Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] (31 page)

are
at two.”

Great. Something else to look forward to.
How had he forgotten,

even for a second, how much power he’d let Jonathan hold over him?

How much Jonathan enjoyed wielding said power?

Jonathan held up another grape, pressed it against Bran’s lips.

Bran didn’t open his mouth—not at first, anyway—as the wheels

turned in his head. Sure, he could resist. He could take things back to

the way they were a day or so ago, force Jonathan to force him again.

Maybe even force Jonathan to drag him back down to the dungeon

and—

No. No.
He couldn’t win in the end anyway, not against
that
,

so what was the point in fighting? He was tired of hurting. He was

tired of being afraid. And he
liked
nice-Jonathan. Liked the things

nice-Jonathan did for him, liked the way nice-Jonathan could make

him feel. So what if he didn’t particularly like
himself
under nice-

Jonathan’s thumb? So what if he felt weak there, childish, helpless,

needy,
hungry
, ashamed of his urges? What was any of that compared

to another night in the fucking coffin?

He opened his mouth, and let Jonathan put the grape on his

tongue.

CHAPTER
15

t’s been going well these past couple of days,” Jonathan said as

Sabrina carried a covered tray onto the balcony. A stainless steel

carafe and two plates. One fork, of course, since Brandon wouldn’t

need one for himself. Jonathan reached down to stroke Brandon’s

cheek, thumb teasing his lower lip. “You’ve done such a good job

grooming yourself today, too. I’m quite pleased.”

Brandon flashed him a shaky smile and bowed his head for a

moment, until Jonathan tipped his chin back up. “Close your eyes.”

More than a touch of apprehension flashing across those striking

features, but Brandon did as told, his chest rising and fal ing a bit

more rapidly than before. He’d been doing that a lot over the past

two days. What did he have to be afraid of now? Jonathan hadn’t

taken him down to the dungeon in all that time. Kept him in bed

with him every night, made sure he got off first. Fed him from his

hand several times a day, waiting for his stomach to recover from five

days of not eating at al . He’d never been this patient with any other

submissive.

Jonathan lifted the lid off the first plate, scooped up his fork,

sliced off a bite of the omelet Sabrina had made. Cheese, mushrooms,

spinach, tomato. After days of starvation followed by two days of

bland rations, this was bound to be a treat.

He held the fork under Brandon’s nose, waved it back and forth.

Brandon leaned forward, opening his mouth.

“Ah ah ah, not yet,” Jonathan admonished. “Smell it first. Good,

isn’t it?”

Brandon took a deep breath through his nose, let it out through

his mouth. He was practically drooling already and he hadn’t even

tasted it yet.

“I’m not teasing you for my sake, or to be cruel,” Jonathan added.

“You haven’t taken much time to enjoy your food, have you? Well, I

intend to correct that. Eating is about much more than chewing and

swallowing. Food is more than just fuel. There’s a sensuality to eating,

and it’s high time you learned to indulge in it.”

Jonathan pushed the fork toward Brandon’s lips. “Lick your lips.

Then open your mouth, but only a tiny bit.”

The pink tip of Brandon’s tongue darted out, slowly, hesitantly,

parting his teeth. Jonathan slid the bite of omelet between them,

waiting for the tiny whimper he knew was coming. “I told you it was

good, didn’t I?”

Brandon had to pull back, dislodging the bite of omelet from his

lips. Was Jonathan imagining it, or was that the world’s faintest groan

he heard? Well, no wonder. Sabrina’s omelets could make even the

most dedicated epicurean weep. And he still hadn’t let Brandon fully

savor his first taste yet.

Brandon licked his lips, his closed eyes fluttering. “Y-yes,

Jonathan.” Brandon’s stomach punctuated that reply with a growl.

Well, maybe he was being a
bit
cruel. But then, he had to get some

fun out of this too, didn’t he? “All right, open wide.” He let Brandon

take the bite of omelet off the fork. “But chew
slowly
. Savor all the

flavors. That’s aged gruyere cheese, shiitake mushrooms, tomatoes

and spinach grown here, picked fresh this morning. Eggs from free-

range hens. Fresh butter. And a splash of the very best homemade

pancake batter in the world, whipped in with the eggs to give them

body and air and just a hint of starchiness. All the best ingredients

prepared to perfection, all meant to be enjoyed like the luxuries they

are. So
enjoy
them.”

Brandon started to chew, and yes, this time that
was
a groan, and

nothing the least bit faint about it. His eyelids fluttered again, and

he breathed deep, as if trying to get himself through athletic sex. “It’s

good, isn’t it?”

“God, yes . . . Jonathan.”

Jonathan could practically hear the unuttered
Please, give me some

more
. Could see the muscles bunch in Brandon’s arms and shoulders,

the barely-leashed urge to keep from grabbing the plate off the table

and gobbling everything down. And yet, Brandon held himself in

check, kept his eyes closed, kept his hands behind his back. A few

days ago, such control would’ve been beyond him.

Another bite, slid off the fork into those moist, pink lips, then

Jonathan took the cover off the other plate, sliced off a bite of

Sabrina’s famous chocolate chip pancakes, drenched in butter and

whipped cream. Waved it under Brandon’s nose, just like before.

Brandon swayed, leaning back on his heels with a groan, shoulders

jerking, breath coming even faster. His cock twitched up proud and

neglected between his spread thighs, but Jonathan doubted he even

noticed right now.

“See, it’s much better when you take your time, isn’t it?” Jonathan

asked.

“Yes, Jonathan. Can I . . .?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Absolutely not. This is about the feel of the food on your

tongue, the texture and the heat of it, the scent of it in your nostrils,

the taste of it—salty, savory, sweet. While Sabrina’s arranged it all

quite beautifully, I know you well enough to know that if you’re busy

looking, you’ll be too busy to remember to taste and smell and feel.

Keep your eyes closed and engage your other senses.” Jonathan nudged

Brandon’s parted lips with the bite of pancake, a blob of homemade

whipped cream dripping onto the cushion beneath Brandon’s knees,

and said, “Slowly now. Just lick first. Tell me what you taste.”

That agile tongue again, so much promise, poking hesitantly

from between his lips. Swiping sweet cream and butter and a smudge

of chocolate. Brandon sighed, shuddered, pulled his tongue back and

ran it all along the inside of his mouth. “
God,
” he whispered, so softly

Jonathan didn’t have the heart to call him on speaking out of turn.

Another pass of tongue across the inside of his cheek, and then, “Um,

whipped cream, Jonathan?”

“Yes, very good, and not the stuff from a can, either. What else?”

“Butter. Real butter.” Probably not a standard on Brandon’s

shopping list. Too extravagant. Brandon took another sniff of the

bite still hovering before his lips, and smiled. “Chocolate.”

“70% dark. The finest from Switzerland.” Another thing Brandon

was unlikely to indulge in often, even the Hershey’s variety.

“Pancakes?” Brandon asked, hesitant again, like he thought he

might be wrong. Like he was
afraid
of being wrong.

Jonathan brushed fingertips across Brandon’s cheek and tried not

to be bothered by Brandon’s flinch before he went still. He just hadn’t

seen it coming, was al ; it had surprised him. “You tell me,” Jonathan

whispered, and put the bite on Brandon’s tongue.

Brandon’s teeth closed around the tines of the fork, and Jonathan

slid it out from between pursed lips, reminding him, “Slowly now,”

when Brandon chewed like he thought the pancakes might escape

before he could swallow them. Brandon immediately complied,

head tilted back, chewing through a moan and a smile, chewing and

chewing and chewing before finally swallowing.

Jonathan took mercy and didn’t make Brandon wait for the next

bite. The whipped cream was melting, anyway. He snuck his own

bites in between, eyes drifting again and again from the rapturous

enjoyment on Brandon’s face to the very erect expression of said

enjoyment between Brandon’s legs. He licked his lips, found the air

in the greenhouse suddenly quite thick.

Patience yourself, Jonathan. Dessert comes
after
the meal.

Time to give him something to drink—and Jonathan knew

exactly what Brandon had been waiting for. Over a week without

so much as a drop of coffee. Jonathan poured a fresh cup from the

stainless steel carafe and carried it to Brandon’s lips.

Brandon’s back and shoulders went straight the moment the

aroma wafted into his nostrils. “I promised you coffee if you went a

day without demerits,” Jonathan said. “Here, have a sip—you earned

it. But be careful, it’s hot.”

He tipped the cup toward Brandon’s mouth, heard the soft slurp

as Brandon sucked it down. A tiny sip, then another, accompanied

by a not-so-soft moan. Jonathan pulled the cup away for a moment,

not terribly surprised when Brandon leaned in after it, following the

scent even with his eyes closed.

“Want more?” Jonathan teased. Oh, why not? He’d been waiting

for Brandon to let him do this ever since he’d arrived. It was so much

better being playful than cruel. But there was a way to accomplish

both at the same time.

Jonathan took a long sip but didn’t swallow, relishing the sharp,

bold taste for a moment before leaning down, cupping the back of

Brandon’s head with one hand. That same familiar touch that said,

“You’re
mine
, you’re safe, just let it go.” And was it his imagination,

or did Brandon do just that, moving forward, pressing his lips to

Jonathan’s. Opening his mouth as Jonathan did the same, groaning at

the taste of hot coffee as it spilled from his mouth to Brandon’s.

Their lips remained locked long after Brandon had swallowed the

coffee, tongues tangling, until Brandon gave a tiny groan and tried to

pull back. Jonathan held him there for a few more seconds, sucking

Brandon’s lip between his teeth. After al , he needed breakfast too.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Jonathan asked, lips still hovering

right over Brandon’s.

Brandon leaned forward to close the distance between them,

pressing his tongue between Jonathan’s lips and tasting, exploring,

moaning into Jonathan’s mouth. God knew how he managed to keep

his hands behind his back all this time; Jonathan’s own wandered

back up to Brandon’s hair, gripping and tangling as the kiss drew

on. At last Brandon pulled back—Jonathan let him this time; he’d