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)
“Leave it on,” he whispered.
Understanding sharpened in Brand’s gaze. He turned his hand to capture Ash’s—then pushed it up over his head, pinning it gently to the pillows, trapping him.
“Open yourself for me, young Master,” he murmured, that possessive, claiming gaze wandering down his body.
Ash couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t look at Brand when he felt so exposed, vulnerable—and he turned his face aside as he spread his legs for Brand, toes curling in the sheets. He was too bare, giving himself over this way, and the sensation of being so unprotected made him burn beneath his skin.
But it was nothing to the sensation as bare skin suddenly touched his entrance—gloves gone, fingertips rough, not even the coating of something slick managing to ease their callused texture. Ash caught the faint snick of a bottle of lubricant closing—a proper valet is always prepared—before thick fingertips circled his flesh, rousing chills, then flame, then senseless nothing as slowly, with cruel deliberation, one blunt fingertip eased inside him.
He’d been fucked again and again by clumsy rutting college boys, and not one had touched him with the control and surety Brand possessed, easing that single finger into him until he felt every ridge, every knuckle, every taper of its length stroking against him from within. It bordered on violation, this slick tight pain as oil spread against his skin and Brand caressed him. Ash went stiff as he forgot how to breathe, light-headed, swimming—only to suck in a choked exhalation as that slow, deep penetration of a single finger was suddenly followed by the unexpected rough burn of a second thrusting in deep. He fought against that hand pinning his wrist, straining as if his arm were a tether, a leash binding him to Brand and forcing his obedience to the onslaught of swift, demanding strokes that took control of his body from the inside out.
He nearly wept with frustration, with pleasure, with something deep and wrenching that tore into him. It was everything he wanted and never enough, always stopping just short of making him feel full enough, hot enough, deep enough. He spread his thighs wide, straining into every plunging, intimate rush of Brand’s fingers.
“Are you ready then, my young Master?” Brand lilted—and something about the way he said my young Master sent sweet chills up Ash’s spine. He curled forward as another particularly deep thrust branched lightning inside him, wrapping his free arm around Brand’s shoulders, burying his mouth against his throat.
“Please,” he begged. “It…it feels like you’re punishing me, please…”
A low, deep rumble spilled past Brand’s lips, so bestial for the cool, perfectly cultured man, as if it had been torn from him in a moment of lost control. He turned his head, mouth brushing Ash’s ear, breaths hot as a predator’s against his skin.
“Who says I am not?” he murmured.
Before he pinned Ash to the sheets with his body, fingers slipping from inside him, hot hands gripping his thighs, pushing them apart, drawing them up, nearly burning Ash in half as he spread him open. There came the rasp of a zipper, then the stroke of burning-hot flesh, slick and molten and dripping in musky, running trails against Ash’s skin, nearly burning into him with wet body heat.
Then pressure. Pressure like nothing he’d ever known, and no stretching or preparation could prepare him for the sensation of being scorched open by slow, steady inches, his body a small thing to be broken and fragmented and remade to mold around the shape of Brand until he fit just right.
Pain came sharp as a slap—red-hot and splitting through him, and he fought back a scream, strangling it in his throat. He wrapped his thighs against Brand’s hips, holding on to him for everything in him as Brand surged slowly, agonizingly deeper, setting him on fire with every inch and leaving only char in his wake.
Ash was shattered. Ash was shattered, small, helpless, caught in this inexorable force of nature in the shape of a man. His eyes prickled, throat burning on every ragged inhalation; he felt too full, as if he was on the thin trembling verge of snapping, the pain white-hot and melting deep into his flesh. He’d never had it hurt like this before, frightening and terrible yet sweet and intimate and delicious, and he whimpered as he turned his face into Brand’s throat.
“Ah—” he gasped, ragged and low. “It hurts…Brand, it hurts…”
That admission only made Brand clutch him tighter, silent save for the subtle rough draw of his breaths, but his cock swelled and throbbed in a harsh, straining jerk inside Ash, making him cry out as it moved inside him, dragging against his stretched and swollen and torn and aching insides.
“Is it too much, my young Master?” Brand whispered.
Ash shook his head with a muted sound, burying tighter against Brand. He didn’t want this to stop, not even if it destroyed him. “No…no, just…”