Read Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] Online
Authors: Power Play Resistance
marks in it.”
Jonathan grimaced. “If this is a bad time . . .?”
“Nah, we’re in between setups. I’ve got . . . fifteen? Fifteen. New
boy still not eating?”
“No, he’s eating. I finally had to put him in the sarcophagus and
shock him on a timer. He still lasted half the night.”
Devon whistled. “Stubborn son of a bitch. Sounds more and
more like Nicky every time we talk. You
sure
he’s not a hardcore
masochist? Certainly seems to
invite
pain.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be. Not from the way he
reacted to the spanking I just gave him.”
“He come?”
“Eventually, when I stopped hitting him and started fingering
him, but . . .” He sighed. “He’s exhausting me. Every time I think he’s
getting it, he pulls back. I’m not sure how much more of this either
of us can take.”
“You know how it is sometimes when you’re breaking a boy
fresh. Nicky was a
disaster
. Just out there punishing himself. Sounds
like maybe Brandon’s doing the same. In a different way, maybe, but
from what you’ve told me? Guy like that’s too proud to lay it down.
Can’t admit it to himself. Growing up in his house? Probably learned
never to show an ounce of weakness. Never to give in, show emotion,
indulge himself or anyone else. So what you’ve got to ask yourself now
is, is he worth it? A road like that, it’s a long one.” A pause—Jonathan
could practically hear him shrugging. “But hey, I found my husband
at the end of my road. Worth every exhausting, blister-inducing step.
And
he
found
him
self, too. Just needed a guiding hand.”
If only it were that simple. “But you
knew
. You looked at Nicky
and you
knew
. He
craved
it. He
asked
for it. All Brandon’s ever done
is fight me.”
“You’re telling me you don’t know if he’s submissive?”
Jonathan slumped forward, leaned his forehead on his palm. “I’m
telling you I may have . . . misjudged the situation. May have made a
terrible mistake.”
“I—” A scuffling noise on the other end of the line, and Devon
said, “Thank you, five,” to someone. “Sorry, gotta run soon. But look,
I think you know better than that. That night in the alley? That first
night with the cuffs? He may not realize he wants it, may not be
strong enough yet to
admit
he wants it, but he wants it. And maybe
you and he need to sit down and
talk
about that, yeah?”
Jonathan cracked a brittle smile; hard to talk to Brandon when
the only two words he seemed to know were “fuck” and “you.”
“No roles, no pretense, no fear. I realize it may be too late to
renegotiate your contract, but it’s not too late to open a dialog,
right?”
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Jonathan conceded. They’d found each
other so fascinating once upon a time. He still wanted that. Perhaps,
somewhere deep down, Brandon did too.
“And if you two can’t find a way to make things work, well, then
maybe it’s time to part ways, no hard feelings. Listen, I’ve gotta go,
man, but you call me back anytime. If I’m shooting, Sarah will take a
message and I’ll get right back to you.”
“Thank you, Devon.”
“Like I said, anytime. Oh, hey, I have next Friday and Saturday
off, and Nicky’s coming out to LA this week to shoot a guest spot on
Show Choir.
”
“Really? That’s fantastic!”
“I know! He’s very excited. Anyway, look, we could come visit
next weekend if you think that’d help. Maybe let Brandon see what it
could
be. He and Nicky have a lot in common; I bet they’d get along
great.”
Not such a great idea—at least, not now. Brandon wasn’t ready
for that yet. Maybe not ever, if Jonathan were being honest with
himself. “We’ll see. Give me a call when Nicky arrives. Maybe I can
come meet you for lunch.”
“Okay man, will do. Off to go get my ass kicked by a girl now. No
stunt double; pray for me.”
Jonathan laughed despite himself. “Admit it, you love it.”
“Not a chance. See you later, Waveboy!”
The phone went dead before Jonathan could tell him to
stop calling
me that
, though he supposed it was at least slightly less embarrassing
than his
actual
name. He clicked off the line, then turned back to his
computer and flicked on the infrared camera feed inside the cubby.
Brandon was huddled in the middle of the room, arms wrapped
around his drawn-up knees. His face was turned away from the
camera, but Jonathan could hear the soft sound of his breathing, the
tiny hitch that might have been cold shivering or might have been
crying. For a second, Jonathan was tempted to get up, go down there
and let him out. But then he’d have to deal with Brandon’s sullenness
and bad behavior for the rest of the day, and he most definitely was
not
up for that right now.
Truth to tell, he wasn’t sure he was up for it anymore, full stop.
Was Brandon really worth it? Last week Jonathan would have said
yes without hesitation, but today . . . today he was just plain
tired
.
Tired of fighting an endless battle of wills with a submissive he wasn’t
entirely sure
was
submissive. Maybe he really had misread Brandon,
despite Devon’s certainty. But then, Devon had never met Brandon.
He didn’t know how bad things could get. How bad they were right
now.Somehow, he didn’t think a mere talk
was going to fix this. But
he supposed he had to try.
CHAPTER
17
ran’s eyes squeezed shut instinctively as the door creaked open,
a faint sliver of light leaking in from the hal way. Dread twisted
through him, tension bunching up his muscles as he skittered away,
putting his back to the wal . The shadow in the doorway looked . . .
not as familiar as he was expecting. Shorter. Thinner.
Then the light overhead flicked on, and he flung an arm over his
eyes.“Come on,” Jonathan said, stepping inside, holding out his hand.
Bran’s vision finally adjusted to the sudden burst of light, but still he
blinked, gazing at what looked like a terrycloth robe in Jonathan’s
other hand.
What the fuck?
“Dinner’s ready. You haven’t eaten all day.” A blazing hot hand on
Bran’s shoulder now, under his arm, helping him up. His legs were still
stiff and shaky, mostly from the fucking cold
in here. Jonathan pulled
him up, strangely gentle, held out the robe for him. Bran slipped his
arms into the sleeves, shivering at soft fabric on sore skin. When was
the last time he’d had on more than a pair of fucking cuffs? A week?
Two? Three? He’d lost all track of time since he’d arrived.
The robe covered him from neck to mid-calf. He tucked it
tightly around himself, but when he went to knot the belt, his fingers
wouldn’t cooperate. They felt like frozen sausages, too clumsy to do
any good. Jonathan reached over and did it for him, then patted him
on the shoulder again. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Jonathan led them to the elevator—
probably because he’s afraid
I’ll fall and break my fucking neck
on the stairs—
a hand under his
arm to steady him. When the doors opened, he guided Bran into the
dining room.
Bran’s gaze locked immediately on the dining room table. Two
places set. And no cushion on the floor by Jonathan’s chair.
“Have a seat,” Jonathan said, gesturing toward the chair opposite
him. Bran sat gingerly, his tender ass sending up a protest as he did.
Still, it hurt less than kneeling on the fucking floor.
Jonathan lifted the covers on the serving dishes and began
spooning food onto Bran’s plate. Whatever it was, it smelled good—
even for vegetarian crap. Something with stir-fried veggies and tofu.
Something else with greens and fruit and nuts, like a Waldorf salad.
He put his nose closer to the plate, inhaling with lust. He was hungry
enough to eat with his fingers, but thankfully there was a fork right
there.
“Um . . . may I ask something, Jonathan?”
Jonathan finished fixing his own plate and sat down. “Go ahead.
But if you’re wondering if you can feed yourself, that’s why I gave
you the fork. And if you’re wondering why I’ve dressed you and let
you sit at the table, well, I’d like to discuss some things with you
tonight, and I want you to feel free to speak your mind, as an equal,
without fear of reprisal.” He pulled a familiar key from his pocket,
slid it across the table. Bran snatched it up and unlocked his wrist
and ankle cuffs before Jonathan changed his mind. “Just you and me
as two . . .” He bit his lower lip, an irritatingly sexy little quirk of his.
“As two friends,” he offered hesitantly, like maybe he worried Bran
would contradict him.
Actually . . . no fear of reprisal? In that case, “We’re
not
friends.”
Jonathan winced, nodded. “I rather thought you might say that.
But we were once, weren’t we?”
Bran glanced up at him, rubbing at the bruising on his left wrist.
The marks went so deep it hurt to move his fingers. “We were two
guys fucking in an alley,” he said, cold as he knew how to make it.
Jonathan winced again. There’d been more between them than
just that and they both knew it, but no way was Bran admitting that
now.“I do . . .” Jonathan began, then stopped. What’d happened to
all his fucking
confidence
? “I do
care
for you, Brandon. I think I have
from the moment I met you. And I would very much
like
to be your
friend again.”
Bran picked up his fork, stabbed angrily at a perfectly-cooked,
perfectly-seasoned crown of broccoli and said around it, “You have
a funny way of showing it.” Speared a potato and added, “You could
start by using my actual fucking
name
, you know. Or maybe I should
start cal ing you
Ocean Windsong
?”
Another wince, this one more self-conscious than the ones before.
Was he
blushing
?
“Yeah, you’re not the only one who can use Google, you smug
little fuck.”
Jonathan’s jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his
fork—as yet unused; he hadn’t touched his food—but all he did was
duck his head and say, very softly, “I suppose I deserve that.”
“Oh, you
suppose
, do you?” There was something very satisfying
about getting this all out of his system. In knowing he could speak
freely and not be fucking flogged or caned
or spanked for it. Or put
in a motherfucking
coffin.
“But you have to understand, being a Dominant . . .” Jonathan
shook his head. “It’s not about
smugness
. It’s about
steadiness
. It’s my
job to understand you, inside and out. It’s my job to know things, to
be able to act on them with confidence. To be your anchor when you
fly. To be the rock you can depend on when the ground tilts beneath
your feet. It’s my job to take care of you, just as surely as it’s your
job to take care of me. And you’ve not permitted me to do
any
of
that. You’ve not
trusted
me. Even though I’ve never lied to you. Even
though I’ve never indulged my own desires ahead of yours, never
beat you just for my own pleasure, never set you to tasks you can’t
accomplish. Even though I’ve held you when you’ve cried, and cared
for you when you’ve suffered, and tried with all I have to open your
eyes to the wonders of this world, to show you the pleasures inside
yourself. And I think . . .” Another sexy lip-bite; Bran very seriously
considered punching him in the mouth just to make him
stop that
.
“I think that if you’re going to continue refusing these things—the
most valuable, precious things I know how to give—if you’re going
to keep insisting you don’t want them, then it’s time I start believing
you. Time for you to leave.”
What?
After all he’d been through—the punishments he’d taken,
being stripped naked and treated like a fucking
animal
—Jonathan