Page 17 of Chained
As Brandt had requested, Edge moved onto his side, and Brandt mirrored his position, their noses only inches apart. Brandt had beautiful eyes and a small scar on his forehead, as if someone had carved a tiny letter C. His pupils were enormous, which could have been due to the lingering effects of the drugs he snorted or the relative dimness of the light, but Edge hoped it was desire.
Although several of the boss’s potentials had fucked him, none of them had looked at him the way Brandt was. Solemnly—almost fiercely—as if Edge was interesting and important. As if Brandt saw something in him other than a strong, willing body.
Brandt tentatively petted Edge’s shoulder and upper arm, then moved his palm to the center of Edge’s back. “How badly do you hurt?”
“I don’t.”
“You were limping earlier today.”
“I heal fast.”
Brandt pressed slightly harder, which felt fine. He had long, slender fingers, and his skin was warm and dry. His breath was minty, and his hair smelled of spices and his body of almonds. Edible, Edge thought, and groaned.
“That hurt?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Brandt looked relieved. “Let me know if anything… feels bad.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“Neither am I, babe. Doesn’t mean I’m invincible, though.” Brandt seemed about to say something else but stopped. When he spoke again, brittleness had crept into his voice. “Why do you work for Whitaker?”
“It’s my job.”
“Right. But he’s not….” Some interior struggle flashed across Brandt’s face. “He’s not a good person. You know that, right? You’re not stupid.”
“I know. But he’s the boss.”
“Does he have something over you? Has he done something so that you can’t quit?”
Edge wanted to tell the truth, but that would end disastrously. So he settled for a piece of honesty that Brandt wouldn’t understand. “He owns me.” And then, because they were almost-confessing things, and because Edge truly wanted to know, he asked a question of his own. “Do you really want to be a movie star?”
“You don’t think I can make it in Hollywood?”
“The boss can make anyone a star. But you don’t seem…. You’re different from the others.”
For no reason Edge could decipher, Brandt laughed. “You could say that. Let’s just say I do want Whitaker to represent me, and we’ll leave it at that.”
All the lies and secrets filled the space between them, thick and sticky as tar. But then Brandt touched him again, just a ghosting of fingertip along Edge’s cheekbone, and the barrier evaporated. Although Edge usually let the man fucking him decide what to do, he was gathering the courage to touch Brandt in return. Unexpectedly, Brandt scooted a tiny bit closer and pressed their lips together.
It was a gentle kiss. Edge would have initiated something fiercer, but he found himself wanting to savor this moment as he first touched Brandt. That turned out to be an excellent decision, because just that soft brush of skin on skin was enough to make his dick throb urgently and his brain fizz like a TV screen gone to static. He moaned, which made Brandt chuckle softly.
“You do want me. Or you’re a much better actor than I’ll ever be.”
“I don’t— I’m not sure….” Edge gave up on words and kissed him again. Almost as gently as their first time, but he aimed for the corner of Brandt’s mouth, lingered there, moved to the other corner, and finally to the center. Brandt parted his lips with a sigh and cradled Edge’s skull with his palm. Brandt’s minty taste was pleasant enough, but it wasn’t trulyhim. Edge pulled away from the kiss to snuffle and lick at Brandt’s neck instead, and Brandt, seemingly content for Edge to take the lead, tilted his head back to grant better access.
When Edge stopped to catch his breath and slow his libido, Brandt chuckled again. “For a minute there, I almost thought you were a vampire. Although I guess I’ve seen you in the sun too much for that to be the case. And you’re warm. God, you’re really warm.” He smoothed his palm all the way down Edge’s back, stopping just above his butt. Edge didn’t want him to stop, so he wiggled a little, and Brandt grinned and moved farther down, squeezing a handful of Edge’s ass. The last of the bruises may have twinged a bit, but Edge didn’t care.
“I always wondered if it might be a vampire who did me in. Wouldn’t be so bad if he were as sexy as you, I guess. And there are way more disgusting ways to be undead than vampirism. Zombies, for example—”
“Brandt.”
“Terry. You’re naked in my bed—I think we’re ready for a first-name basis.”
Edge smiled despite himself. “Terry. Do you always talk so much when you fuck?”
“Yes. And expect me to be noisy when we’re hard at it, baby. I’m not good at quiet.” Brandt—no, Terry—squeezed again. “But hey, I need to know. Is Edge your first name or last? Because I refuse to call out your last name in the throes of passion.”
