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)
“But it might work, as well.” Brand met that red-rimmed gaze in confusion; wasn’t some chance better than none? “I’m sorry I did not tell you beforehand. I didn’t want to raise your hopes, only to crush them if I hadn’t been a match.”
“But why are you doing this?” Ash demanded. “It’s…it’s like you’re fucking furniture and you don’t even care if you get shoved around to suit everyone else’s needs!”
Brand shook his head. “Don’t you understand that I need to? I am not furniture. I made a conscious choice. This…this is what I need. For you, not for him. If I can’t…” Brand fought the urge to swear, struggling to articulate himself. These were things he had held inside him like close-kept secrets for so long he’d forgotten the words for them, like ancient stories lost to time. “If I can’t be for you, then I’m not…I am not anything, young Master.”
“Yes, you are!” Ash flared with such vehemence that he caught Brand off guard, striking his heart with an impact as sharp as a blow. “How can you not see that?”
While Brand stared at Ash, Ash pushed himself up to his knees, fumbling in pajamas several sizes too large for him and looking like nothing more than an upset little boy caught up in the fury and fire of such unchecked, raw, pure emotion. His lips trembled, as he glared up at Brand with his heart in his eyes and on his lips.
“You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” Ash bit off. “But if not for you I’d have fallen apart and ruined everything in less than a day. And not just because you keep sacrificing yourself and putting me first. Because underneath that fucking asshole exterior you’re kind, you’re smart, you’re selfless, you’re gentle, you’re good. Fuck, you’re even fucking funny sometimes.” With a miserable little sound that trailed into a hiccup, Ash sniffled and scrubbed at his nose. “You’re someone to look up to. Someone I want to be proud of me for the things I’ve done. That kept me moving more than anything you did to put my needs ahead of your own.”
Brand felt as though he had swallowed his heart and lodged it in his throat. He could only look at Ashton—at this fierce, beautiful young man overflowing with so much emotion, and giving that emotion to him. Telling him he was worth that emotion, whether he chose to give up pieces of himself to Ashton or not. He tried to remember if anyone else had ever said such things to him.
And it ached inside, that he couldn’t recall a single instance.
“I…young Master, I…” He bowed his head—then leaned in, unable to resist his young Master’s magnetism, resting his brow to Ashton’s. “…Ash.”
Ash brought his hands up to curl against Brand’s throat, leaning into him hard. “I don’t want to lose my dad,” he whispered. “But I don’t want you to hurt yourself just to feel like you’re worth something to me, either.”
“What if I simply want to do it?” Brand asked—and after a moment of self-doubt, he enfolded Ash in his arms, pulling him in close. Where he belonged. “It…simply feels right. It feels like the right thing to do and since I am able, my conscience will allow little else. I can suffer some small few days of pain to give Mr. Harrington a longer lease on life.”
Lashes trembling, wide eyes searched Brand’s face. “If you’re really sure that’s what you want,” Ash said, voice choking. “Only if you’re really sure.”
“I am.”
Ash’s lovely face crumpled, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “Brand,” he breathed almost reverently—then drew him in and kissed him.
Brand almost didn’t feel worthy of the reverence with which Ashton kissed him—and yet he would never deny that affection, that warmth, that unshielded emotion that he cherished so deeply. He sank into Ash, taking that lovely mouth and making it his until Ash yielded for him in that perfect way that made his lips so soft, that made him so open, this waiting vessel begging to take Brand inside him.
And Brand answered that unspoken plea—delving past his lips, tasting his sweetness, drugging himself on those delicate, gasping reactions when Ash trembled for him like an ingénue every time, shivered himself into fragile ecstasy as he surrendered himself over to Brand. Brand burned with the pleasure of his young Master’s submission, ached with how small he felt beneath Brand’s touch, that slender body nearly vanishing into the grasp of Brand’s enfolding hands. When Ash kissed him this way, clutched at him this way, Brand wanted nothing more than to make his claim complete.
To mark Ashton in a way that would make him Brand’s forever, forbidden and secret yet undeniably there.
And so he parted himself from those sweet lips, even when they sought his again, so needy, so damp, begging in little kittenish mewls that set his blood aflame. He pressed his fingers to plush lips, caressing them, as he kissed a trail made of the luscious taste of skin and boyish sweat and the heat of desire, following its path down Ash’s jaw, his neck. His lovely boy rewarded him with a willingly bared throat, his pulse moving so hard against his skin—and fluttering against Brand’s mouth. He sucked the first sheen of perspiration from Ash’s skin, laved fragile flesh with licking tastes, drew that soft pulse into his mouth.