The Trouble with Trevor (Off Limits Book 1)

by Cin Forrester

  “Let’s make sure you remember.”

  I think he's going harder. My ass swells, skin balloon-tight, almost numb. I sag against him. Nothing left in me to fight to get away.

  He rubs the paddle over my ass. At first, the sensation is good. Soothing. Anything is an improvement over that snapping sting and thud. Then the pause is awful because the rubbing makes the numbness fade, dragging me into bruising heat.

  “All right.” Grady's voice is back to normal now. “Almost done.”

  "No." I try squirming again. "Please, Grady. I get it. I promise."

  The only answer is his paddle. When he'd stopped, I was sure it couldn't hurt any worse than that. But it does. It hurts so much and I can't move. I stop trying. I hang over his leg and take it. My breath is nothing but shallow pants and hisses. I whisper one more pathetic Please, then go limp, letting him raise blisters that I swear pop and bleed. There's wetness on my thighs.

  “You were eleven minutes late.”

  “Yes.” I know. I’d timed it exactly, wondering if anything under ten would be excused. I think about last time. I can’t take eleven more. I’m frantic. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

  He tightens his grip, and I know he’s going to do it.

  The first smack lands, and I burst into tears. Deep, hard sobs, sounds I didn’t know I could make. Sounds I can’t ever remember making. I hadn’t cried since—I don’t know. Long before Jasper died. I can’t stop.

  But Grady does.

  Chapter 9

  Grady

  OH shit. I freeze, then toss the paddle onto the bed somewhere.

  This was not supposed to happen. There’d been no warning. Gasps, clenched-teeth whimpers, but nothing to indicate he was at his limit. I swore he’d been with me, wriggles and resistance despite his mouth trying to apologize.

  You don’t do three tours without hearing men cry. You learn the difference. Pain, rage, fear, grief.

  Maybe it’s guilt talking, but this doesn’t sound like pain. I was all too familiar with that sound.

  Guy I knew, total hard-ass, some fuckup sent him a notice his family died in a house fire. He didn’t so much as blink. Six hours later, some shiny fobbit shows up to say, Sorry, got the wrong Lance Corporal Jason J. Connors from Dallas. This Connors melted. Only way I can describe it. He dissolved like an ice block in the desert, making hoarse sobs of relief.

  Just like I’m hearing now. Seeing in the way Trevor’s body is draped over me.

  I take my hand off his wrists, but he doesn’t move them, doesn’t try to push free. I rub his back, between his shoulder blades, feeling the force of those sobs.

  “It’s okay. Hey, Trevor. It’s okay.”

  Obvious that it isn’t, but I don’t know what else to say. He slows some, and I take that as a sign to keep petting—I mean rubbing—his back. I move up to his hair. It’s still damp, from sweat or him soaking it in the bathroom. So thick and soft on my fingers. I keep sliding my hand through it, and I may be doing this as much for me as for him.

  He’s mostly run down to shaky breaths, but I keep up that pattern on his scalp, sifting the strands through my fingers. He mumbles something, but I can’t catch it, so I lean down over him.

  His face is mashed into the cover, and I wonder how he can breathe. I want to scoop him up, but he was so prickly about me hugging him after that nightmare. I don’t want to make things worse.

  “It’s okay.” I try to get the hair away from his face. “Tell me again. I didn’t hear you.”

  His head turns, lips so close his breath brushes my cheek, and an involuntary spark of want shoots through me. No way. Seventeen. Frank’s son.

  “I’m sorry,” he gets out.

  I can’t help it. I rub his jaw, his cheek, hand sliding to the back of his neck. “I know. It’s okay.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  His blue eyes are so close to mine. Rimmed red, but the look in them makes my fingers tighten on his neck as I fight the urge to pull him even closer.

  “For what?”

  “For you to finish.” His voice is a low, wet whisper. I wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t almost kissing him.

  Finish? My brain is on a very wrong track. Then I get him. I’d been about to give him a paddle swat for each minute he was late.

  I straighten up and away from temptation. “That’s okay, Trev. I think we’re done.”

  “No.”

  It’s that kind of pouty defiance that had made me want to nail him—with the paddle—in the first place. But he’s had enough. So have I. Besides, who the fuck is in charge here anyway?

  I haul him off the mattress, stand him between my legs and then pull him down to sit on my right thigh.

  He winces. Yeah, he’s had enough.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I can take it.” His face is all red, lips and eyes puffy. I want to pull on his swollen bottom lip with my thumb, open his mouth for my tongue, my cock. Shit.

  I snatch my hands away from touching him and dig them into the bedcover behind me, leaning away from that tempting wet softness in a pretty brat package. What is with me? I’ve never been into that type before.

  He lets more of his weight sink onto my leg, features tight but not resisting the pain. “I was late. I deserve it.”

  And it had all been deliberate. I’m fighting the twisting, twining urges to spank him and screw him when he throws that admission in.

  “I did it on purpose. I made sure I’d be late.”

  I grab his shoulders and make him meet my stare. “Why?”

  “I wanted…” his eyes fill and he stops for a deep breath, “…wanted to see what you’d do. If you’d...” He gestures at my other thigh.

  I could shake him, but I don’t. I wonder how often anyone has ever tried to figure out what’s going on inside Trevor’s head. I release his shoulders and lift his chin with a thumb and forefinger. “Now you know. I will always follow through.”

  He leans in close. At the last second, I turn so the kiss he’s coming at me with lands on my cheek, but I do hug him, pull him tight against me while I will my dick to stay down. I’m riding a dangerous edge, comforting him even while I’m wondering if he’d make those same sweet gasps with my dick slamming into his ass instead of the paddle. He’d let me. I can tell. I don’t know if it’s a crush or the kid is gay, but I sure as hell know what’s on offer right now.

  His forehead rests on my shoulder. My hand drifts down his back, stopping just before the elastic of his briefs. The waistband is my buffer zone. With my other hand, I rub through his hair. That’s safe enough.

  Into my shoulder, he whispers, “So I owe you ten more.”

  “You’re already sore enough.”

  He pulls away. “You said you’d always follow through.”

  Fuck, he’s a manipulative little brat. What’s he trying to get out of this? I struggle to tip things back my way. I bounce him off my thigh, so he’s standing between my legs again. “Turn around.”

  His breath catches, but he does it. I push him far enough away that I can get a look. Even with his briefs on, I can see the darker skin at the bottom of his cheeks. On the right side, there’s the start of a bruise peeking from the leg band in the crease between ass and thigh.

  Before I can blink, he yanks the briefs down to his thighs. I clench my fists to keep from giving him exactly what he’s asking for. There’s a spot like a bull’s-eye on the right, and just some random dark spots on the left. Fine, brat. But we’re playing this my way.

  “Get the paddle.”

  He has to step around me to find it, and damn, I can’t help looking at his half-ready dick springing out of thick hair. Nothing kidlike about that.

  Standing between my legs again, he hands the paddle to me, dick boned up even more. Okay, so that’s some of why he’s pushing. But it doesn’t explain that breakdown.

  I look into his eyes. “Okay. Eleven more.”

  “Ten.”

  “You think now�
�s a good time to argue with me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Eleven. They’re going to hurt like hell. In between, I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer me.”

  He sucks in his breath with a wince like I’ve already started.

  “Problem?”

  “No, sir.”

  But I can see he’s chewing on something. Besides his lip.

  “What?”

  “If I—what if I—” He swallows. “If I cry again, please don’t stop.”

  “I won’t. And I don’t want to hear any complaints about how sore your butt is either, got me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I push him down over my left thigh, and his hands come up to lock wrists in the small of his back. I clamp his legs under my right and hold his waist. His dick pokes my thigh, and I shift him a little so he’s not rubbing off on me. God knows if I’ll be able to control myself if he shoots on me.

  I grip the paddle and aim for the sore spots, snapping it down on the left first.

  He gasps, and his legs kick under mine. I nail him with the second one, right on the bull’s-eye.

  “Ow.” It’s a sharp yip, free of tears.

  With three I get him there again. And follow fast on the same spot with four and five. His dick isn’t poking anything now, and his breath is getting shaky.

  “Almost halfway. Want to tell me something?”

  “I’m sorry.” It’s a whisper.

  Six catches him right over the crack and makes him arch up. “For what, Trevor?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  I swing again. “Answer me.”

  “I’m mad.”

  “At me?” I hold off the next swing.

  “No.”

  I snap it down again. He bounces his legs, but doesn’t kick.

  “What’s wrong with being mad, Trevor?”

  A more violent toss of his head, hair flying. “I’m sorry.”

  And a higher, more urgent sorry as I smack him twice.

  “It’s okay to be mad.”

  “No.”

  I burn the last one onto his skin, not full strength, but enough to make him yelp. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m mad at Jasper.”

  Chapter 10

  Trevor

  AFTER I choke out that last admission, I push away from his knee and scramble up onto the bed. Now that all my disgusting secrets are out there, I feel like I’m going to throw up. I mean, I’m some kind of epic superfreak, perving on him, perving on my ass getting spanked, oh and being pissed at Jasper and guilty about it because he’s the one who died when he was the age I am now.

  I’m not crying anymore—God, that was so pathetic—but I can’t look at him. I curl up into a ball, forgetting that puts my bare ass sticking out in his direction. What the hell, right? He’s already seen it.

  My briefs are bunched at my thighs, but I’m not going to haul them up. Come to think of it, I don’t want anything touching my ass. Even being on my side like this makes an uncomfortable pressure spread through my butt cheeks.

  Grady stands, then tugs the cover and blankets and sheet down, pulling them from under me in a soft ripple that reminds me of being on a water slide. The covers settle over me in a gentle weight.

  He’s tucking me in, and I’m such a baby I love it. No wonder he wouldn’t kiss me when I thought he would. Maybe he’s not gay, or maybe he is and I’m the complete opposite of his type. Of Cael’s type. Of anyone’s type. After all, I doubt there are guys into whiny brats who cry while getting turned on from a spanking.

  He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t touch me. “I know you might not believe me, but that’s normal.”

  What is? Me trying to make out with him? The fact that he could feel my boner at the thought of him spanking me? Or that sometimes I hated my brother for dying and fucking up my life?

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s okay to be mad, as long as you don’t do something stupid.” Then he sits again and leans down.

  I’m such a tool, so desperate that I’ll even take a kiss on my forehead. But he doesn’t do that.

  Finally I roll over to look at him. Damn, my ass really hurts. He stares down, but he doesn’t look pissed or disgusted.

  He flicks a hair off my face. “If you do think you need to beat yourself up over something, just tell me about it. You don’t need to try to get in trouble.”

  No way in hell do I want to do that again, no matter what my dick thinks. But my mouth doesn’t listen. “You’ll still spank me?” The last two words barely make it out.

  “I’ll do what I have to do to keep you safe.” His mouth curves, just a little, and the light refracts through the cells that create the light-brown color of his irises. I can imagine they glow. For me.

  The pain in my ass turns almost sweet. I want to tell him that he can do it twice as hard if he will keep looking at me like that. Like he really sees me and I matter.

  “Remember what I said?” he asks.

  “You always follow through.”

  “Right.” He stands and goes over to the light switch. “Good night, Trevor. Might want to try sleeping on your stomach.”

  Fuck Grady for being right. My ass is too crisp to get comfortable any way but on my stomach. Even the weight of the blankets reminds me of my brother pressing on a bruise. Does that hurt, Trev?

  I flip on the reading light, yank off the covers and use the camera on my phone to get a look at my ass. Bright red skin spreads from halfway down my cheeks to the tops of my thighs, with splotches of darker crimson (Go Harvard). On one cheek there’s like a target shape that might turn into a bruise, but based on how it feels, stinging and throbbing and aching, it should look way worse. Jesus, is there some kind of instructional manual out there for spanking? Maximum Pain with Minimal Damage. I bet there's a YouTube video. I almost tap open my web browser, but instead I put the phone down and flip off the light before flopping around some more.

  At least thinking about my ass for a few minutes kept me from obsessing over the fact that he knows. He knows I like him, knows that him putting me over his knee makes my dick hard, and he doesn’t care? I can’t believe he’s just cool with it. Marine Sergeant Grady cool with his perverted godson.

  And keep me safe? What the fuck does that mean?

  After punching my frustration into the pillow, I stretch out on my stomach and try to sleep. Could be worse, I guess. It’s Friday night. No classes tomorrow, no hard chairs. Still, I’m thinking the whole you-won’t-be-able-to-sit-for-a-week idea that up till now had been making my balls tingle might be less fun in reality.

  *

  I might have been sore enough that I had a rough time getting to sleep, but as soon as the hot water of this morning's shower recharges some good pain in my ass, my dick is in my hand. I play a game where I tip my ass into the water so the heat and pressure feels like someone—okay, Grady—gives me a swat, and then I jerk my dick forward through my soap-slick hand. It builds me up fast, the pleasure and pain all under my control. I love it. I picture Grady right there, telling me to come, that he's going to make me sorry if I don't do it right now, and my body rockets up and over the edge, the spasms wringing through me. My jizz shoots to the back wall, and I pump four times. My legs go weak, and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

  I hang on to the tiles and splash my come off the wall. Now that I'm not riding that horny edge, the hot water on my ass just hurts. I finish the shower fast, dry some of my parts off more gently than others and pull on my loosest, softest boxer briefs and sweatpants. The house smells like bacon, and I practically fly down the stairs to slide into the kitchen on my socks.

  Grady’s scooping bacon onto a plate. I just see his back, jeans hugging his tight, curved ass, muscles moving under his long-sleeved gray T-shirt. My tongue sticks in my mouth, half shame, half want drying up my throat. Bad enough I was just jerking off thinking of him like he’s some guy in a porn vid, but what the fuck am I goi
ng to say to him after last night? Thanks for indulging me with my kink?

  I’ll slither back upstairs. I can come back down later and grab some cereal.

  Grady turns to look at me then and gives me his almost smile. “Good morning, Trevor.”

  Okay. Maybe we can pretend it didn’t happen. I can manage that. He puts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table, and I drop into the chair in front of it.

  “Ffff—” I cut off the curse. Pain shoots all through my ass, and I jump back up. So much for pretending it didn’t happen.

  Remind me never to do anything to be spanked for right after I've come. This is the opposite of fun. There’s a pillow on one of the chairs in the living room. When I come back carrying it, Grady looks up from tapping on his phone.

  His gaze takes in me and my pillow.

  I feel the argument forming in my head even though he hasn’t said a word. I sag over the pillow, already knowing I’m going to lose.

  “You asked for it,” Grady says and folds his arms. “Could even say you earned it.”

  He’s got me there.

  “You’re going to feel it for a while.” He takes a gulp of coffee, but his eyes meet mine over the rim of the mug. “It’s a good reminder.”

  As I take the pillow back out to the living room, I wonder what he thinks I need reminding of the most.

  Grady pushes my mug and the sugar bowl to me when I come back to the table. “You don't have to sit at the table though. You can stand to eat.”

  “Thanks.” I match my sarcastic gratitude with a slump into the chair which pulls a wince from me and a quirked lip from Grady.

  He downs more of his coffee and glances at his phone. “What are your plans today?”

  I remember my assertion that I had better things to do this weekend, but I tell the sorry truth as I finish adding my fourth scoop of sugar to the black coffee. “Writing a paper. Reading.”

  “I need to run some errands. Think you could manage to do a load of laundry?”