Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(55)

I shouldn’t have asked.

I needed to know.

He took Brandon’s hand, and Brandon faced him. A bit of dirt was smeared along his temple, some more clinging to his neck.

Frank squeezed Brandon’s hand. “Why don’t we grab a shower? And there’s cold food Emily left. Some kind of risotto.”

Brandon nodded, and they got out of the car, took their bags, and went into the house. Frank was ready to stay down in the kitchen and start heating the food, but Brandon touched him on the shoulder. “Food can wait. Come.”

He followed Brandon upstairs, and out of habit glanced along the hallway. Last door at the end was closed, not like in that dream—or nightmare, or half dream, half memory. He gulped and followed Brandon, almost rushed, as if something could bite at his heels if he dawdled, something invisible and horrifying, like he’d imagined as a child when he wasn’t allowed to switch on the light at night when he went to the toilet.

They dropped their gear unceremoniously on the floor in the bedroom and went into the bathroom. Neither spoke as they stripped off their muddy, sweaty camouflage, and Frank turned on the shower.

While the water warmed up, Brandon touched Frank’s arm, and when Frank turned, they came together in a soft kiss. Brandon didn’t make the move, Frank didn’t make the move; one second they were apart, the next they were together.

Brandon’s fingers ran through Frank’s short hair, the movement gentle but still somehow not. Like he was just resisting the temptation to grab on. Not even to pull it or to put Frank on his knees, but to grab and hold.

Frank held Brandon tighter, one arm around him and the other hand gripping the back of his neck. They were both getting hard—it was impossible not to when their bodies rubbed together like this—but Frank was only distantly aware of his own erection or even Brandon’s. The kiss held most of his attention, the sheer closeness of their bodies.

Brandon pulled back. “We should . . . get in the shower.”

Frank nodded, but then kissed him again. Brandon didn’t resist. As the shower ran beside them, they indulged in one more long, drawn-out kiss.

Finally, though, they pulled apart. Brandon got into the shower first, and Frank followed. They each stood under the water for a few seconds to wet their skin, and when Brandon started soaping up his hands and looked at Frank with a playful gleam in his eyes, Frank drew him close again.

“You know we’re going to end up needing another shower, don’t you?” Brandon was grinning.

“Yes.” Frank slid his wet hands down Brandon’s back, pulling their hips closer together. “I’m counting on it.”

Brandon set the soap aside and put both lathered hands on Frank’s chest. “Should get clean before we get dirty again.”

“I’m thinking getting clean with you is just as dirty as anything else.”

Brandon’s grin broadened. His hands slid up Frank’s chest and around the back of his neck. He may have had some witty retort, some typically Stefan smart-arse comment, but if he did, he let it go as soon as Frank leaned down to kiss him. For all their playful banter and the fact that they were naked and wet and hard together, the kiss was subdued and languid, completely undemanding and existing for its own sake rather than as a precursor to something else. There would be more, of course, but all of that could wait while time stood still and let them share this.

Brandon was breathing hard when he broke away, his shoulders rising and falling with his ragged breaths. He looked up at Frank. Right then, he was a mix of everything Frank had ever seen in him: The self-assured rentboy with a dominant side. The cunning soldier on the paintball field. The wild-eyed kid with a Cheshire cat grin. The lost boy. The exhausted lover. It was almost painful to look at him because Brandon ignited so many feelings Frank hadn’t had in far too long. Feelings he never thought he’d have again.

And staring at him now, Frank couldn’t help but wonder how mutual those feelings were.

All the things Brandon stood to lose, though.

Everything. His health, his life, his job, his reputation, the ability to move unmolested amongst people like Chris. Simply by being with him, Brandon stood to lose everything he was.

Frank shook his head, pushed that thought away, and for now just examined that sweet ache in his own soul as he looked at Brandon.

I’ll never hurt you.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, right next to his pulsing heart. Those words.

Not now. For now, they could forget the past—up to and including this afternoon—and the future, and just be.

He reached out of the shower and grabbed a towel off the heated rack. He folded it a couple times, then dropped it into the water draining off their bodies. He knelt on it, felt Brandon’s resistance, a scrabbling of his fingers as if to pull Frank up again, but Frank ignored it, instead licking along Brandon’s cock, root to tip, before he took it into his mouth. He’d always loved doing this, part taking control, part giving it up completely, especially when his partners invariably ended up f*cking him in this position.

He took Brandon’s balls in his hand, squeezed them in his palm, skirting the edge of pain, and Brandon cursed softly but didn’t protest. Frank remembered too well that Brandon liked a little pain, and he was going to make it good, give him everything he had, even that little edge.

Brandon’s fingers dug into his hair at that, the man trembling with the strain of staying still, legs braced, but that was exactly what Frank had counted on. He used his other hand to rub along Brandon’s dam, pressed just right, exactly where he liked it, and felt Brandon dig his fingers in harder.