Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] (16 page)

Bran nodded, once. “I guess I didn’t need to, Jonathan,” he said.

Didn’t say
Even though I really wanted to,
or
You would have known I

was giving up too soon
. No need to state the obvious.

“That’s good—you’re a quick learner. I suspected you might be.”

Amazing how warm that made him feel. Even warmer when

Jonathan smiled at him—never mind that a pretty large part of him

still wanted to smack that smile right off Jonathan’s face, see how
he

liked being hit.

“And quick learners deserve rewards.”

Did that mean he’d finally get to come? Terrible timing; he wasn’t

exactly raging horny anymore, not after having his ass beat black and

blue.Jonathan cupped the back of Bran’s neck again, steered him

toward a metal bar hanging from the ceiling. Looked like a trapeze.

Jonathan gestured for him to hold up his arms.

What the fuck?
This
is my reward?

“It’s all right, Brandon. I’m not going to hurt you now, I

promise.”

Define “hurt.”

Still, Jonathan was
looking
at him like any second now he’d forgo

the “reward” altogether and start handing out demerits again, so

he did as told, gingerly holding up one arm and then the other for

Jonathan to clip to the ends of the bar. Then Jonathan squatted down

and tapped the inside of Bran’s left ankle. “Nice and wide, please,” he

said, and Bran obeyed. Jonathan tapped him again—“A little more,

if you would”—and Bran shuffled his feet a bit wider, until he was

straining just a little and had made himself short enough to take most

of the slack out of his arms.

There were hooks in the floor, attached to lengths of chain.

Jonathan fastened one to Bran’s left ankle cuff, then did the same with

his right. Bran tugged experimentally against his bonds, realizing—

of course
—that Jonathan had given him just enough slack to squirm,

but not to bring his legs together. Not enough to protect himself.

He clenched his ass, for what little good it would do. Jonathan

had been as hard as concrete since the spanking, and what was Bran

here for, after al , if not to sate the man’s every desire?

Jonathan brushed fingertips across the small of Bran’s back,

circled around to stand in front of him. Those fingers trailed, tickling

along his flank, ghosting over his stomach. Despite the chains, his

dick was getting interested again.

“Look,” Jonathan said, “I know you think I’ve been hard on you,

that I’m bossy, that I don’t care about your feelings. But none of that

is true.” A crooked little grin, and then, “Well okay, maybe I’m a little

bossy.”

Bran chuffed.
Yeah, just like you’re a little short.

“I also know you think submission is weakness. Quitting.

Shameful. But none of
that
is true, either.” He leaned in, lips hovering

above Bran’s left nipple without touching. A gentle puff of air, a shiver

down Bran’s spine. Above him, chains rattled ever so slightly.

“Submission is
strength
. Willpower. Iron control.” Those lips

closed around him, barely a ghost of a touch. Bran’s breath caught,

held. He fought the urge to push into Jonathan’s mouth. “It’s trust,

and relaxation, and rest, and
pleasure
.” Fingers cupped his dick, and

Jesus, when had he gotten so hard again? He moaned almost silently,

couldn’t tear his eyes from Jonathan’s fingers. Not squeezing, not

stroking, just . . . holding him.

“I’m not going to fuck you now, Brandon. You’d resent it,

wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he whispered without hesitation, but the word stuck in his

throat. He cleared it, tried again. “Yes, Jonathan.”

The fingers around his dick squeezed, hard but just this side of

sweet. This time, his moan was nowhere near silent.

“You don’t
want
to feel good here. You don’t think you should.

Is that right?”

Those squeezing fingers began to pump, slow and steady and

inescapable. He couldn’t have moved his legs, closed his knees, even if

he’d wanted to. His hands found the chains clipped to his wrist cuffs,

wrapped tight around them. The cuffs were biting into his wrists.

“Answer me, Brandon.”

“Sorry,” Bran said. “Hard to think when . . .” Jonathan’s hand

stopped moving. Still hard to think anyway, with his dick in that hot

dry palm. Or maybe it was just the question. Maybe he didn’t
want

to think about it.

“That’s one,” Jonathan said, his voice as whisper-soft as his touch,

and for a moment Bran couldn’t even bring himself to care, but then

the fingernails of Jonathan’s free hand scraped light across his ass and

lit four streaks of fire in their wake. He gasped, jerked away from the

touch and accidentally thrust his dick into Jonathan’s waiting hand,

and there was
no way
that should’ve felt as good as it did.

“Sorry,” he said again. A flare of panic—he’d forgotten Jonathan’s

question.

“Sorry,
Jonathan
,” Jonathan reminded him, and then, “Two.”

Fuck.
“Never be afraid to ask me for help. Do you need me to repeat

the question?”

Bran nodded. “Yes, Jonathan.”

That hand at his dick started stroking again, Jonathan’s other

hand dropping down low to fondle his balls. Jesus, if he kept that up,

this would be over in half a minute. “I said, you don’t
want
to feel

good here. You don’t think you should. Right?”

Truth be told, he was feeling pretty fucking good about feeling

good right now. But that was in the heat of the moment, beneath

the thrill of Jonathan’s gentle touch. He knew damn well he’d be

ashamed of it later—pissed, even—for letting Jonathan do this to

him after everything else he’d already done. For being weak enough

to succumb to it. “Yes, Jonathan,” he forced himself to say, because

even
that
—even letting Jonathan wring that truth from him—was

shameful enough.

Jonathan leaned in close, pressed lips to the shell of Bran’s ear,

fingers still working-working at his dick, and whispered, “Don’t.

Shame has no place in these walls. This, here, now? Is all about
your

pleasure. Embrace it. Let it wash over you. Be strong enough to be

helpless to it”—a wet tongue darted across the lobe of his ear—“to

succumb to it”—teeth now to join it, a little nibble that sent a shiver

down the side of his neck and chest—“to
revel
in it.”

Bran’s eyes drifted shut as Jonathan’s hands wandered all over

him, taking their time on their way back to his crotch. Nails dragged

over his skin, making him shiver and strain in his bonds. Felt good

having something to grip, something to struggle against as Jonathan’s

fingertips traced over every inch of him, stopping to linger at his

nipples, worrying and pul ing and pinching. And there was that

mouth again—that fucking
amazing
tongue—fastening on one

nipple, then the other, until they stood up straight and hard.

No one had ever made the rest of his body feel this good. He’d

never even imagined it
could
feel this way. Even when he jerked off,

he got it over with quickly, racing headlong toward orgasm. Never

touched himself above the waist. Never played with his ass. Sought

relief but never lingered in the pleasure. Not like this.

Jonathan circled around to Bran’s other side, dusting kisses over

Bran’s arm and shoulder as he went, giving him the barest edge of his

teeth. Bran gasped, shivered, tugged at the chain over his head again.

Tiny bites along the nape of his neck, across his shoulder blades, then

downward, tracing every bump and dip along his spine. Jonathan

reached around to fondle the front of Bran’s torso, fingernails swirling

everywhere, like he was trying to memorize each muscle and rib.

Then Jonathan stopped, palm pressed to Bran’s fluttering belly.

“You’re tensing again,” he said softly. “Let it go, Brandon. I told you,

I’m not going to hurt you.”

Pretty hard to keep in mind—he groaned inwardly at the awful

pun—with his own dick throbbing for what felt like ever
now and

Jonathan’s chino-covered erection pressing a hard sore line into his

left ass cheek. How the hell did Jonathan hold himself in check when

he obviously wanted to fuck the shit out of Bran?

How much more of this fucking torture is he gonna make me take?

The fading heat from his spanking flared to life again as Jonathan

stepped back and slid his hands around to smooth over Bran’s ass. No

pinching this time, thank God, but the skin down there was still so

fucking sensitized he couldn’t stop himself from jerking.

“Sorry,” he rasped through gritted teeth. “Jonathan.”

“It’s all right.” A gentle touch at his hip, and then Jonathan started

kissing his spine again. “Go ahead, struggle in your bonds. That’s why

they’re there—so you can
relax
.” The words vibrated against his skin,

seeped in alongside another warm, wet flick of Jonathan’s tongue.

Jesus Christ, any second now he was gonna
explode
, and Jonathan

wasn’t even touching his dick. Bad enough that those pink, smirking

lips of his were reading Braille down his back, gliding to the base of

his spine.

But when Jonathan’s fingers slipped between Bran’s aching ass

cheeks and slowly parted them, Bran nearly pulled the fucking bar

out of the ceiling.

“Calm down,” Jonathan said sharply, the hand still resting on

Bran’s hip tightening. “I said I wasn’t going to fuck you.”

Then what the hell are you doing
—
besides driving me completely

fucking insane?

“There’s more to sex than your cock, you know,” Jonathan said,

pressing another kiss to the small of Bran’s back. “Then again, maybe

you don’t. What a pity. Such a beautiful body. Hard to believe no

one’s taken full advantage of everything it has to offer. Or maybe you

simply haven’t let them?”

Another thought plucked right out of Bran’s head. It’d been years

since he’d indulged in more than quick fucks and backroom blowjobs.

All he’d cared about was getting off. Taking his time getting there . . .

well, what was the point in that?

Then Jonathan sank to his knees and buried his tongue in Bran’s

ass, and the entire world tilted on its side. Bran’s mouth fell open on

a loud moan he couldn’t have smothered even if he’d had his hands

free. Nobody
had ever done this to him before—hell, he’d never even

considered the
possibility
.

Jesus, and he’d thought giving head was the best thing Jonathan

could do with that tongue. It licked, flicked, swirled and wiggled

inside him, sending him up on his toes for a moment, until his legs—

hell, his entire
body
—couldn’t take it anymore. Every bone, muscle,

and tendon dissolved and his hands slipped off the bar, leaving him

dangling like a puppet on the tip of Jonathan’s tongue. His wrists

hurt, but it was all so far away he couldn’t be bothered to care, to

make it stop.

Pleasure, torture . . . it was all running together. He bit back the

awful whimper welling up inside him, but one more tongue-flick

nearly did him in. Jonathan eased off, and for a second Bran could’ve

sworn the little fucker actually chuckled, but then he went right back

to driving him insane.

Jesus, kill me now . . .

Because he wasn’t gonna come, not like this, with his poor

neglected dick bobbing against his belly. This was supposed to be a

reward
? He’d rather take another fucking spanking. At least it’d be

over with quicker.

But then Jonathan started tongue-fucking him in earnest and

reached around to grab hold of his dick. He was so close to the edge,

all it took was a few strokes before every strained muscle in his body

tensed and the black-walled dungeon sheeted white before him and

he came with a rattle and a shout so loud the whole fucking building

must’ve heard him. And
shit
, but Jonathan’s tongue was still milking

him, milking him, even as his fingers, covered in Bran’s cum, gentled

on his still-hard dick. Bran shuddered bodily, and again, feeling like

he’d never be able to catch his breath, make his legs work, convince

his lips to shape the
Holy fuck
bouncing around in his head.

From behind him, Jonathan chuckled, a warm vibration against

the sensitized skin of his ass. He unhooked Bran’s ankles from the

chains, then stood, his clean hand smoothing over Bran’s hip, lower

back, shoulder. Fingers alit briefly on the nape of his neck—he

couldn’t even lift his head to look Jonathan in the eye, smile at him,

maybe say thank you.

“The dungeon’s soundproof, by the way,” Jonathan said, then

brushed a kiss across his neck. “Feet together now, there’s a good

boy.”Bran tried, he really did, but what Jonathan had just done had