Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
…and then that quiet yes, that tremor of fear and sweet longing in Ashton’s eyes, that moment when Brand had been certain he’d destroyed everything with the honesty he couldn’t help when he’d almost lost the chance to claim his young Master at all.
When Ash begged so softly, that aching need pleading to be filled…how could Brand not tell him the truth of what he craved?
And when Ash blushed for him, when he pressed into Brand with that demure, submissive body language that said take me, own me, control me, consume me…
How could Brand not oblige, with everything in him?
Yesterday and last night had been sheer torment. Sprawled in bed next to Ashton, leaning shoulder to shoulder with him and murmuring over the numbers scrolling by on his laptop screen, now and then catching each other in sidelong glances and lingering gazes. Ashton had a way of catching his breath, when that happened. Catching his breath, parting pink and wanting lips as if waiting, begging, and if his young Master had not just left the hospital after a car crash then Brand would have tossed the laptop aside and pushed him back against the bed and answered that need again and again with his lips, his touch, his body, his cock.
But he was supposed to be the responsible one. The one with control.
And so he kept himself under control, and reminded himself that anticipation only made the promise in parted lips that much sweeter.
That promise would have to wait a touch longer. Ash had fallen asleep against him early last night, clearly wrung out and emotionally exhausted, barely stirring when Brand had undressed him and slipped him into his pajamas and tucked him in to rest. And this morning…
This morning it was back to the office, and slow, meaningful glances exchanged in the rear view mirror on the drive to the city.
He caught Ash watching him in the mirror again, before his young Master looked away with a subtle, sweet smile, fidgeting at the cuffs of his suit. “…I Googled this shit with me and you, you know,” he murmured. “What we’re doing.”
“Ah. Did you learn anything informative?”
“We’re supposed to have a safe word.”
“Mine is ‘Thatcher,” Brand countered.
“Then I guess it’s mine now, too. But I’m never calling you Daddy,” Ash said, grinning.
Brand chuckled. “I would not want you to, young Master Ashton.”
“And don’t you ever call me a good boy.”
Brand lofted his brows. “Would ‘good lad’ suffice?”
Ash tried to scowl, but only burst into delighted laughter. “Brand.”
“Apologies, young Master.”
“Asshole.”
Brand only smiled, and turned the car into the parking garage at Harrington Steel.
ASH FELT ALMOST LIKE A PRINCE, with the way Brand treated him.
Not that Brand hadn’t always waited on him hand and foot…but it was different, now. Something almost reverent in the way Brand handed him down from the back of the SUV, first holding his hand to steady him and then catching his waist to keep his balance as he navigated the rather high drop from the runner to the ground. Something beyond deferential in how Brand held the lobby door for him. Something almost fixated in how Brand’s gaze never left him, as they headed inside. Ash felt like everyone in the lobby who greeted him, that hasty little head-bob and murmur of “Mr. Harrington,” could tell the difference, charged in the air between them.
And he couldn’t seem to look away from Brand, so completely absorbed that he didn’t even stop to think as they paused in front of the elevator and he reached out to press the Up button.
Making it there a second before Brand, who had already been reaching for the button himself.
Brand stilled; letting his hand fall. His gaze sharpened, but he said nothing. Ash parted his lips, a confused question on his tongue—but then the elevator doors opened. Brand stepped forward, his bulk crowding Ash back with every deliberated stride; Ash stared up at him, something in that stone-set expression making trepidation quiver in his stomach. Swallowing, he backed into the elevator; Brand followed. The doors closed behind them. Brand reached over without looking to press the button for the top floor. The elevator lurched upward with a jolt that made his stomach drop out, falling in a mess of twisting knots.
“Brand…?” he whispered, looking up at that forbidding gaze.
Still Brand said nothing.
But with a pointed, precise motion, he pressed the emergency stop button on the elevator panel. The elevator ground to a jolting halt between floors. Brand stepped closer to Ash, backing him against the wall—only to reach over his head. Heart thumping, confusion swirling through him, Ash tilted his head back, watching as Brand caught the opaque black plastic dome covering the security camera, detached it neatly, then disengaged the cable for the camera. The blinking red light went dark. Brand propped the cover neatly on the hand rail.