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)
Brand explained with the same quiet simplicity with which he explained everything else—Ash’s responsibilities, the impact of market volatility on steel prices, how to tie a proper Windsor knot. Yet underscoring that low voice was something else—a roughness, a darkness, something Ash could only call yearning.
And it wrapped him in its velvet touch, drawing him in, leaving him straining toward Brand even as he listened.
“Simply willing dependency,” Brand continued. “Putting yourself entirely in my hands, and trusting me to care for you to the point that we cannot survive without each other. I would dress you. Bathe you. Fetch and carry for you. You would do nothing on your own, not without asking permission first. And if you failed to ask permission…” A dark, hungry gleam in Brand’s eyes; an edge of a growl in his voice. “I would punish you.”
Ash’s gut tightened, his pulse leaping sharply, heart turning over. He stared at Brand. “That…doesn’t….sound normal or healthy.”
“It’s not,” Brand admitted frankly. For a moment his hold on Ash tightened, before loosening as if already preparing to let him go. “Not unless both parties want it. Not unless you gain from it as much as I do. A mutual exchange for mutual pleasure.”
Don’t let go, Ash begged silently. It caught him off guard how desperately he didn’t want Brand to let go, when he should be climbing out of bed to get away from him. He clutched his fingers tighter in Brand’s clothing, begging without words: Stay. I’m just trying to understand, please…please stay.
“Wh-what…what do you get from this?” Ash whispered.
“The pleasure of being needed.” Brand unwound one hand from Ash’s hospital smock—if only so he could curl his knuckles underneath Ash’s chin, his thumb brushing rough against Ash’s lower lip, leaving it tingling. “Perhaps the satiation of an obsession.”
Ash’s mouth felt too hot, too soft. His blood was ringing in his ears, stirring in his veins, this strange frightened thrill making him ache deep down with a trembling and needy pleasure. He parted his lips against that caressing thumb.
“You…want to be obsessed with me?”
“And you with me,” Brand whispered. Back and forth, back and forth his thumb traced, slow pressure just firm enough to remind Ash of his strength; of how much larger he was, how easily his touch could turn crushing. “Again…it must be mutual, or it asks for disaster. Even if I would not be materially dependent on you…emotionally, I would need you just as deeply to function at all.”
“You don’t even know me,” Ash breathed.
“That is what time is for. That is what this is an invitation to, as well.” Brand leaned in, pressing his mouth to Ash’s—giving him a taste, once more, of that barely-restrained dominance, that complete and utter control as Brand’s lips teased Ash’s into softness, coaxed him into submission. He trembled, pressing into Brand with a whimper, his mouth aching for more—but Brand drew back, parting their lips with one last grazing touch of his thumb, half-lidded green eyes locked on Ash’s. “I am asking you to let down your guard with me, young Master Ashton. To relax certain barriers and learn to know each other intimately on a level more personal than physical.”
“What you’re asking me to do…” It took everything in Ash to pull his thoughts together from the scattered rush of frightened heat Brand’s kiss had roused. Everything in him not to just say yes, when he wanted to go belly up and let Brand take all his fears, all this pressure away from him. But… “It’s way more than just…just…relying on you as a close advisor and someone who can be discreet if we sleep together sometimes. That’s…” He inhaled shakily. “What you’re asking me to do is scary, Brand.”
Brand went stiff against Ash. Hurt flickered in his eyes for a moment, before closing away behind quiet acquiescence—neutral, glassed over, Brand the valet rather than Brand the man who refused to be chased from Ash’s bed. “I’m sorry,” he said, his hold loosening once more, that touch falling away from Ash’s mouth. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You may consider my offer retracted.”
Ash caught Brand’s hand before it could retreat too far; before he lost his nerve. “But…”
“But…?”
Ash lowered his eyes—then lifted that broad, coarse hand to rub his cheek against curled knuckles, against the faint bristle of coarse hair against his skin, each touch, each texture, a frightening yet wonderful burst of sensitivity.
“I do like it…how it feels,” he admitted, barely able to manage a shaking whisper. “When you take control away from me. And I’m just…small, next to you. Helpless. To everything. To you.” He darted his tongue over his lips. “It…it makes me want…”
Brand watched him intently—a certain waiting stillness about him, a tension ready to snap. “What, young Master? What do you want?”
“You,” Ash confessed simply. “I don’t…get it. That when you make me feel that way, it makes me want you. And I don’t get why you want me.”