Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] (40 page)

in the nuts, more nudge than kick but still painful enough to double

him over. He didn’t even realize he’d scraped his knees on the pavers

until the pain in his nuts had faded.

“Break position again and I’ll correct you with
this
,” Jonathan

said, not even looking
at Bran as he picked up a . . . What the fuck was

that? Bran squinted, leaned forward for a closer look, and Jonathan

casually reached down and touched it to his thigh. Next Bran knew,

he was curled over himself screaming, the pain of the shock so big

he couldn’t even wrap his head around it for a good ten seconds.

That fucking
stun gun
, the one Jonathan had teased him with that

night he’d tied him to the footboard, ten times as bad as the shock

cage and not nearly so quick to fade. Was that thing even
legal
? His

thigh muscle twitched uncomfortably, twitched again, then settled.

He clenched his hands behind his back, desperate to rub at his still-

throbbing leg, terrified that Jonathan would zap him again if he did.

“When we’re done with breakfast, you’ll be getting to know this

toy
very
well. If you’re prone to vomiting, perhaps you’d like to wait

to eat until later.”

Prone to
vomiting
? What did that even
mean
? And why the fuck

wouldn’t Jonathan even
look
at him?

“In fact, I think you’ve had enough breakfast for now.” Two

strawberries and a spoonful of oatmeal after a 24-hour fast was

enough? Apparently, because Jonathan stood, dragging Bran up by his

hair, shoving him out the door ahead of him. Down to the dungeon

they went, his heart thudding so hard he felt dizzy. Amazing—
no,

shameful
—how fast the bravado cracked when fucking
stun guns

came into play. He stumbled inside, and Jonathan quickly grabbed

his arm, yanking him over to the suspension bar. “Stay here.”

Jonathan went over to the toy rack and came back with the

leather cuffs he’d used that time he’d flogged him. With the suede

flogger. The one thing in this motherfucking room that had actually

felt good.

No such luck today.

It took every last shred of will to keep from bolting at the

thought of that stun gun zapping him again. Fortunately, he had a lot

of fucking will; he stood there quietly, biting his lip so hard he was

surprised he didn’t make himself bleed while Jonathan removed the

painful steel cuffs and replaced them with the leather, then gestured

for him to reach up and grip the bar.

Jonathan clipped the leather cuffs to either end of the bar, then

bent down to attach the leather ankle cuffs to the chains in the floor.

Pulled the chains taut, and in doing so pulled his legs wide apart,

almost uncomfortably so. No fucking slack at al .

No room to struggle.

Back to the toy rack. This time Jonathan returned with a long

leather strap with a buckle on the end and a dick-thick, black rubber

bit in the middle.

“Since I’ve heard quite enough lip from you this morning, you

can wrap your smart mouth around this.” Jonathan shoved the bit

between Bran’s teeth and buckled the strap at the back of his neck, so

tight the bit hurt the corners of his mouth. Left his hand there for a

fraction of a second, lightly teasing Bran’s hair. The way he used to at

the beginning, before everything had gone to hell.

Bran jerked his head away.

Jonathan clenched his fingers in Bran’s hair and yanked his head

back. “Don’t even think about pul ing away from me again. I’ll touch

you if I damn well please.” He tugged Bran’s head back even further—

felt like he was pul ing the hair out at the fucking roots; Bran’s eyes

watered and he clenched his teeth around the bit.

Jonathan’s lips brushed his ear, hot breath and a flash of tongue.

“Or maybe I’ll just
fuck
you.” Another tug, accompanied this time by

a thrust of hips against him. “Right here, right like this.” Jonathan’s

free hand came down in a hard slap across his ass, then parted his

cheeks. One finger stabbed dry inside him and he barked a cry around

the gag, squeezed his eyes shut. Couldn’t even close his legs. Couldn’t

even
safeword
.

Jesus fuck, was Jonathan gonna rape him dry?

“Breathe,” Jonathan said, stepping back a little, fist still in Bran’s

hair. He gave Bran’s head a hard shake, said, “Breathe,” again. Bran

sucked in a deep, shaky breath through his nose, felt his thrashing

heart begin to settle, just a little, down to beats he could distinguish

one from the next. “Here.” Jonathan reached up, stuffed something

soft into Bran’s right hand, turned Bran’s head by the hair until he

could see it. The red paisley handkerchief?

“That’s red, remember?” Jonathan said, giving his hair another

tug, and holy fuck how had it not all just ripped out in his hand

already?
Shit
, his scalp hurt. “Drop that and I stop. Drop it before you

need to and you give me grounds to void the contract, understand?”

Jonathan’s fingers loosened just enough for Bran to nod his head.

Fuck, Bran even believed him. He’d
know
if Bran were faking. He

always
knew.

Jonathan circled around to face him. Curled one hand behind

Bran’s neck, lifted the stun gun in the other. He pressed it to the

hollow between Bran’s col arbones, dug in hard. Bran tried to jerk

away, couldn’t with Jonathan holding him like that. Fuck, but the

thing was cold. Jonathan dragged it down his sternum, leaned in

and pressed his mouth to where the stun gun had been—a hot, soft

contrast to the cold hard steel of the contacts. He licked, sucked, and

if Bran hadn’t been so fucking disgusted he supposed it would’ve felt

pretty nice . . . until Jonathan
bit
him hard enough to leave a mark.

He cried out around the gag, tried again to pull away, got nowhere.

Jonathan’s teeth were still latched to his skin, still biting-digging like

he was trying to
eat
him, and there was no fucking way
anything
could

hurt that much and not draw blood and he’d
promised
—

Jonathan let go, stepped back. Bran looked down at the bruise

Jonathan had raised near the top of his sternum. Jesus, it looked nasty,

but much to his surprise, it wasn’t bleeding.
At least not openly. Plenty

of blood
beneath
the skin, though.

Jonathan grinned like a shark and dug the pad of his thumb into

the teeth marks until Bran whimpered, squeezing tears from the

corners of his tightly clenched eyes—

Which flew open really fucking fast when Jonathan jammed the

stun gun low on his left hip and pressed the trigger.

Jonathan had to admit to a little thrill as Brandon screamed

around the bit gag, jerking and writhing in his bonds. He was

chained via spreader bars to the floor and ceiling, but that didn’t stop

him from thrashing around like he was dying. “What’s the matter?”

Jonathan drawled, lifting the stun gun to Brandon’s tearing eyes and

triggering it a few inches from his face. Brandon’s eyes widened and

his head snapped back. “Did that
hurt
?”

Those green eyes narrowed dangerously, lips peeling back from

around the bit to bare two endless rows of teeth.

“What’s that? You want another?” Brandon’s glare could’ve flayed

the skin off Jonathan’s face. He trailed the stun gun down Brandon’s

chest, belly, pelvis, teased the length of his cock with it. Brandon’s

chest heaved and his thigh muscles bunched into sharp relief, fighting

the spreader bar, but of course the restraints held. The urge to shock

his genitals was strong, but he didn’t want to push that hard unless he

had
to, so he slid the stun gun back, to Brandon’s balls, his ass, pressed

the contacts firmly to one cheek and said, “Since you asked so nicely,”

then pulled the trigger.

Another muffled scream that surged through him like a lightning

bolt, heading straight for his cock. Not what he’d intended, but good

Lord it was hot watching Brandon struggle. Every muscle in that lean

body clenched, sweat dripping down his chest, teeth sinking harder

into the bit, breaths so ragged and rapid he wondered if Brandon

wouldn’t pass right out. Such exquisite suffering. Why hadn’t he

thought to do this before?

Oh, yes. Because you were trying to be
nice.

He slid his hand—and the stun gun—back between Brandon’s

legs, caressed Brandon’s inner thigh with it, then drifted round to the

back of Brandon’s left leg. Dragged the contacts over the long muscle

there, which was trembling hard enough to feel right through the

stun gun. He glanced up, saw Brandon’s head tipped back, eyes fixed

on the ceiling, cheeks streaked with sweat and at least a few tears. He

looked . . . terrified. Resigned. And yet, somehow,
defiant.
Braced to

take whatever Jonathan could dish out. His hand was fisted so tight

around the handkerchief his knuckles were white. He clearly had no

intention of dropping the thing anytime soon.

Come on, you bloody fool. Just end it and go home.

Jonathan pressed the stun gun to the hollow of Brandon’s left

knee and squeezed the trigger again.

Chains rattled hard as Brandon screamed, jerked. Jonathan

stumbled back on reflex, getting his face out of the way of Brandon’s

kicking leg, but of course the chains caught before the man could

move more than an inch or two. Muscles twitched all up and down

Brandon’s leg, just for a moment, then settled. His chin fell against

his heaving chest. Even the fingers of his free hand had gone slack.

Jonathan gritted his teeth and jammed the stun gun into the

crease between pelvis and thigh, triggered it again. Best not to let

Brandon catch his breath. It’d be over faster this way. Another zap on

the opposite side, another writhing scream, yet still the stubborn fool

held onto the handkerchief, clung
to it like he couldn’t unclench his

fist even if he wanted to.

Bloody hell.
Jonathan reached up, grabbed at the hankie, gave

it a tug. Brandon’s fingers clamped down tighter. “Let go. I’m just

switching hands.”

Good, Brandon could still unclench those fingers after al .

Jonathan stuffed the hankie in Brandon’s opposite fist and turned his

attention back to that long lean body hanging at his mercy.

Or rather, his
lack
of it. He almost smiled at the thought, but

arousing as this was, he wanted it done with, and the sooner the

better.

One sure way to manage that . . .

He wedged the stun gun between Brandon’s cock and balls,

wrapped hard fingers around the back of Brandon’s neck, and

whispered in his ear, “Had enough yet?”

Fine tremors beneath his fingers were Brandon’s only response.

The man didn’t even look
at him. He let go of Brandon’s neck, grabbed

him by the chin instead. Gave in to the impulse to lean in and lick the

tears off one cheek. “Mmm,” he hummed into Brandon’s ear, long and

leering. Brandon shuddered, tried to turn his face away. Jonathan let

him, but only because he didn’t want his hands on Brandon’s body as

he pulled the trigger again.

The scream this time went on
forever
, and when Brandon ran out

of air, he sucked in a new breath and screamed all over again. Jonathan

took advantage, depressing the trigger once more, the contacts still

wedged up between Brandon’s cock and balls. Brandon’s scream

trailed off into a sob, and he shook his head, shook his whole body,

trying to escape the agony. Another zap, and the scream didn’t even

make it out this time—just a cracked, broken whimper, Brandon’s

trembling body slumping in his restraints as the handkerchief,
at last
,

fluttered to the ground.

Strange to be so sickened and so relieved and so bloody
aroused

all at the same time.

Jonathan laid the stun gun on a nearby table, fighting the desire