Page 13 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

The words hang in the air like a dark cloud, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows over Johan’s troubled expression.

His voice tightens with frustration. “He’s using our financial situation as leverage—to manipulate my dad, my family…

and me. It’s like every step I take only strengthens his grip.

But I can’t let him keep us trapped like this. ”

Oma listens carefully, her gaze compassionate. She reaches across the table, placing her hand over Johan’s in a gesture of solidarity. “We’ll find a way through this,” she says firmly. “Ludovic may think he holds all the power, but we’re not without our own resources. We’ll plan. And we’ll act.”

Johan gives a small, appreciative nod, but the weight of his words lingers over the table. Despite the comforting setting and the familiar routine of dinner, the reality of what lies ahead seeps into every corner of the room, unshakable and pressing.

When dinner finally concludes, and Oma bids us goodnight, the house falls into a quiet lull, the weight of the evening’s discussions still lingering in the air.

Johan’s hand brushes against mine as we walk side by side through the dimly lit hallway, his touch a subtle invitation, drawing me deeper into the night with him.

There’s an unspoken tension between us, a quiet current of desire that’s been building throughout the evening, simmering beneath polite conversation and fleeting glances.

Each step we take feels heavier, laden with anticipation, and by the time we reach the door to his room, my heart is pounding in my chest.

Johan stops at the bedroom door and turns to me, his eyes warm with an intensity that makes me instinctively lean towards him.

With practiced ease, his hands settle on my hips, and he pulls me close, his lips finding mine in a way that feels both familiar and electric.

I slide my hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck as Johan's tongue slips past my lips.

But just as the heat between us builds, he pulls away almost reluctantly.

Confused, I look up at him, catching the resigned smile on his face.

“Goodnight, Hannah.”

It takes me a moment to understand what he means. We've been given separate bedrooms, obviously, but not once did I think we wouldn't be sleeping in the same bed. The separate rooms are for appearances, nothing more.

“What do you mean 'goodnight'? Let's go in.” I run my hands up his broad chest, feeling his racing heart as I do so. “The night is just getting started.”

He groans, but not in pleasure, more like he's being tortured as he takes my wrists in his hands and gently pulls me away from him. “Sweetheart, out of respect for your grandmother, I just can't. Even if it's the only thing in the damned world I want to do right now.”

“Oh, come on. We're both adults here.”

“That's not what I meant.” Johan leans down and presses another chaste kiss against my lips. “You need to go. Now.”

I blink, unsure whether or not I should be offended, but Johan smiles. “Go,” he urges softly.

With one last lingering look, I finally turn to do what he requested.

After a short walk, I enter my room, and Johan's scent is already clinging to me, making it hard to think. In here it's quiet and comforting, but comforting is not what I'm after. I want the heart-pounding, sizzling feeling I get when I'm with him.

How can he just turn me away? Ugh! We get so little time alone that I thought for sure he'd want to take advantage of every little bit of it.

Frustrated, I throw myself onto the bed, and the second I close my eyes, I'm transported back to Johan's arms, the way his lips felt against mine, and his hands as they moved over my skin. My eyes snap open. There's no way I'm getting any sleep until Johan is in here, with me.

So I'll just have to wait until his guard is down. Maybe when he’s half asleep, he’ll be a little more pliable, a little more willing to give in to my demands and give us both what we so clearly want. All I have to do is wait a few hours, even if they end up feeling like an eternity.

The house is silent and completely dark as I slip out of my room and head toward Johan’s. I don’t bother turning on any lights—it's just a short walk across the hallway, and I don’t want to risk waking anyone.

I reach his bedroom door and turn the knob.

It gives easily, and I step inside. The bed is illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, and the sheet is pushed down, revealing Johan’s bare chest. I bite my lip, and my heart starts racing.

I slip inside the room and close the door quietly behind me, then carefully creep forward.

He’s messed up the blankets, and they're tangled around his legs, making it impossible for me to pull them over myself as I slide in next to him.

Not brave enough to walk the halls of Oma's estate in just my underwear, I’d settled for silky black pajamas, sleeveless and short on the bottom, and they help me keep my silence as I slide over the sheets.

I settle in on my side, facing him, and stare. God, he’s gorgeous. His strong jaw is covered with stubble, the hair a darker shade than the curls on his head, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders are defined. He's breathtaking.

His eyes flutter, and my heart skips a beat. I know I should wake him, let him know I'm here, but what if he throws me out? The thought is not an appealing one. Still, I came here with a single purpose, and I aim to see it through.

There's a thrumming in my veins as I gently push on his shoulder until he rolls on his back, just starting to wake up. I straddle him, the control I have over the moment heady and delicious. Hands on his bare chest, the warmth of his skin radiates up through my hands.

Arousal sparks, and I let my hips move against him. A soft groan leaves him, and my core throbs in response.

“Hannah.” His voice is rough with sleep, and he blinks up at me, his eyes dark in the shadows of the room.

“It’s just me,” I murmur softly, leaning closer to him, my breath warm against his ear. “Keep your eyes closed.”

His chest rises and falls sharply, and a low growl of pleasure rumbles from him as his hands instinctively slide to the curve of my waist, fingers pressing into my skin. His hips arch up, meeting mine, the contact sending a delicious friction between us.

“God.” His voice is a hushed rasp as his grip tightens, his touch both needy and restrained.

“I had a dream about you,” I say, my voice sultry and teasing as I lean in even closer, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “A dream where I woke you up with my mouth on your cock.”

He groans, deep and full of longing, before he pulls me down into a searing kiss. I meet his lips with equal fervor, desperate to have him. When his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, I grant him access, and our tongues dance, seeking and teasing.

His fingers are under the hem of my shirt, burning a path across my skin, and I gasp into his mouth before laughing. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Johan growls against my lips, and I know he’s given in to me completely.

“Close your eyes, and let me show you exactly how my dream went.”

He does as I ask, and I pepper kisses across his chest before moving lower, and his hips arch upward again, seeking friction. My teeth nip the line of muscle just above the waistband of his briefs, and his hands fist the sheets, a growl rumbling through his chest.

I love the way his body reacts to me, the way he wants me. The way he can’t hide it.

Pushing his underwear down, his hard length springs free, and I grasp it, licking the tip. He groans again, and I close my lips over him, taking as much as I can before coming back up. I do it again and again until Johan has both hands in my hair, guiding my motions.

“Hannah.”

My name is a plea, and the muscles of his thighs jump under my hands. His grip tightens, and he pulls me away.

“I can’t. I need to be inside you.”

“Take me, then.”

He rolls us over, settling between my legs. Our clothing is quickly discarded, and then it’s just the two of us, bare and exposed. Johan’s mouth finds mine, and his kiss is intense, desperate, and hot.

His fingers trail down my belly, grazing the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make me shiver.

He lingers for a moment over the mound of my sex before slipping between the folds, parting me with practiced ease.

His touch is deliberate, teasing, and then he dips inside, a low hum of approval rumbling from his chest. “You're already so wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

“I've been wet since you turned me away,” I whisper breathlessly, the frustration and longing from earlier still simmering beneath the surface.

He groans, a sound deep and guttural, and slips a finger inside me, moving with gentle precision.

His eyes darken as he adds another finger, slowly stretching me, each movement sending shockwaves through my body.

When he crooks them just right, hitting that spot, my head tilts back against the pillows, my vision blurring as a gasp tears from my lips.

My whole body responds to him, heat spreading like wildfire.

“I'm sorry about before,” he says softly, his voice almost reverent as his fingers work magic inside me, teasing me closer to the edge. “I regretted sending you away the second you left. Let me make it up to you.”

“Yes,” I manage to breathe, my voice trembling with need.

With a look of pure focus, he shifts, moving downward.

His lips brush against my skin, leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses between my breasts, down across my ribcage, and lower still.

Each touch heightens the anticipation, my body arching slightly toward him as I let myself fall back against the pillows, surrendering to him.

The air feels thick with tension, every nerve in my body humming with expectation, waiting for him to claim me fully.

Johan’s tongue licks up the center of me, slow and deliberate, and I sigh, letting the warm waves of pleasure roll through me.

Each gentle stroke of his tongue sends shivers up my spine, his beard grazing my tender flesh with just enough roughness to drive me wild.

The sensation is electric, building steadily with every caress, until the pleasure begins to coil tightly inside me.

It doesn't take him long to bring me to the edge. My hand tangles in his hair, pulling slightly as my other hand grips the pillow beneath me for support. My body trembles, every nerve sparking, and then I’m lost, nearly shaking as the orgasm crashes through me.

“Oh my God,” I groan, my voice trembling with pleasure. Johan’s arms tighten around my thighs, holding me firmly in place as he continues to work me through the aftershocks, his mouth still teasing, not letting me escape the pleasure.

“Come for me again, Hannah,” he demands, his mouth hot and insistent.

“When you're inside me,” I pant, and he moves up and over me, bracing his weight on his arms. His face hovers inches from mine, his eyes dark with desire.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The word is barely out of my mouth before I’m pulling him toward me, his hips slotting perfectly between mine. The hard length of him presses against me, grazing just the right spot, sending sparks of need through my still-sensitive body.

“Please,” I beg, my voice trembling with urgency. “Johan, please.”

“Tell me,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, his breath warm and tickling, “tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. Take me,” I plead, my body arching up to meet him.

With a low, guttural groan, he enters me slowly, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps against my ear. The feeling is overwhelming, filling me completely, and I moan as the pleasure builds again, hotter this time.

“God, Hannah,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “You feel so good.”

“Move, Johan,” I gasp, my body already craving more. “Fuck me.”

He's slow and careful at first, but each thrust has him moving harder and faster until the room is filled with the sounds of our coupling. I'm gasping, and his mouth finds mine, sealing his lips over mine. His tongue plunders, and his hands grab mine, holding them down at the sides of my head.

“Let go,” Johan urges, his words strained and rough. “I want to hear you say my name.”

I do, breathing his name and arching off the bed, but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he holds me still and pounds into me until I'm right on the brink again.

Then he's sliding his hands under my back, keeping himself inside of me as he flips us over.

Without missing a beat, I lean forward, planting my hands on his chest and flexing my hips to move above him.

His hands settle on my hips, and his eyes are still closed as I roll them forward again and again.

Reaching for one of his hands, I place it on my breast, and he squeezes, and a thrill shoots through my body.

With my eyes on his, I change the rhythm, circling my hips when I reach the bottom and circling them again when I'm almost off of him. Each time I slide up his length, the ridges of his cock tease the nerves there, and I press him harder into me. Johan’s mouth hangs open, and a stream of encouraging words flows from his lips.

I let them build the ecstasy, adding fuel to the fire until I'm hurtling towards my release.

The muscles in my thighs tremble, and heat washes over me, flushing my skin.

When he’s close, too, he sits up, holding me against him as he drives himself deeper.

My arms close around his shoulders, and my legs encircle him, my cries of his name swallowed by his kiss. Then he’s pulsing and calling my name and coming inside me, spilling his seed with each drive of his hips.

As our orgasms wind down, Johan gently lays me back on the bed before slipping away. Moments later, he returns with a warm, damp cloth and carefully cleans me, his touch tender and soothing.

“You’re not gonna make me leave this bed,” I say with finality, watching as he tosses the washcloth into the corner with a casual flick.

He’s back on the mattress next to me, pulling me into his arms before he responds. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”