Ben has been so thoroughly fucked already that Xander doesn’t need to add any more lube. He just slides right in, Ben on his hands and knees on the floor, the soft carpet like clouds under his tingling fingers. After a while Xander pulls him up on his knees, holding Ben close into his chest and bites him across the back of his shoulders, up the back of his neck into the hairline, little nips that make Ben’s cock jump.
“Do you love me?” Xander asks, and it’s not the kind of question he usually asks in the middle of this kind of thing, so Ben has to think about it for a second.
“Of course,” he manages to say.
“I think I’m going to die of love sometimes, Benjamin. It’s terrifying.”
The idea that Xander would be scared of anything strikes Ben as funny, but he doesn’t laugh. He does know, after all, that there are things that Xander fears.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Xander is murmuring, his hand playing over Ben’s dick.
“I’m yours.” Ben is close now.
“Tell me I own you.”
“You own me.”
“Make me believe it.”
Ben reaches behind to touch Xander’s face. “You own me, Xander, right now. You own me completely.” Then Ben is lost; he manages a weak orgasm, hissing when Xander doesn’t immediately take his hand away, his cock is so sensitive—but Xander is biting into him, shooting hard and breathing harder, hot damp pants through his teeth.
He pulls Ben into the shower with him and washes both of them down; tender with the cloth over Ben’s shoulder and chest and kissing over his closed eyelids. It’s all Ben can do to stay awake through the thorough aftercare Xander insists on, until he’s in bed and the last thing he feels is Xander sliding in beside him, pulling him close.
Chapter Five
They both wake early the next morning, and Xander gives him some painkillers, despite Ben insisting that he’s fine, really. After he showers and replaces a few of the not-really-necessary Band-Aids, Ben comes back out to the lounge to eat breakfast with Xander, who declares that his phone is missing.
“I think I left it at Hotel Noir, in the room. I’d like you to run over there this morning and get it for me. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…I’m thinking I’m not your PA.” Ben regrets his honesty as soon as it comes out, but Xander only looks faintly amused. Not glowering. “But of course, I’ll go,” Ben adds.
“Of course.”
“I’m pretty sure you had it yesterday. You timed my journal writing with it. And Xander—” He can’t think of a way to phrase it that Xander will respond to otherwise, so whatever. One more mark on his score card isn’t going to make much difference now. “Are we still doing the question thing?”
Xander lazily strokes another mark on his tally, and looks up. “I think…yes. For today, still no questions. And still no swearing.”
Ben sighs. “I’m going to try calling your cell. It’s probably lying around here somewhere.”
“That’s not going to make any difference.”
But Ben is already pulling out his own cell and dialing. Faintly, from the bedroom, he hears Xander’s phone. He looks at Xander, smiling. “Solved. Without wasting time going back to the hotel.”
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” Xander says. “I left my phone at Hotel Noir. You are going to get it. Now.”
“But…” But your cell is right there in the other room, this is ridiculous, you’re just fu—screwing with me.
“I suggest you get dressed, because you need to be out the door in five minutes. Or…”
Or you will regret it. Xander doesn’t have to say it.
While he’s viciously pulling his legs into his jeans, Ben wonders why he’s doing this. It’s crazy. There is absolutely no reason at all to traipse halfway across the city to stand in a hotel room and pretend to look for Xander’s cell. Not when it’s lying there on the goddamn bedside table—he can see it, for Christ’s sake.
And yet, he’s doing it.
Xander swaps out Ben’s t-shirt for a different choice, and afterwards Ben realizes that he didn’t feel even the slightest bit of resentment. Xander’s micromanagement has become oddly comforting in the face of his more outlandish requests.
Like searching for a phantom phone.
“Give me a call when you get there,” Xander says, smiling.
“Sure, Xander. I’ll call.”
It takes a long time to get back to the hotel, in the middle of morning rush, so Ben has a lot of time in the Uber to think. He half-wishes he’d brought his journal, so that he could write some of it down. Typing it into his phone seems inappropriate. But then fishing in his pocket produces a short, faded receipt, and the Uber guy lends him a pen.
Ben writes in tiny, cramped letters, wanting to preserve what little space he has.
Maybe I should be worried that I’m getting used to this. I’m traveling through rush hour to an empty hotel room for no good reason, Xander, except that you told me to. I guess that’s a good enough reason for me, though. If it makes you happy, I’ll do it. If I can. But is that a good way to be? Maybe I let people push me around too much. Not just you, but
He runs out of space before he can really explore the thought.
When he reaches the hotel room, he calls Xander’s cell. “Yeah. I’m here. Your phone isn’t.”
“Did you look under the bed?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you should do that.”
Ben feels a surreal certainty that the phone will be under the bed, even though he knows it’s in Xander’s apartment, in Xander’s hand, being spoken into by Xander. He kneels, looks under the bed.
“It’s not there.”
“Oh, okay. My bad. Hey, I actually have it here. In fact, yeah—I’m using it right now. But thanks for looking, Benjamin. I appreciate it.”
“You’re very welcome.” And Ben actually means it, which scares him.
“What are your plans for today?”
“Well, I’m—” No no no no, his brain screams. “I’m not sure yet, Xander. You haven’t told me.” The warm laugh down the phone line gets Ben’s heart thumping, his cock stirring.
“I think we’d better deal with the issue of your punishment. Before you rack up any more points. What do you think?”
“That…sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Come home. Come home so I can play with you for a while.”
It’s not comforting, especially the fact that the line goes dead without Xander even saying goodbye. Ben stops off to get a coffee in the hotel bar before he gets another Uber back to Xander’s place. The five-minute interaction with the hotel staff helps calm his nerves a little, and he talks the whole way back to the Uber driver, who looks alternately bored and annoyed. But it’s the contact that counts, right now. Because once he sets a toe back across that line, once he’s in Xander’s apartment, he’s not his own person anymore.
He’s Xander’s.
So in the meantime, he sucks up as much humanity as he can from the people around him and tries not to think about what’s waiting for him.
When he steps over the threshold, Xander appears in the doorway across the room, looking excited. He’s practically crackling with it. Ben starts pulling off his clothes, resisting the urge to rip the front door off its hinges and run as Xander walks over to him slowly.
“Hello,” Xander says, running a finger over Ben’s bruised chest. His nail marks are still there, too, little half-moons over the purpling needle-pricks. “You’ve been very good.”
“Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like a puppet, Xander. Like a marionette.”
“Dancing for me?” Xander reaches out to stroke Ben’s hair back into place and cups his chin. “You’re so very good at it, Benjamin.” He leans in close, staring in concentration. “What was that? What was that thought? No, wait. Let me guess. You think you’re too good at it. You’re worried.”
�
�A little, yeah. It doesn’t seem completely healthy to be like this. I thought things would be harder, but I’m okay with everything. But surely that’s not a good thing. I don’t know.” It helps to articulate the thought, although he doesn’t think Xander will agree that it’s unhealthy. Xander, if anything, luxuriates in Ben’s subservience, and always has, even before this trial.
But Xander is smiling, a soft and real smile. “You’re finding your boundaries, Benjamin. At last. I was wondering whether you would ever…well; it doesn’t matter right now.”
“I wrote something,” Ben says, before he forgets again. “For my journal.” He hands Xander the receipt. “We can stick it into the notebook.”
Xander looks down at it, his expression slowly turning from blank to joyful to inscrutable. “Go to the bathroom—there’s something in there. Bring it to me, please. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
Puzzled, Ben makes his way to the main bathroom. The sink makes him think of the blood again, and he shudders. He looks at his chest again, bruised in some places and puffy in others. The nail imprints are deep red. The mark itself is not very recognizable as an XR, though, as he turns to compare it to the still present but very faded sharpie initials on his ass.
When he turns around again that he sees there is water in the bath, just a little, and Xander’s rattan cane is floating in it. Its yellow color has deepened, and Ben wonders how long it’s been in there. Xander occasionally sets it with the tip in a glass to soak up water—for maintenance, he told Ben, the first time he asked. But never in a bath, not like this.
Ben takes it out. He doesn’t know whether he should dry it or leave it wet, but it’s dripping on his feet, so he pats it with a towel.
You are taking the instrument of your own torture to your torturer, he tells himself as he walks to the bedroom. What the fuck is wrong with you? This is not normal behavior.
I don’t care. I don’t care, I want this. So shut up.
What the fuck happened to your boundaries?
I guess I haven’t found them yet. And quit swearing, you’ll just get us into trouble!
In the bedroom, Xander is idly whipping the bedspread with the riding crop. Ben flinches at the noise, each crack into the soft material.
“What was that thought?” Xander asks curiously.
“I was thinking, I’m glad you don’t hit me that hard.”
Xander raises an eyebrow. “I hit you a lot harder than this, Benjamin.”
Ben looks at him.
Xander points at him with the crop. “Now you’re thinking…’I’m scared.’ Right?” Ben nods. “It’s alright to be scared.”
“You like it,” Ben says automatically.
“I like it,” Xander agrees, taking the cane from Ben’s immobile fingers.
Sometimes I think there really is something—something not quite right about you, Xander. I love you, but…Jesus.
But, Ben reminds himself, you like getting whipped and caned and cut. Well, okay. Maybe not caned so much. But does it make you any less messed up, just because you like to take it rather than give it?
He’s lucky, Ben reflects, that Xander didn’t ask him to spell out his thoughts again just then. But Xander is focused on the cane, his eyes bright. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.
“I don’t like to soak my canes very often, Benjamin. It can warp the rattan if you’re not careful, and—well, it’s overkill, really. A soaked cane is heavier. But more supple.” He whips it into the bedspread and Ben jumps. “And harder to control because of the extra weight, so you’re going to have to really work to stay still for me.”
Ben makes a faint sound in the back of his mouth, but nods.
Xander holds up the newspaper. There are fifteen tally marks in groups of five. “Fifteen—that’s—no, that’s wrong,” Ben splutters. “No—no, there were only eight or nine when I left this morning!”
“Well, some for not jumping fast enough when I told you to go look for my phone. And a few more because of being dressed when Elijah and Dean were over—one just didn’t seem enough in the end. After that it just seemed neater to round it up to the nearest five.”
Ben can’t stop glancing back and forth between the cane and Xander’s face. Fifteen, with a soaked cane? He can barely stand to think about it, let alone do it. The cane has always been the one thing he loathes—probably because Xander is so fond of it.
“Benjamin, I’m a reasonable man.” Xander spreads his arms. “If you can think of an alternative, I’m happy to negotiate.”
“I—no—whatever you want, Xander,” Ben replies, his voice strangled.
Xander shrugs. “I can see that it’s difficult for you. So you can swap out five of the cane strokes for something else. The riding crop, perhaps?”
Ben feels intense relief flooding through him like a dam has burst, and nods quickly. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
“Ten from the cane and—yes, I think another ten from the crop in that case. Because it’s a lot easier for you, the riding crop, isn’t it?”
Xander smiles at him and Ben desperately tries not to look annoyed. He’s been talked into doubling up without even stopping to think about it, and he’s stupid. So damn stupid, so damn often. It’s getting old. This is Xander’s game, but it’s a game for two, so maybe…maybe he can find some way to get something on the scoreboard. Something other than punishment tallies, at least.
“The crop is easier for me, yes,” he says eventually. “So whatever you think is best, Xander, I’m happy with your decision.” The fact that he actually is happy to defer to Xander’s decision is suddenly more frightening than Xander himself.
But that’s the game.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to stay quiet during this,” Xander says, almost sadly. “And it’s a shame, because I love hearing you scream, but I’m going to have gag you.”
“But you prefer it when I stay quiet on my own.”
“Yes, but—”
“And,” Ben says, “it’s the easiest way for me to…”
Xander smiles a little, like he knows exactly what Ben is up to. “Yes. You find it easier to fly off wherever you go when you’re voluntarily silent. But that’s up to me, isn’t it? Whether you go flying or not.”
“Yes,” Ben whispers, and clears his throat. “Yes, Xander. It’s up to you.” But there’s still a chance to win something on Ben’s own terms. “I just wish you’d let me try without a gag, even if you don’t want me flying. So I can show you how obedient I can be.”
It’s that one word that makes all the difference, Ben notices. Xander contemplates for a few moments, twirling the cane idly in his fingers. “Alright. Since it’s so important for you. But I don’t want you flying, not today. I want you here, with me. You don’t get to escape from me that way. What was that thought?”
Ben drops his gaze. “I was thinking that you’re selfish sometimes, Xander.”
Xander’s eyes flash, but his tone is mild. “True. But if I don’t get to show appropriate self-interest during a time like this, when do I?”
Ben has to smile at that.
This was a really, really dumb idea, Ben thinks immediately after the first stroke from the cane hits his ass. Xander has him leaning over the bed, bending from the waist and balancing precariously on his fingertips. By the time five strokes are done, his lip is bleeding because he’s bitten into it so hard.
Xander pauses, sitting down on the bed next to him and looking into his face. “You want the gag? It’ll probably help you deal with the pain if you can scream about it.”
But Ben shakes his head.
He makes it through another three, but the ninth rips the sound from him, alien to his own ears, like shrieking metal. He expects Xander to stop then, but he doesn’t—he continues with the final stroke and Ben collapses, falling half off the bed before his ass touches his heels and he scrambles up again from the pain of it. He’s choking out noises, and he’s crying, but he doesn’t care right now.
Xander pulls him up on the bed properly, laying him down gingerly on his side and sliding up beside him. “You’re incredible,” he says, tracing his fingers through the tears on Ben’s face. He tastes them, and Ben watches, sees that his eyes are wide and excited.
“I made a noise,” he croaks.
“You screamed for me. I was hoping you would.” He sucks Ben’s lower lip into his mouth, tasting the blood.
Oh. Well, that’s different. That’s okay. Ben feels a little better about it. I still came out ahead.
“Shall we move on?” Xander asks, and Ben gives a little sigh of assent. “I want you on your back for this one. You can watch, this time. See what I’m doing. Since you clearly have no idea how hard I hit you—I think you’d better find out.”
Ben opens his mouth in alarm. No, I’d rather not. But what comes out is, “Of course, Xander. Whatever you want.”
Xander springs up, rolls Ben onto his back, and pulls him by the legs down to the end of the bed, making him cry out in pain again. “Spread your legs, please,” Xander tells him.
Every instinct in Ben’s body is telling him to keep his legs closed and maybe wrap his hands protectively over his cock for good measure. He opens his legs. “I think I’ll get you to pull them up,” Xander says, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
And so Ben finds himself drawing his knees up towards his chest and tucking his hands under them to secure his legs in place. “No—wider still,” Xander says impatiently, and Ben, very faintly, thinks How about you try it and see how easy it is, huh? But mostly he just wants to do a good job, so he tries his best to let his limbs be moved into position by Xander’s hands. It feels almost unbearably vulnerable. “I think the yoga is working,” Xander says, and then trails the tip of the riding crop down Ben’s inner thigh. “Eyes open, Benjamin, you can’t watch from behind closed eyelids. There you go. Ready?”
Five strokes each side down his thighs, getting closer and closer—way too close—to his balls, so that by the last two Ben is shaking so hard that he knows it might affect Xander’s aim. And actually seeing how much force Xander puts behind each stroke does not help.
Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7) Page 4
