Read Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] for Free Online Page B

streak of cum off Brandon’s chest with the
    washcloth.
    Brandon huffed softly, already half asleep. “What happened to
    your evil twin?” he mumbled.
    Jonathan laughed. “I drowned him in the tub.”
    A mischievous little smile curled up Brandon’s lips. “Too bad. He
    was great in bed.” Jonathan smiled back, absurdly pleased, and nudged
    Brandon to roll over. The washcloth was cooling, but Brandon might
    appreciate that now; he wiped it gently between Brandon’s cheeks
    to wash away the lube, and Brandon hissed. “On second thought,
    maybe I won’t miss him after al .”
    Liar.
    Jonathan gave him a playful slap and finished cleaning them both
    off, then tossed the washcloth in the hamper and came back to bed.
    Brandon’s breathing had slowed again, so Jonathan merely tugged
    the covers up over both of them and switched off the light.
    Impossible, though, to ignore that lovely body, even in the dark,
    and besides, he was feeling rather oddly fond right now. Rol ing over,
    he slid an arm around Brandon’s waist, but Brandon jerked away,
    ended up curled with his back to Jonathan on the far, far edge of the
    bed.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jonathan said, but
    Brandon was breathing deep and even again, asleep or maybe just
    pretending to be. Jonathan wasn’t sure which he’d have preferred.
    Either way, message received, loud and clear.
    Bran awoke to find himself alone in a soft warm bed the size of
    Chinatown. Early-morning sunlight streamed in through far too
    many windows, sounds of traffic so muffled and distant he wasn’t
    even sure he was in the city anymore.
    What the hell . . .?
    He sat up, realized he was naked. And holy fuck did his head
    hurt. Not to mention his ass.
    Jonathan.
    Where was the little fucker anyway?
    And where the hell were his clothes?
    Something black and shiny lay across the foot of the bed. A robe.
    Since he had nothing else to wear, he slid it on, warm silk gliding
    over his skin. He found the bathroom, gulped water straight from
    the faucet, then took a piss. Shower next, using Jonathan’s ridiculous
    boutique soap and shampoo. He put the robe back on once he’d
    toweled dry.
    So what now?
    “Jonathan?” he called. Had the guy left him alone in his bazillion-
    dol ar home? Seemed unlikely. Wishing he’d paid more attention
    on the way in, he stepped out into the hal , called Jonathan’s name
    again.
    No answer. Maybe he was in the kitchen, wherever that was.
    Stomach rumbling, Bran wandered through the living room, taking
    stock of the vaulted ceiling and minimalist furniture, all clean lines,
    dark wood and natural fibers. It was a huge room, cavernous, even—a
    thousand square feet at least, with a spiral staircase at the far end
    leading down to another floor. Skylights directly above let in the sun,
    scattered rays poking through the thick March cloud cover.
    Through the built-in saltwater aquarium taking up almost the
    entire left wal , he could just discern the rippling outline of an office.
    He peered through the tank, half to see if Jonathan was in the other
    room, half because the coral reef inside was so damn pretty. At last
    he tore his gaze away and cast it to the floor-to-ceiling windows
    overlooking a spectacular view of the city stretching out beyond the
    Golden Gate.
    Jesus, a place like this must’ve cost ten million, easy.
    As he wandered back toward the hal , a silver-framed photograph
    on the coffee table caught his eye. A smiling couple standing in front
    of a boat with a little boy between them. Obviously Jonathan—same
    toothy grin and thick mane of hair. Couldn’t have been more than
    twelve. Same age as Bran when . . . well, no point dwelling on that.
    He turned away from the photo. Spotted a balcony at the opposite
    side of the room, its sliding glass door separating him from a familiar
    figure sitting at the table outside.
    Bran’s bare toes sank into the decadently plush carpet as he
    ambled over and rapped softly on