CHAPTER TWELVE

IT WAS ALMOST ANTICLIMACTIC, THE following morning, for Ash to get up and just…leave the hospital. Just like that. Especially after nearly dying in a hit and run.

And especially after a night spent trembling in Brand’s arms, soft and submissive while the man simply kissed him in a way he’d never been kissed before in his life.

He was accustomed to quick, rushed, messy kisses. Aggressive and pushy kisses that tasted of Jaegermeister and hot young hormones, thoughtless and acting on sheer instinct and self-gratification.

The way Brand kissed…it was with slow, lingering deliberation, intimacy. Brand kissed with purpose—and that purpose was to leave Ash completely vulnerable, completely exposed, no part of his mouth left untouched, untasted, unexplored.

And yet no control in what shivering height Brand would push him to next when the man held him so firmly, cradled his head in long fingers, dwarfed him against his bulk…and guided him where Brand would lead, leaving Ash gasping and trailing helplessly in his wake.

Brand had teased him for hours, until Ash was a melted, whimpering mess, boneless and desperate for anything—any touch, any kiss, anything Brand would give him to ease the molten feeling flowing through him and pooling down in that slow-burn, needy place that pulsed just below and behind his cock.

And Brand had given him nothing.

He had only kissed Ash’s forehead, drawn the thin hospital blanket up over both of them, and quietly ordered Ash to go to sleep.

Then closed his eyes himself, a quiet statue where Ash couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep, only that he had every intention of leaving Ash writhing if he didn’t do as he was told.

So that was his first taste of exactly what Brand wanted from him. This…control, this dependency that made fear twist up hot and delicious in the pit of his stomach, and only made that deep, sluggishly warm arousal even worse; this thing that he now realized Brand had been holding back from him, giving only just enough their first time together to let him glimpse, but never truly know.

His second taste came that morning; he’d finally managed to sleep, only to wake not long after dawn to Brand stirring and slipping out of bed. Ash had curled against the pillows, reaching across the bed to the wrinkled warm spot where Brand had been, yawning and looking up at him shyly, sleepily.

“Where are you going?” he’d mumbled, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

“To the manor to fetch you proper clean clothing. Yours was ruined in the accident. I will return within the hour.” Brand fixed him with a stern look. “Stay in bed.”

Ash pouted, pushing himself up on one hand and rubbing at his eyes sleepily. “But I feel fine—”

His breaths knocked from him in surprise as Brand’s hand firmly pressed to his chest, a skin-shivering, enticing flex of strength pushing Ash easily back to the bed and holding him there. Brand leaned over him, blocking out the light, taking up his world, making his heart beat faster with the way those dark green eyes cut into him.

“You will stay in bed until I return,” Brand commanded softly, an edge of menace to his voice; his splayed fingers stroked slowly down Ash’s chest. “If I have even an inkling that you have been out of this bed, I will tie you to it until the doctor arrives to take you for your MRI, or release you. Do I make myself understood?”

Breathing shallowly, heart rabbiting, Ash nodded, mouth too dry to even speak, thoughts circling too sharply to form words.

“Good.”

Then Brand had dipped to kiss him, just the quickest moment of domineering, needy pressure, a taunting caress of a heated tongue…

Before he was gone with one last look of warning, leaving Ash curled up in bed and breathing in short, panting gasps and so fucking hot he thought he was going to spontaneously combust.

And so very tempted to find out if Brand would make good on that promise, if he got out of bed.

But he was good; this was still too new, too confusing for him to test it, and he was still sorting out his feelings about it. About Brand, when he felt like…he felt like…

Like he was seeing Brand as a whole person for the first time, without the careful barrier Brand kept between his feelings and those who might find them unacceptable. Brand had been intriguing from the start, but this new side to him was fascinating. Compelling. Real.

And Ash couldn’t help flushing, as he curled against the pillows and lingered over the taste of his valet’s lips, the firm and commanding touch of steady hands.

He was such a cliché, wasn’t he?

Falling for the hired help.

He was still blushing, when Brand returned with a clean, freshly-pressed suit. And was rewarded for his obedience with another of those kisses that left him melted, making it even harder to endure Brand’s hands on his body, the slow deliberation of every touch, the skimming caress of Brand’s fingertips tracing over every inch of him as the man dressed him.

When the doctor came for one last look at him and signed off on discharge, Ash managed to pull himself together enough to act like he was actually the one in charge here, while Brand retreated dutifully to his shoulder, silent and watchful.

Yet there was a charged portent around him, a wordless reminder.

Ash might be his employer, and perhaps they might keep up appearances…

But Ash was in no way the one in control.

He couldn’t take his gaze away from Brand’s profile, on the drive home. Now and then a warm, lingering glance caught him in the rear view mirror and he flushed again, glancing away with a faint smile.

That smile vanished, though, when they pulled in at the house. Brand had barely pulled the car door open for him and helped him out with a guiding hand before the front door of the house opened and his mother spilled out, pushing his father in a wheelchair—only to abandon the chair and tumble down the walk to pull Ash into a tight hug.

“Ash,” Amiko gasped. “When we got the call from the hospital, I—just—you’re all right?”

Ash stood still. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her back, right now. This sudden concern, this…presence, he just…didn’t know what to do with them. “Nothing broken,” he said tightly. “Not even bleeding. I’m okay, Mom. Promise. The car’s in worse shape than I am.”

His father shifted in his chair as if he would try to stand, then slumped, this bag of brittle bones. “Son,” he said gruffly.

“Really. I’m all right.” Ash forced a smile. “You don’t need to worry. I just need a day off to rest, and then it’s back to work tomorrow.” He caught Brand’s eye almost desperately and tossed his head toward the door. “Forsythe.”

“Young Master,” Brand replied smoothly, gliding around him and pulling the door of the house open.

Ash flashed his parents another weak smile, then ducked inside, moving quickly toward his suite. Brand caught up with him in a few long strides, hovering at his shoulder.

“You were rather short with your parents.”

With a shrug, Ash slowed his stride, glancing back. “Mom and Dad both…” He sighed. “Suddenly they want to talk to me about…being parents. When before they were more like silhouettes on the other side of a screen.” He grimaced. “I’m twenty-three. I don’t need a mother and father now, but…I don’t hate them for it, either? I just don’t know what to do with it.”

They paused so Brand could hold the door to Ash’s suite for him, only to follow him inside. “Was there ever a time when you did need them?”

“Maybe when I was ten and wondering why my father sent me to boarding school in fucking Liverpool, and my mother was suddenly on the other side of the world.”

With a sigh, he flung himself down on the bed, reaching up to loosen his tie—only to freeze when Brand brushed his hands aside. Ash stared up at him, eyes wide, pulse ticking hard against his throat as Brand gently began to unknot his tie. Even the smallest things carried so much more weight now, knowing that when Brand did something so simple as tug his tie away, the hiss of silk on cotton so loud in the silence…

It meant more, to him.

Brand slowly wound Ash’s tie around his fist, smoothing it meticulously. “Do carry on,” he said softly.

Ash swallowed, searching for his train of thought again when his mind was intensely riveted on the hard play of Brand’s knuckles against his gloves, the firm surety in each movement, almost menacing.

“Um,” he managed. “I…no. I’ve…never really needed that. I know…I know what I must look like to you. This helpless mess careening everywhere.” He smiled faintly. “But all I’ve ever been dependent on anyone for was money. I guess because I was too busy avoiding responsibility, so I wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone for anything else. I’ve just…never needed anyone.” He reached for the top button of his shirt—just so Brand would stop him; just so Brand would capture his hand, pulling it away. “Not the way I seem to need you,” he admitted.

Brand laced their fingers together, one at a time—then pushed Ash’s hand up over his head, gently pinning it to the bed; his breaths hitched, everything inside him drawing tight as Brand leaned over him, gloved caress stroking his throat as he slipped that one button open…then trailed his fingers down, until he found the buckle of Ash’s belt and meticulously slipped it open.

“You did hire me for a reason, young Master,” Brand murmured.

“…yeah.” Ash bit his lip, then reached up with his free hand to trace Brand’s lips. “Can we talk about anything else, right now? Anything at all?”

Brand’s eyes gleamed. His fingers tightened on Ash’s. “We can talk about this erroneous idea that you are taking today off.”

Heat vanished instantly. Ash groaned, thunking his head back against the bed. “…goddammit, Brand.”

“You are working from home today, but you are still working.”

“…can I at least work from bed?”

“My bed.”

Ash grinned, sitting up, scooting toward the edge of the bed and dragging his grip on Brand’s hand with him. “I can work with that. Now get me out of these fucking shoes. They pinch.”

With a snort, Brand rolled his eyes, sinking to one knee. “As my young brat commands.”

IF BRAND WASN’T CAREFUL, HE was going to crash the car.

He couldn’t seem to stop watching Ashton in the rear view mirror of the sleek black Dodge Jeep that had taken the place of the wrecked Mercedes, for now. Then again, he’d hardly been able to take his eyes off the young Master since Monday night. First that fear that he had almost lost him, that limp and lifeless form spilling out of the smoking car, the terror that his breaths might stop at any moment…

…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.

Then caught the tip of one glove in his teeth, that bizarre little habit of his that nonetheless riveted Ash’s gaze on the erotic cruelty of his stern mouth, on the sheer sensuality of working lips as the gloves slid away from those long, elegant hands.

“Now, young Master,” Brand murmured, a husky and whispered growl, “I believe it is time that you learned a lesson.”

BRAND FORSYTHE WAS APPARENTLY A very, very bad man.

He must be, to be so very irritated that Ashton had done something so simple as pushing an elevator button for himself. And he must truly be terrible, to savor so deeply the look of wide-eyed confusion on that lovely face, blue eyes glimmering with trepidation. For all that he was no virgin, for all that he had steeped himself in worldly ways, young Master Ashton was so innocent, and it showed in his shallow breaths, in the beat of his pulse against his throat, in the touch of fear with which he regarded Brand in the silence between them.

And it should not arouse Brand so much, but it did.

The young Master would learn his place.

And perhaps, now, he would truly understand what he had ensnared himself in.

Brand finished peeling his gloves off, and dropped them into his pocket. He wanted skin to skin, for this. Ash’s gaze darted to his hands, then back to his face; he backed up another step, until his shoulders hit the wall.

“B-Brand…?”

“You did not wait,” Brand said—and caught his young Master around his slim waist, jerking him away from the wall and close against him.

Ash let out a soft cry, his back arching, for a moment struggling before he went limp against Brand, clutching at his coat, lowering his eyes in that way he had that set Brand’s blood on fire with the soft, demure downsweep of his lashes, the way his pale amber cheeks flushed against golden freckles, the glisten of his parted pink lips.

“I’m sorry,” Ash whispered. “I…I didn’t realize…”

“Exactly. You did not realize.” Brand caught Ash’s chin lightly, tracing that tempting lower lip with his thumb—then pushed Ashton away, curling his hand in the back of his suit coat to guide him, turning him swiftly around to push him face-first up against the elevator wall. “But you will learn.”

“Wh-what are y—”

Brand didn’t give Ash a chance to finish. He slipped his arms around him from behind, pulling that lithe, agile body against him, savoring the tremor that went through Ash and rolled into Brand like seismic waves. When Brand caught the tongue of the young Master’s belt buckle and drew it open, Ash sucked in a sharp breath; when Brand teased the button and zipper of his slacks open, Ash went tense.

And when Brand slipped his hand inside layers of fabric to press skin to skin, grazing his fingertips to the base of Ash’s cock…

Ash went boneless against him with a low, whimpering moan, as shocked as wide blue eyes before those eyes fluttered closed.

Brand wrapped his hand firmly around Ash’s cock. The young Master shuddered against him with shallow, gasping breaths as Brand stroked him, explored him, coaxed him to hardness and savored the feeling of hot flesh thickening, swelling, firming against his palm. Ash sagged against the elevator wall, writhing between it and Brand, hands curling helplessly against the polished steel as he cried out in low, erotic, breathless sounds that whispered as much of fear as of pleasure, as much of protest as of plea. Those were the sounds of someone confused, violated, inundated in pleasure and yet entirely distressed by it.

And they were exactly what Brand craved to hear.

“B-brand,” Ash keened softly, helpless and low. “Oh God, Brand…wh-what are you…”

“Did I not say you are to allow me to do for you?” Brand breathed against Ash’s ear, and was rewarded by a sharp tremor, a sudden surging throb of Ash’s cock against his palm, slickening with the warm liquid musk of dripping pre-come. “Did I not say you are to do as you are told?”

He tightened his grip just enough, then—just enough to make Ash rise up on his toes with a cry. “Y-yes!”

“And you did not.”

“I…I…” Ash was nearly sobbing in his harsh, gasping breaths, rolling his hips into Brand’s touch. “I’m…I’m sorry…”

“Not yet, my young Master.”

Brand brushed the fingertips of his free hand to Ash’s mouth…and Ash answered by parting his lips for him, opening for him as if blooming for him, that wet, hot mouth inviting. Brand slowly slipped his two middle fingers into Ash’s mouth, delving into that slick heat, filling his mouth in intimate mimicry of what he craved to do to his young Master’s body. Ash’s tongue fluttered helplessly against his fingers—before those soft lips closed over his flesh, parting again and again on keening gasps only to glide and suckle at Brand’s fingers, leaving them slick with the licking, caressing touch of his young Master’s tongue. Brand’s cock throbbed almost painfully, pressed against the young Master’s back, begging for relief—but this was not for him.

This was so his young Master would learn a lesson.

He traced his mouth against Ash’s ear, whispering. “I would suggest you hurry.” Faster he stroked, tracing his thumb underneath the flared head of Ash’s cock, finding every sweet spot, every vein, every ridge. “We do not have long before security comes to investigate.”

“Brand—Brand!” Ash whimpered.

Only to arch back, his head falling against Brand’s chest, lovely features slack with gasping, lost pleasure as his body tensed, trembled…and unraveled into sweet bliss for Brand, spilling wetly over his fingers.

He caught Ash’s weight gently as the young Master sagged against him, and gingerly freed his hand from the confines of Ash’s slacks—only to press his slicked, dirtied fingers to Ash’s lips, replacing one hand with the other, painting his mouth in glistening streaks. Ash moaned softly, lashes fluttering—before his lips parted submissively and his tongue snaked out to lick Brand’s fingers clean as they delved inside.

Perfect, Brand thought, watching with a slow and patient pleasure. Entirely perfect.

As Ash licked the last of his come away, Brand gradually withdrew his fingers, then retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket. Still holding his young Master up with one arm, he dabbed his mouth clean, then wiped his own fingers before slipping back inside Ash’s slacks to clean him gently. Nonetheless Ash cried out at the touch of the cloth, arching once more, hands falling to clutch at Brand’s wrist.

“Shh,” Brand soothed, and bent to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Almost done.”

Once he finished, Ash went limp against him again, unresisting as Brand set his young Master’s clothing to rights, then guided him to his feet, drawing him around to face him. Ash looked up at him with dazed, satiated, darkened eyes, his cheeks still flushed and his lips still parted. Brand cradled his face in both hands, leaning down to kiss him, stealing the taste of Ash’s pleasure from his lips.

“Now do you understand what I expect from you?” he whispered.

Ash’s lids fluttered downward, and he swayed into Brand. “Y-yes,” he sighed.

“Say ‘yes, Brand.’”

Ash bit his lip, plush mouth moving against Brand’s, before he said those words that made pleasure curl so deep. “…y-yes…Brand.”

“Good,” Brand murmured.

Then pulled away, leaving his young Master standing there looking entirely lost and disarrayed, while Brand hid his satisfied smile and reconnected the security camera, before setting the elevator into motion again.