Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] (30 page)

hadn’t earned it yet.

A whole day without demerits before I get so much as a fucking sip.

Might as well be a million years.

Jonathan plucked a grape from the tray and popped it into Bran’s

mouth. Sweet, moist, absolute
heaven
. Best fucking grape he ever ate.

So was the next one. And the piece of melon that followed, the bite

of toast, buttery and delicious. What kind of jam was it? Blackberry?

Homemade? God, he’d never tasted anything so good.

He sucked on Jonathan’s fingers even as shame burned his

cheeks—not enough to stop him, though, not at al —trying to get

every last crumb of toast and drop of jam. So fucking
hungry
. Hungry

enough to take whatever Jonathan gave him without hesitation.

Enough to rest his cheek on Jonathan’s knee when directed by a

stroking hand, butt his head into Jonathan’s palm like a fucking dog
.

Was this really all it took? A rumbling stomach, a little pain and fear,

and he was on his knees eating out of Jonathan’s hand?

I can’t go back in that box again.

Just the
thought
of it was so fucking terrifying he almost lost his

appetite.

Almost.

Another grape, and this time Jonathan’s thumb lingered, teasing

Bran’s bottom lip until Bran let the tip slip inside. It still tasted like

jam. Jonathan thrust it gently in and out, and another part of Bran’s

body responded in spite of himself. Was all he could do to keep from

reaching down and palming his stiffening dick. Must be the good

sleep, the good food. Jonathan had
tortured
him,
broken
him—no

way could he still want to fuck the guy.

Or
be
fucked, more like. He’d never let you top.

That questing thumb went a little deeper, and Bran closed his

lips around it, breathed hard through his nose. So, okay, irritating as

it was, Jonathan was damn fucking attractive. Pheromones, maybe.

Just chemistry.

In fairness, you did
ask
him to break you.

Strange how knowing that didn’t seem to make a damn bit of

difference, though. So why was he sucking around Jonathan’s thumb?

Why had he just let out a little moan? Why was his dick so fucking

hard?“More?” Jonathan asked, and for a second, Bran wasn’t sure which

appetite Jonathan was offering to sate. But then the finger was gone

and a little triangle of toast—God, Sabrina had even cut the fucking

crusts off, like he was some kid or something—was hovering at his

lips. He ate it down in one big bite, and like the fucking dog he’d

sworn upside down and sideways he wasn’t, he opened his mouth for

another.

Fuck Jonathan for that. Seriously.
Fuck
him.

Jonathan popped a slice of kiwi in his mouth, and for a moment,

as the tangy sweetness burst on his tongue in a nearly orgasmic rush,

he forgot to be angry.

Forgot a second time when Jonathan’s bare foot inched up the

inside of Bran’s spread thighs and curled around his erection.

God, he has really soft feet.

Bran leaned into that touch despite himself, amazed that the

soles of anyone’s feet could feel so good.

He probably gets fucking pedicures or some bullshit.

Jonathan’s own erection bulged against his fly, the heat of it

seeping into Bran’s skin from nearly a foot away. His thumb pushed

into Bran’s mouth again, and Bran dragged his teeth along the pad,

Jonathan’s hiss making him realize, too late, that he’d bitten down a

bit too hard.

Bran flinched and drew back, half-expecting Jonathan to smack

him. But Jonathan just cupped his chin and smiled.

“Still hungry, I see.” He leaned down, brushing those red lips over

Bran’s mouth, darting his tongue inside. He tasted like berries and

melon and buttered toast and—
oh sweet God
—fresh black coffee.

The same thing he’d served that morning after he’d taken Bran to

bed.
After he’d cuffed you and made you come so hard you hit yourself in

the chin.

The memory made Bran’s dick stand straight up, every spare drop

of blood in his body pulsing between his ears.

“You want this?” Jonathan asked, catching hold of Bran’s hand,

bringing it up to cup his erection. So stiff it was practically bursting

through his zipper. How the hell did he keep from coming right then

and there?

Did
he want it? His body certainly seemed to—he could

practically feel it already, hot and heavy on his tongue. And he’d been

attracted to this kinder, gentler version of Jonathan from nearly the

moment he’d laid eyes on the man. So hard to forgive him for what

he’d done, though. To forgive him for being so fucking
edible
all the

time, even when he was a total ass, infuriating, heartless and cruel.

So hard to forgive
himself
for wanting the little shit anyway.

Maybe that’s what happened when you broke.

“One,” Jonathan said, his hand still stroking Bran’s where it lay

pressed to Jonathan’s crotch. Bran had to fight the urge to clench his

fingers; Jonathan would
not
appreciate that. “It’s all right.” Jonathan’s

free hand came up to stroke Bran’s cheek. Warm. So, so gentle. Why

did he have to be like that? Why did he have to make it so hard to hate

him? “It won’t be like yesterday. You might even find yourself
enjoying

these demerits. Now answer the question.” His hand tightened over

Bran’s, pressing Bran’s fingers to Jonathan’s straining dick. “Do you

want this?” Jonathan’s foot stroked over Bran’s dick; Bran gasped.

“And this?”

Fuck it.
He
did
want it, and if it was just one more way Jonathan

had fucked him up, well . . . at least he’d stop hurting for a little while
.

“Y-yes, Jonathan.”

Jonathan gave his shoulder a gentle push, until Bran lay flat on

his back on the carpet. Felt good to unfold himself from that awful

kneeling position and stretch out, though the nap of the rug bit into

his sore back and ass. Jonathan followed him down, waited for him to

make himself comfortable
—relatively, anyway
—then turned to face

him.“Unzip me,” he said, and Bran didn’t need to be asked twice.

Jonathan’s hard-on popped out, tapping Bran’s chin, and he scooted

down instantly, sliding the tip between his lips.

Hot. Salty. Firm.
A perfect
mouthful. This time he remembered

to breathe through his nose, braced himself for Jonathan to start

thrusting. But to his surprise, Jonathan didn’t. He just slung a leg over

Bran’s chest, turned himself to face Bran’s feet, and began kissing his

way down Bran’s belly.

Oh, Jesus. As if I don’t have enough to distract me.

Bran tried to keep his mind on the dick in his mouth, swirling

his tongue around the crown. At least Jonathan wasn’t pushing him

to take more than he could comfortably handle. No face-fucking this

time. He was actually being
gentle.
What the fuck was going on?

Bran nearly lost it—nearly forgot himself and bit down—as

Jonathan swallowed his dick. He had to pull back a second for the

shock to pass, to let himself breathe.

What the hell was Jonathan doing with his tongue? Wrapping

it along the length of Bran’s dick, flicking it, sucking. Jesus, where

had he learned to
do
that? Bran had never had head this good, not in

any seedy back alley, not in any filthy bar bathroom. Not even in his

fucking fantasies.

He wasn’t anywhere near this good at giving it, either. No

wonder Jonathan would rather grab hold of his hair and plow his

mouth. Would he even be able to get Jonathan off? He sucked

harder, grabbing the root of Jonathan’s dick with one hand. Maybe

he couldn’t fit the whole thing in his mouth without being forced,

but at least he could do this much.

He sucked and stroked, and Jonathan shifted his weight to one

hand and wrapped the other one around the base of Bran’s dick as

well, so that their motions almost mirrored. Such a strange, delicious

sensation, and who knew, maybe he could learn a thing or two.

Jonathan swirled his tongue around the crown of Bran’s dick as he

twisted his wrist to match, and Bran copied the movement, tore a

little moan from Jonathan. How strangely satisfying that was, to

know he’d done that himself, wobbled Jonathan’s composure, even if

he had done it by copying the guy.

He tried it again, and then dipped his tongue in Jonathan’s slit

when Jonathan did the same to him and made him gasp so hard he

nearly choked. Again Jonathan moaned, easy and wanton, and the

vibration shot right through Bran’s dick and up to his balls, his lower

belly, the base of his spine. Fucking
amazing.
He hummed around

Jonathan’s dick in return, fingers tightening around the base as he

pumped him, pumped him, and Jonathan’s hips jerked once, twice,

his mouth coming off Bran, his fingers going slack around Bran’s

dick. Bran had one second to think
Selfish bastard
before he felt the

telltale rush of blood beneath his fingertips, heard Jonathan’s breath

go shallow and fast, and he gave one last hard suck before pul ing

Jonathan’s dick from his mouth and jacking him to completion,

letting him come all over his chest.

Jonathan had barely stopped spurting before he buried his face in

Bran’s groin again, swallowing him right down to the root, free hand

rol ing his balls before it slipped back further and a single spit-coated

finger plunged inside him. Damn good thing Jonathan’s dick wasn’t in

Bran’s mouth anymore; Bran rocked his head back, shouted through

gritted teeth at the pain and the pleasure of the rough penetration,

his ass so sore from yesterday’s monster plug, but Jonathan’s finger so

sweet against his prostate. The pain faded almost instantly beneath

the onslaught of
pressure-pleasure-relief
, and he bucked his hips up

into Jonathan’s willing mouth, drove his cock down Jonathan’s willing

throat, squeezed his eyes closed and grappled at Jonathan’s head with

both hands as the man hollowed his cheeks and stroked his tongue

across Bran’s shaft and worked his throat around Bran’s head as Bran

came and came and came.

Took a little while before he floated back to earth with Jonathan

curled up beside him, fingers playing with his hair, lips pressed to his

temple.
Like a lover
.
Like he actually
cares.

Bran rolled over, head still spinning, blinking against the haze

clouding his eyes, body still abuzz with the force of his orgasm, and

good God, how the hell did they keep getting more intense when the

last one had nearly blown the top of his fucking head off?

Was it him? Was it Jonathan? Was it just the fact that his body

had never felt more alive, more on fire, even if most of the time it hurt

like hell?

His rumbling stomach jarred him from his blissed-out haze.

Jonathan must’ve heard it too, because he sat up, grinning, and said,

“Want to finish breakfast, then?”

“Yes, Jonathan,” Bran replied, dragging himself back into the

kneeling position Jonathan expected of him. He hurt less on the

endorphin high of that orgasm, but seemed to have less control

over his body now, too. Took him a while to lever himself back into

position. And,
fucking ewww,
he felt Jonathan’s cum dribbling down

his chest when he sat. Shit. When was Jonathan gonna say something

about that? After al , Jonathan had swallowed for Bran, and he’d

made such a huge fucking deal about it last time, had nearly
suffocated

him to force it down.

Bran tried very hard not to draw any attention to the cum as he

met Jonathan’s easy gaze and waited for the man to say, “Two.”

But he didn’t. Just leaned forward, still grinning, and kissed Bran.

On the lips. With
tongue.
And the taste of Bran still in his mouth,

slimy and disgusting. Bran tried to pull away, but Jonathan held him

there for a second more before letting go. Just to make his point.

Bran had to suppress the urge to spit out even that much, until

his gaze landed on the cane lying on the edge of Jonathan’s desk. A

chill shot straight through him. Was Jonathan going to punish him

for jerking him off instead of swallowing? For hesitating before

answering him earlier?

Please, no. Not now.

“Don’t worry,” Jonathan said. He’d been saying that a lot this

morning; did he really think Bran was that fragile right now?
Was

Bran really that fragile right now?

. . . ’Fraid so, pal.

“You’re afraid I’ll punish you for not swallowing.” Bran nodded,

and Jonathan—who’d already thrown Bran off his game half a dozen

times this morning—threw him again by just handing him a wad of

tissues. “I won’t, not now. Later, when you can take it again. But you