Page 4 of Branson's Promise

I had done a lot of things, with a lot of guys but this was…. new and completely unexpected. My body tensed up.

Noel kissed my neck and then breathed into my ear, “Let go.” It took a lot of focus to get the stream started, suddenly feeling a bout of stage fright, but a second later, I relaxed and a flow of warm golden liquid hit the toilet bowl. Noel’s breath hitched, followed by a low, rumbling growl that I felt as much as I heard.

“Does that turn you on?” I asked, resisting the urge to throw my head back and rest it against his solid chest. With the hand on my hip, Noel squeezed tighter as he replied, “What do you think?”

What did I think? The feel of his half hard cock growing against me told me the answer was yes. But how did I feel about this?

Now finished, I tucked myself away and pushed him back, walking over to wash my hands. “I think,” I started, “I think it’s time to get back to the wedding.” The fuck had been just that, a fuck but this last bit felt somewhat intimate.

A sort ofhmphsound came from Noel before the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. It occurred to me then that I had meant to ask him not to mention any of this to August or Caleb. I didn’t chase after him though, presuming that he wasn’t about to tell his best friend that he watched his husband's best friend take a piss. Or that he’d helped him do it.

Chapter 2

Milo

“You know you could just ask him for money?” My sister, Mia, said from her spot next to me. We were both staring at the green door in front of us. Number 93. My new home.

I knew what awaited me inside. A small open plan lounge with worn brown carpets, a tiny kitchen with the odd missing tile, a recently refurbished bathroom and two bedrooms. Mine, the smaller of the two with room for a single bed and a narrow set of drawers. The entire apartment was smaller than the pool house of the home I'd grown up in. But for once, it wasn’t paid for by my father so I couldn’t care less if it was tiny. It was mine.

“I'm not asking that bastard for anything, Mia. I finally have a job and enough money to get away. I'm not taking anything from him ever again.”

She was silent for a moment before she spoke, “I hate him too, you know.” I turned towards her and saw the guilt in her features and the wetness at the edge of her eyes. Our relationship with our father - mine especially - was complicated.

He wasn't a good man - not to me at least and I wore the scars to prove it. He treated me like I was the biggest mistake he'd ever made whereas he treated Mia with a sort of feigned indifference in private. In public or in front of his friends, he doted on her. His perfect daughter.

“I know, Mia.” I offered her a small smile. She felt guilty about still living with him, in his huge mansion, with a full employ of staff and his fake persona that had everyone outside our family believing he was God's gift to the community. But I didn’t begrudge her for it - she was only eighteen, and headed to college in the fall though she would be staying at home for the duration. My father was reluctant to let her out of his sight, refusing to pay for her studies unless she remained at home and studied what he wanted her to. As a compromise, because he needed to seem outwardly like a good father, he had agreed to let her study one subject of her choice - English Literature - the rest of her coursework would be tech related, focusing her future towards working alongside him in his multimillion dollar security firm.

She hated it. But she had little choice because without his money, there was no way she could afford to study. I never went to university, I refused the same offer he’d laid out because I wanted away from him more than I wanted a degree. So I spent the last six years working odd jobs, until I had enough put away for the down payment on this place as well as for a few months’ rent. Some of the cash I used towards a tattoo course and now,having completed my apprentice role at a studio a few blocks over, I had a fully paying job.

My father did not approve of my choices, accusing me constantly of ‘throwing my life away’ and of doing it all to spite him so he wasn’t willing to support me. He gave me nothing except the bare necessities whilst flaunting his wealth for all to see. On the few occasions I needed money from him, it came with an emotional cost. Money needed for a tutor, for example, came with a reminder of what a failure I was. Every interaction with him resulted in insults being flung my way.

On the day I’d moved out he’d laughed, assuring me that I would be back, that I couldn’t possibly make something of myself.

You're weak Milo. You'll never amount to anything. You'll just be another washed up wanna be artist out on his ass. You'll come crying to me for help soon enough.

My fists tightened of their own accord and I shook my head then stretched out my fingers, releasing the tension. Mia reached for my hand, gently squeezing it, offering some much needed reassurance.

“You're right Milo, you don't need him. You’ll do just fine on your own. Now come on, let's quit standing on your doorstep. Show me your new home.”

The distinct smell of fish greeted us when I opened the creaky door and led us inside. Looking over to Mia, I raised my eyebrow at the look of horror on her face - wide eyes and scrunched up nose - as she took in the space around us. It was clean, if not a little cramped. Clearly, my roommate had a penchant for collecting books and mugs because they lay on every available surface. Three differentI heart NYCmugs stood on the sidetable nearest the front door. Each one empty, save for a bit of dust. My eyes landed on another mug next to the television, a remote poking out the top and the words,Spank Me Daddy, printed along the side. Mia followed my gaze, covering her mouth to muffle her laugh when she saw what had captured my attention.

I walked further into the apartment before doing a three-sixty on the spot, taking in every corner of the place. It had been a lot cleaner when the landlord, Marcus, had shown me around last week. I guessed my roommate - name still unknown - had tidied up a bit before our arrival. Marcus had assured me that the person I would be sharing this delightful little apartment in Queen’s with, was, in his words, a “respectable, hard-working accountant.” An accountant who clearly did not like to pack things away on shelves or in his own room.

The sofa, which, from memory, was a faded cream fabric was now covered in an assortment of fabrics and colours thanks to an array of pillows and blankets.

“Is that aTwilightblanket?” Mia asked, walking over to where I had moved to stand near the sofa. She pulled a printed fleece from the pile and sure enough, the throw had a picture of the famous dark haired vampire that was almost life sized. “This place is cosy,” she said, tossing it back down on the pile.

A loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by a ton of expletives and a drawn out groan. I raced the few steps from the lounge to the kitchen and came to a sudden halt at the sight in front of me. Mia slammed into my back, letting out a surprisedhmphas she did before stepping to my side.

My eyes fell on the scantily clad blonde man scooping up shards of a broken dinner plate, a mound of peas and what I guess had been the cause of the fishy smell in the apartment. He had earphones in and hadn’t noticed us entering. Stepping forward to help, my shadow fell across the floor at his feet,causing him to falter from his haunched position and to land on his ass among the wreckage of his meal.

“Holy shit! Who the fuck are you?” The blonde asked, ripping the earphones from his ears and scurrying to push himself up from the floor, taking two steps back so his ass was pressed against the sink. A hint of fear gleamed in his blue eyes and I hurried to assure him that I wasn’t some stranger breaking into his home.

“I’m your new roommate, Milo.” I offered, reaching out my hand. He looked at it, then slowly raked his eyes up my body until they met mine. He considered me for a moment, tipping his head from side to side, before a slow smile grew on his face and his blue eyes took on a sudden brightness that hadn’t been present a moment before.

“Oh shit! Marcus told me you were coming tomorrow. I would have cleared up a bit if I had known you were moving in today. I’m Branson, or Bran, whatever works for you.”

Damn, his accent was sexy. There was no denying that there was a certain charm to the English accent - at least I presumed his was an English accent. I had very little experience with accents though, it sounded a little like James Bond and I knew he was English. Or was he Scottish? Well now I wasn’t sure.

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