Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7)

by Leighton Greene

  Ben blinks, drops back onto his stomach again over the ottoman, and traces the pattern in the carpet. “Yeah.” He looks up again. “That’s different.”

  “Come here,” Xander says, his voice low.

  “You’re not going to cut me, are you?” Knife play with Xander is one of Ben’s favorite things to do, but it’s also the most scary thing.

  “You don’t need to ask any more questions, Benjamin. Just come here. And don’t make me ask you again.” Xander is lounging on the sofa, still in his clothes, with one of his long legs dangling over the armrest, and the other bent and planted on the floor. He looks relaxed, but his dark brown eyes are dangerous, too watchful. Predatory.

  Ben pulls back to stand up, but Xander holds up a finger. “Stop. I think I’d like to watch you crawl. Yeah. Crawl over here on your hands and knees.”

  It’s not like Ben hasn’t done this before for Xander, crawled to him, or that one time when they indulged in some puppy play. But it’s different, like this, when Xander’s doing it just because he can.

  Just to prove a point.

  You agreed, Ben reminds himself. Suck it up, or safe word out.

  He sinks back to his knees and makes his way slowly across the mercifully thick carpet, around the coffee table, to Xander, who is sitting up now to watch, elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. The whole way, Ben feels his face get redder and his cock heavier.

  He stops in front of Xander and sits back on his heels, but he can’t quite look up.

  “How do you feel?” Xander asks.

  Ben drops his head further for a second, but then clears his throat and looks up. “Humiliated,” he says, looking straight into Xander’s eyes. “And turned on.”

  Xander reaches out to pull him closer. “Good,” he says, before kissing him. “I have something for you.”

  Ben tries not to cringe, but it’s difficult not to. In general, Xander’s presents are either really fun or really painful. But Xander is pressing something into his palm, small, cold and hard. Ben opens his hand to look at it. It’s a key.

  “I should have given you one before. Long before now. I’m sorry. But now you have it.”

  “Is this—”

  “Yeah.”

  “A key to your apartment?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben can’t stop the wide smile splitting his face. “Thank you.” Xander shrugs, nonchalant, but Ben can tell he’s pleased at the reaction his gift has received. “You wanna go make me scream now?” Ben asks.

  Xander laughs a little, but shakes his head. “Not tonight, no.”

  “You have major plans coming up for that, huh?”

  Xander raises his eyebrows. “I really am getting predictable. Need to work on that.”

  “Are we ever going back to your place?” Ben asks wistfully.

  Xander swoops down to hug him tightly. “Of course we are. I want you there. But I thought it might be better to start in the hotel. It’s a more neutral ground.”

  “Come to bed and fuck me,” Ben suggests into Xander’s ear. “Show me who’s boss.”

  Xander starts laughing.

  “What?”

  “Did you seriously just ask me to fuck you like a boss?”

  “Well…I guess I did,” Ben says, smirking. “I’m trying to be all sexy here, okay? Quit laughing at me.”

  “You’re kneeling in front of me, naked, begging for a fuck. You don’t have to try to be sexy, Benjamin.” Xander stands, pulling Ben up with him, still chuckling. “Come on. I’ll fuck you like a boss, since you asked so nicely.”

  Ben is starting to give more credence to Xander’s belief that sex makes everything better, because as soon as he’s on his hands and knees on the bed, the sheets yanked down and tangling around his legs, with Xander’s cock working its way into his ass, everything feels balanced again. All his worries and concerns about giving up control just fade away, slip out of his mind.

  This is how it’s meant to be.

  Xander is surprisingly gentle at first, until Ben looks back over his shoulder at him and says, “Like a boss, huh?” And then before he knows it, he’s spread-eagled on the bed, and Xander’s hand is underneath him, nails clawing into his chest, making Ben curse from the pain.

  “See, now?” Xander says into his ear. “You need to learn to keep your pretty mouth shut. Pushy. Suck on these, keep yourself quiet.” He drags his hand out from underneath and shoves his fingers into Ben’s mouth.

  For a moment, Ben wonders if Xander has drawn blood from him, whether there’s blood under his nails. He feels a faint nausea, and pants around Xander’s fingers, trying to keep it together. He could swear his mouth is flooded with a coppery tang, but it fades so quickly that it must have been his imagination.

  “What’s wrong?” Xander stills, deep inside Ben’s ass, breathing heavily but sounding alert. He pulls his fingers out of Ben’s mouth. Ben sighs in relief.

  “Nothing. Keep going. Please. I want you to…” He wants Xander to fuck him hard enough so that he’ll get out of his own mind. But that’s not the point, not right now. “Whatever you want. Whatever you want from me.”

  “Fuck. You’re so tight like this. Yeah. Okay.”

  Xander is pressed right up against him, his nose behind Ben’s ear and his front teeth scraping a little into his neck or shoulder as he thrusts, damp puffs of air pushing out of his mouth. It’s something strange, Ben thinks, that he’s been fucked like this before by Xander, but he’s never felt so owned.

  “Thinking makes it so,” he murmurs, as Xander pauses to catch his breath.

  “You talk a lot when you’re getting fucked.” Xander nuzzles into the back of his neck again and shifts Ben’s leg up until he’s satisfied with the angle. “My Benjamin. You like this?” He starts up a new rhythm, faster.

  “Yes.” Xander’s body is warm and heavy on top of him, his hands and arms overlaying Ben’s; it feels possessive. Ben’s dick is rubbing almost painfully across the sheets beneath him. “Xander. I’m going to—”

  “No you’re not,” Xander says immediately. “Not till I say. I’ll tell you when you can.”

  “Yes,” Ben agrees, and he’s just hovering on the edge now, the edge of flying. But Xander nips his shoulder, and then he’s back firmly in his body, feeling everything. The way their skin sticks together and peels apart, the faint current of air across his calves, the way Xander’s fingers clutch around his wrists, holding him in place.

  Suddenly he stiffens, feels a thread of something instinctive running through him, galvanizing his muscles so that he seizes up for a moment. He wants to throw Xander off, then hold him down and fuck into him; Ben wants control too and it’s not fair, it’s not fair. But as the wave of it crashes through him he remembers the blood again, and his mind goes fuzzy.

  “I think you’d better come for me now,” Xander tells him, breathless, and Ben has only a moment to wonder if he noticed, if he could read his mind, before Xander is pulling him up slightly and jacking his cock, and it’s all over a few seconds later, for both of them. Xander bites hard, like he always does, but Ben barely registers the pain.

  “Boss enough?” Xander asks later.

  “Enough.” Ben is tired.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “There was a second there when you went all tense, like I hurt you.”

  “You always hurt me,” Ben points out. “It was nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to call Honesty Policy on that.”

  Shit. “I was just thinking that I want to fuck you, Xander. And I know you’re not going to let me, so whatever. Forget it.”

  “Oh, is that what it was?” Xander sounds amused, and Ben has to fight the urge to start an argument. He bites down hard on his tongue. Perhaps he’s already finding his limit on submission, if he can’t even handle it for more than a day.

  He’s almost asleep when Xander speaks again. “You ready for tomorrow?”

  “Hm?”


  “More tests tomorrow. Fair warning: I’ll expect more from you.”

  Ben opens his eyes, stares into the dark. “Alright.”

  “You’re sure you can handle it?”

  No, I’m not sure. But he smiles. “Like a boss, Xander. Like a boss.” He pulls his hand out from under the pillow, rearranging to let Xander drape across him, and it’s only then that he realizes—he’s still clutching Xander’s key. It’s dug into his flesh, branding him with its teeth, and his fingers are stiff around it, but Ben ignores the pain.

  He closes his hand over it again, tight and secure.

  Chapter Three

  This is so pointless. I only just woke up. And as much as you might wish I did, no, Xander. I didn’t dream about you bossing me around.

  I dreamed about us fishing. It was all dark, no stars above. There were things glowing in the water, phosphorescent lights. Took me a while to realize what they were. Everything was upside down and we were fishing out the stars.

  I caught more stars than you and you pretended you didn’t care. But I knew you did. You wanted all the stars for yourself.

  Greedy.

  “Xander, come on. I don’t have anything to write about.” Ben puts down the pen and looks across the table at Xander, who is timing the proceedings on his iPhone.

  Xander raises one eyebrow. “Just so we’re both on the same page—you do understand what the word ‘obedient’ means, right? You’re not working on the assumption that it means ‘to complain constantly and not do as you’re told’? Because we should get that straightened out right now, if so.”

  “Ha-freaking-ha.”

  Jesus Christ, fine. I feel safe right now. Nothing too bad has happened. You don’t actually want to eat my food all the time, or make me crawl around for the whole trial, and even if you did…I guess I wouldn’t mind. Not for a few days, anyway.

  Fucking fuck. Come on, Xander, the time must be up now. Come on come on come on.

  Quit doing that eyebrow thing at me, I’m fucking writing aren’t I?

  I still don’t get what I’m supposed to be writing about. It’s not like I’m going to break into poetry or say anything insightful. I don’t understand the point of this. There are some things that just can’t be articulated.

  Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu

  “Time’s up.”

  “Thank fuck,” Ben mutters, throwing the pen on the table. He lets out an excessively loud and throaty sigh. The pen rolls over to Xander, who picks it up.

  “Today, you are not going to curse at all,” Xander says. “You’re going to be pleasant and courteous at all times.” Xander smiles at Ben gently, tapping the pen lightly against the tabletop. “And you’re going to nod and smile and say ‘Of course, Xander, whatever you want,’ or similar, every time I ask you to do something. Instead of glaring at me.”

  Ben changes his expression to a bright smile, although he’s rankling against being spoken to like a naughty schoolboy. “Of course, Xander. Whatever you want.” He looks back over what he’s written. “Uh. Can I swear in my journal? Because I already have. Although I could cross it out, I guess, if—”

  “That’s not necessary. You can go and have your shower now. Leave the bathroom door open.”

  “Yeah, I always do.”

  “No. Leave the door wide open.”

  They look at each other.

  “Sure. Whatever you want, Xander,” Ben says eventually.

  Xander woke him that morning by whispering into his ear, and Ben is sure whatever was said has sunk into his subconscious, because he’s felt jumpy since he opened his eyes and turned his face to look at Xander. “Wake up,” Xander had told him as he blinked away the dreams, and it stirred a spark immediately. Like a double espresso shot bubbling in his veins, and one thought only ran through Ben’s brain: Command me, Master.

  “I’m awake,” Ben had said instead, and then it started. He was told to go to the bathroom, to brush his teeth, but not shower—no, Benjamin, not yet; you’re welcome to sit on a towel if you feel you have to, and Ben had to turn away until his face faded from scarlet. No shower until five minutes of journaling is completed, which in turn started a battle of wills, veiled in civility, over how often Ben was supposed to write, and what he should write, and how much.

  Xander prevailed.

  It’s been thirty-seven minutes since Ben woke up and he’s already balking at the self-satisfied smirk Xander gives every time Ben obeys an order. But in the shower he reminds himself, over and over, You agreed to this, and he’s testing you. He knows it won’t be like this for much longer. Or at least, he’s pretty sure. Xander has always said that being asked for permission for every little thing got on his nerves during the times he’s tried total power exchanges before.

  You’re not asking permission, though, says the unpleasant voice in Ben’s head. He’s telling you.

  It won’t last much longer, he insists. Xander will get bored and drop the overbearing control. And even if he doesn’t, it’s just a few days.

  You don’t have to do this, you know.

  Sure, I know that. Now fuck off. I mean—fudge off.

  He scrubs the shampoo out of his hair vigorously.

  When he returns to the bedroom, there are clothes laid out for him. Ben stops in front of the bed, staring at them.

  “Get dressed,” says a voice in his ear, and he jumps, whirls around.

  “Sh—oot, Xander. Come on. Do you have to creep up on me like that? Trust me, you’re scary enough as it is.”

  Xander gives a modest smile. “Well, I wasn’t even trying that time. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

  Out where? Ben wants to ask, but he’s getting into it now; he’s beginning to understand. “Sure, Xander. Okay.” But after he dresses, Xander looks him over with a critical eye, and steps forward to roll up his shirt sleeves. Ben can’t help raising an eyebrow.

  “What are you thinking?” Xander asks, his tone pleasant.

  “I…nothing, really. I didn’t realize you objected so much to my fashion sense that you wanted to dress me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh.” Just another power play.

  Xander points at him, between the eyes. “That, right there—what were you thinking?”

  Ben frowns, but answers. “I was thinking, in that case it’s just another power play.”

  Xander smiles again, supercilious, and Ben carefully keeps his face neutral, even when Xander picks up a New York Yankees cap and firmly plants it on Ben’s head.

  Ben, a ride-or-die Dodgers fan, has…feelings about the Yankees. Deeply negative feelings. And Xander, damn him, knows it.

  “This is, um. Kind of full-on,” Ben says hoarsely. “Are you still testing out the boundaries?”

  “If you ask questions about every little thing I do, it’s going to become tedious. Quickly.”

  Ben sighs. “Fine.” But he sees Xander’s brows draw down. “I’m sorry, Xander,” he says politely.

  “Today, you won’t ask any questions. Do you understand?” Xander sounds slightly bored, as he turns away to pick up a book from the nightstand.

  “Yes,” Ben says. “I understand.”

  “Here.” Ben finds his hand closing around a hardback volume of poetry, as Xander guides him out into the main room, pushing at the small of his back. “I’m going to get ready now, and then we’ll go out,” Xander tells him. “In the meantime, you may read. No—sit at the table, please. No elbows on the table, Benjamin. Manners.”

  Ben manages to wait until Xander has left the room before he rolls his eyes. But, as he sits quietly, reading Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and replacing his hands in his lap every time he turns the page, he can’t stop the eventual grin and low snicker. Okay, Xander. I’m off-balance. Score. The very fact that he’s dressed feels off somehow—like he should still be naked.

  How quickly these things become habit.

  In the hotel lobby, Xander hands Ben a newspaper, the book of Whitman poetry, and what
Ben has come to think of as his trial journal. “What are these for?” Ben asks.

  Xander silently takes back the newspaper and marks it with a brief black stroke, then stuffs it into Ben’s hands again. “You need to keep your hands full.” He clicks the ballpoint pen a couple of times, smiles at Ben’s confusion. Ben stands still as Xander adjusts his baseball cap for him again, and puts the pen into Ben’s top shirt pocket. “Besides, we can do the crossword together later.”

  “Why do I need to keep my hands full?”

  “You’ll see.” And Xander takes the paper from him again, plucks the pen from his pocket and makes another small mark next to the first.

  “Oh—oh fuck.”

  Another mark.

  Xander looks up at him from beneath his hat, pen hovering expectantly. Ben closes his eyes and breathes out slowly.

  “You’re keeping count of my infractions.”

  “Clever boy. Not just a pretty face.” Xander grins and hands back the newspaper. “Come on. Let’s go.” He slides the pen back into Ben’s pocket, and Ben nods, resigned.

  No questions and no cursing, you fu—uhhh. You moron.

  But Xander pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. Ben waits for him to speak. “Remember, a while ago, we agreed that the pain was not for punishment, that it wasn’t like that between us?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “I want you to know—” And for the first time today, Xander breaks his character; he’s suddenly not the omnipotent autocrat and it’s just Xander; just Ben’s loving, warm Xander. “I want to make it clear, that’s still the case. You understand, don’t you? When you break the rules, it’s just arbitrary. The rules are only there for you to break them, because I know you’ll break them, and I will punish you for that. But it’s just play. Not punishment, not really, because you haven’t done anything wrong and you won’t do anything wrong. But we’re calling it punishment because—because it suits us. Do you understand?”