school became both my escape from my parents and from the man I once lived with during those desperate early days. Freedom wasn’t easy. I struggled with money and everything else. Now, at twenty-eight, I still feel like I barely know Bryce. He’s no longer the troubled teen who left home; he’s a seasoned army veteran and a successful businessman, thanks in part to his best friend Callan Harold—the man who’s haunted my dreams with every kind of forbidden fantasy.

I met Callan years ago when he and Bryce first joined the military. He came from a powerful family, and it shows. I haven’t seen him in a year, but he visits my dreams nightly. Back then, he was the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on—so who knows what he looks like now. He’s practically a ghost in real life: no social media, no public trail. Bryce doesn’t have any either. Maybe they both think it’s juvenile.

“Yes, Miss Fletcher. I was instructed to take you to Mr. Harold’s house for the time being,” David said, pulling me back to reality.

What? Callan’s house? Oh no. This is not good.

“And where exactly is that?” I asked as I settled into the back seat of the expensive car.

“Rumuola Villa, on the east side of Port Harcourt,” he replied.

As we drove closer, the skyline sharpened, revealing a striking tower of reflective blue glass cut into daring angles. Each new building we passed was more breathtaking than the last.

“They’ve got high-end shopping, art galleries, and beautiful parks over here,” David added casually.

“Does Mr. Harold live in one of these high-rises?” I leaned forward between the front seats, pointing toward the glittering skyline.

He lifted a stubby finger toward a singular building. “That’s Rumuola Villa. Impressive, isn’t it?”

The shape was surreal—curtain-glass walls rising from a rectangular base, curving gracefully until the structure resembled a four-leaf clover. It seemed to pierce the clouds themselves.

“What kind of business does he run?” I asked, fishing for details about the ever-mysterious Callan Harold. David’s dark eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to the road.

“He owns a lot of different businesses,” he said vaguely, before changing the subject. “The building has a fifty-five-foot pool, no kidding. I read it in a magazine.”

“Are you Mr. Harold’s driver?” I tried again.

“I’m more like a personal assistant,” he said with a shrug.

“How about my brother?” I pressed.

“I work for him too,” he replied simply.

At a traffic light, David fished a pamphlet from the console and handed it back to me.

“Here, take a look.”

Since we were stuck in traffic, I skimmed through it. The first bold headline read Penthouse in the Sky. The article described the Villa’s luxury in dizzying detail.

“That sounds like a lot,” I murmured absently.

“You’ll find that Mr. Harold is…a lot,” David said cryptically. Before I could ask what he meant, he gestured toward a private entrance reserved for penthouse residents.

The garage looked ordinary—until I noticed the cars inside. Exotic, gleaming, impossibly expensive. My jaw dropped. I’d just spent three years sharing a cramped room with messy strangers, and now I was stepping into a different universe. Overwhelmed, I felt a familiar sense of inferiority creep in. I had spent too many years of my life feeling small.