by Sidney Bell
“It is,” Sullivan agreed, and his voice sort of broke because he hadn’t expected this. Caty had been fired up, no doubt, but she was always fired up, and her anger had been of the protective, don’t hurt what’s mine sort, not this, this acceptance from someone who knew what Sullivan wanted to do to him and was still all right with it.
Tobias kept going, “And if I want you to beat me from here to Port-au-Prince, that’s my prerogative. Someone doesn’t have to want that too in order to back the fuck up and let me have it.”
“Wow, that’s—Port-au-Prince?”
“The capital of Haiti. Learn some geography.” Tobias scowled fiercely at nothing in particular.
“I know where it is, you just don’t get a lot of references to it in kinky conversation. At least, not in my experience. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say fuck before.” Sullivan’s lips twitched. Tobias cursing was cute. Sort of like a fluffy animal from a kid’s movie busting out gang signs. “Do it again.”
“Oh, shut up.” Tobias knocked Sullivan’s hand away from his face, but gently, so he couldn’t be too angry. “I sound like my Tante Esther. Every other word out of her mouth is an F-bomb.”
Sullivan laughed. “You disapprove?”
“She’s kind of mean sometimes.” He stopped short, then said slowly, “Actually...she’s not.”
Sullivan raised an eyebrow.
“She’s honest,” Tobias said. “She’s the one who told me that I’d been found in a Dumpster as a baby.”
Sullivan had to swallow hard. During his research on Tobias, he’d seen mention of a teen girl abandoning her newborn, but he hadn’t known for sure that Tobias was the infant in question. And what had been a random fact about a stranger before felt like a bruise in a very tender place now. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. My birth mother was very young when she had me.” Tobias glanced out the window, away from Sullivan. “I think she panicked. Didn’t know what to do. My parents never told me about it. I’d resigned myself to the idea that they’d kept it from me, but then I found a letter from her in the trash. And then she called me. She...it was sort of horrible. I think she wants to meet me, and I get why my parents would be afraid of that, but I don’t want to meet her, and if they’d asked, I’d have told them that, but they never asked. Even though I’m an adult, they just made the choice for me, and that’s why I left.”
“Shit. I should think so.”
“We’ll be okay,” Tobias said, but quietly, like the reassurance was meant for himself more than Sullivan. More briskly, he continued, “Tante Esther told me when I was ten. I thought she was being mean at the time—she often said things that hurt people’s feelings, or so it seemed to me when I was a kid. But honesty does hurt, doesn’t it? Sometimes at least. Doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile. Maybe she thought I deserved to know the truth. Or maybe she refused to lie. Who knows? Anyway. Where were we? Oh, right. Your ex is a d-bag who needs to learn that just because something doesn’t fit his experience of the world, that doesn’t make it invalid.”
Sullivan studied the solemn, determined expression on Tobias’s face. “I would very much like to hurt you, if you think you’d enjoy it.”
Tobias’s solemnity shattered into a large, sunny grin. “Oh, sure! Let’s try it tonight.”
* * *
Waiting was torture.
After a year of hating this small, central part of himself, and after almost eighteen months of going without satisfying it in any shape or form, Sullivan felt like a smoker still an hour out from his next cigarette. Time slowed down. A glacier could’ve melted in the time it took for Cindy Jackman to go to work, have dinner with friends, and return home for the night.
By the time they got back to his place, Sullivan’s hands were shaking.
Tobias dumped their stuff on the counter, his gaze running over Sullivan. He asked kindly, “Can you wait a bit longer so I can shower?”
“Sure.”
Tobias smiled like he knew what that cost him. “I’ll be quick.”
Sullivan spent the ten minutes pacing in the kitchen, thinking about what was coming. He had to make it good, and not only so Tobias wouldn’t regret it and say they could never do it again. He thought Tobias might find spanking to be a blessing in disguise. Lots of high-strung subs preferred a dirty, playful punishment to spending weeks beating themselves up over a mistake. And it would be sweet to soothe him afterward, to touch him until he lost track of everything else, to let him know that he was still wanted and valued, to bring him pleasure in exchange for his trust.
When the shower cut off, Sullivan went upstairs and found Tobias standing in a towel in the center of his bedroom. Water drops beaded along his shoulders and belly, and his hair lay dark and curled at his forehead and nape. His gaze was bright and interested; Sullivan saw no sign of fear.
“How do you want me?” Tobias asked.
“I don’t...” Yeah, Sullivan’s words were actually wavering. “I don’t know. It depends on what you want.”
“What do you mean?”
Sullivan hesitated. “Are you under the impression I’m going to thrash you or something? It’s a spanking, not a beating. You get a say in this.”
Tobias laughed. “No, I know. But it’s been a while for you and I thought you might want to...sort of...well, bang it out. I don’t need anything fancy. At least I don’t think I do.”
Sullivan almost choked. “Bang it out? What the hell?”
Tobias shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do. I want it to be good for you.”
Tobias’s gaze softened. “It already is. I can tell how bad you want this. I can see it. It’s—God, Sullivan, I love that you want this so much.” He licked his lips, then pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it in the direction of the bathroom. He was half-hard and filling fast. “I like the idea of it. I want... I don’t know what I want, but I know it’ll be good. You’ll make it good.”
“You trust me?”
“I do.”
Sullivan’s knees were fucking weak. He sat on the bed, surveying Tobias from his broad shoulders to his lean arms and legs. “Turn around.”
Tobias did, and Sullivan stared at his ass. He’d looked plenty of times before, but now he let himself see what he’d refused to consider all those times before: that ass was made for play, round and pert enough to bounce under a hard blow, the perfect tapestry for bruises and welts. His thighs were strong and lightly hairy. He didn’t have much fat on his build at all, and Sullivan would have to be careful not to cause damage along with the pain.
“Come here,” he said, and he heard the catch of Tobias’s breath.
Tobias was fully hard now, and when Sullivan took hold of his wrist and tugged, he went easily, folding across Sullivan’s lap like a dancer, his erection coming to rest in the space between Sullivan’s legs. If it hadn’t been for the wild beat of his pulse, Sullivan might’ve thought him calm. Not that he was calm, himself. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Tobias’s ass, and he definitely didn’t have control of his hand, which stroked that fine, lightly downy skin as if it were sacred.
“Color?” he asked.
“Green.”
There was nothing left but to do it, then. Sullivan lifted his hand, ignored the trembling in his fingers, and brought it down. The sound rang through the room, louder than he remembered it being, and at the same time an electric shock of pleasure burned through his belly. He watched Tobias’s flesh move, distantly aware of Tobias’s breath catching again, and lost a few seconds staring at the reddening skin where his palm had made contact.
“Color?” he asked.
“Green.”
He brought his hand down again. Harder this time, to hear the way Tobias inhaled sharply, jolting against the pain. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And again. A fourth time. His fingers lingered this time, squeezing. “How’s...is that all right?”
“I’m good.”
“But do you like it, I mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” Tobias replied, sounding mildly exasperated. “You keep stopping.”
Right. Sullivan was killing the mood with all the check-ins. Obvious mistake. He should shut up and do it. Instead, he said, “I want you to know you can trust me.”
Tobias sat up, going to his knees on the mattress beside him. He surveyed Sullivan’s face closely enough that Sullivan wanted to fidget. “What?”
“I think the question is whether or not you trust me.”
Sullivan frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything? I’m the one with all the power here—”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m the one with the power at the moment, and I’d really like to switch that back around, so tell me what you need.” Tobias’s tone was relaxed, like this was the kind of conversation that took place every day.
Sullivan only stared at him.
Tobias sighed. “If I safe word, you’ll move heaven and earth to fix whatever’s broken, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Sullivan said, a little offended.
“So if I know it, why don’t you?”
“I—”
“I will tell you if I need out. Or if it’s not doing anything for me. You’re not going to hurt me.” He paused. “I mean, you will, but you won’t. Because I won’t let you. Trust me to tell you. And until I do, assume we’re green, okay? That’s how I want it. That’s how I want you. Fully loaded, okay?”
“Swear it. That you’ll stop me if you need me to.”
“You know I will,” Tobias replied steadily. “And until I do, I’m yours, all right?”
Sullivan kissed him. He had to; he was half-convinced he’d suffocate if he didn’t. The kiss was brutal from the outset, little more than teeth and naked demand, and Tobias submitted instantly, following where Sullivan led, his mouth soft and hot and open. Sullivan felt a wild stab of triumph in his gut—mine—and guided Tobias down across his thighs once more, his left hand tunneling into those pretty curls, his right stroking along the bottom curve of one cheek. “If you do like this, we’re going to end up doing it a lot,” he said, his voice far calmer than he felt. “I think you’ve got a secret bratty side to you.”
“I do not,” Tobias protested indignantly.
“Quiet,” Sullivan snapped, and spanked him. And this time, he really spanked him.
Tobias’s whole body seized, his hands tightening into fists. The skin of his ass flooded cherry red under the blow. That one would leave a mark, and that was... Fuck, that felt good.
“God,” Tobias whispered.
Sullivan hit him again, hard enough that his palm stung riotously. “I said quiet.”
Tobias’s body abruptly went liquid. He turned his face on the duvet, his features somnolent, his eyes half-closed. His lips were pink and parted, his breath quick. He liked it. He liked it.
Sullivan let go.
* * *
“Will you do it again? You said you would. Please?” Tobias asked later in the dark, his words still soft and slurred around the edges from coming.
“As much as you want, sweetheart.” Sullivan tugged him closer, pulled the covers up higher. There was a cool breeze coming in through the open window, and he didn’t want Tobias to catch a chill. “As far as I’m concerned, if you like the idea of never being able to sit down again, we can make that happen.”
“Good. You hurt me so good.” Tobias laughed softly, a thick, heavy, happy sound, and Sullivan had to swallow, had to press kisses against his forehead and cheeks, had to blink hard. Tobias was the one with tiny pink welts decorating his ass and thighs, but Sullivan, somehow, was the one who felt deeply, dangerously defenseless.
Chapter Seventeen
It didn’t hurt.
Tobias peered over his shoulder at his own ass in the small pocket of fogless mirror he’d wiped the condensation from. There were no bruises. His butt bore two barely raised welts, but they didn’t hurt. Not unless he pressed hard. As much as it had hurt at the time—and it had, gloriously—the spanking hadn’t left any serious marks.
For a second he wondered at the faint sliver of disappointment that the thought raised. He thought maybe he wanted the marks, perhaps more than Sullivan did—Sullivan, who had looked at those small welts in the shower a little bit ago as if he didn’t quite know what to make of them. Sullivan, who’d had this dopey happiness radiating from him ever since he’d woken up.
He’d touched the welts with fingers light as feathers, and Tobias had shivered, thinking of how much his cheeks had been burning the night before as Sullivan rubbed off on him, his cock hard against Tobias’s sore cheeks, the movement of his hips lighting up those sensitive nerves with every thrust.
But it didn’t hurt now. And the marks would fade soon, maybe by nightfall.
Tobias wanted to find Ghost, he did. Maybe he was using Sullivan, using this ridiculously good sex to distract himself from all the questions about his friend—where he was, what he was doing. Once he let the topic of Ghost’s circumstances take priority in his mind, it became difficult to think about anything else.
But a small, ashamed part of him was grateful that it was taking so long. That part of him wanted to spend the day teasing Sullivan, stealing ground an inch at a time with the sort of comments that Sullivan would term bratty, until Sullivan got that look on his face, that hard, uncompromising look that he’d had last night once they’d finally gotten him past his nerves. When Sullivan looked at him like that, Tobias knew that nothing less than total submission would save him. He knew he could push as much as he wanted, and Sullivan would only push back harder, forcing Tobias down, forcing him still, forcing him into that blissful quiet where all the noise in his head vanished.
When Sullivan had finally shifted Tobias off his lap to lie on his belly on the bed, even with his ass on fire, Tobias had thought don’t stop yet.
He’d wanted more. The sex had been brilliant, as always, but he’d known, at that moment, that nothing Sullivan could want from him was going to make him say no, not on this front, anyway. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would want to. The thing was, he was starting to think he was addicted to that little itch under his skin that told him to say yes where he would’ve said no only a few months ago. He wanted more things to say yes to, wanted to test those boundaries further, whether that meant choosing a new career or letting Sullivan turn his ass red. He got to decide. It was his choice, and he wasn’t going to apologize for any of it.
* * *
That morning a balding man pulled up to Cindy Jackman’s house in a battered truck and trundled out of the cab wearing faded jeans, a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a sweat-stained John Deere cap.
“That’s him.” Tobias grabbed Sullivan’s arm, comparing the pic from the security camera video to the man across the street, wishing the quality was better. It was happening. After what felt like countless hours, here was the break. “Isn’t it?”
“Just like that, buddy,” Sullivan muttered, his fancy camera already clicking. “Look right over here.”
The man knocked on the front door. Cindy Jackman answered, throwing her arms around him in welcome. He hugged her back, patting her on the bottom.
“An ex, you think?” Sullivan said. “I’d bet a million dollars it was ‘mutual’ but it was actually her decision. She’s out of his league.”
“He’s built the same as the guy in the video.”
Sullivan made a thoughtful humming sound.
Tempted to poke him in order to prod a more excited reaction, Tobias added, “Same height.”
Sullivan lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s see the picture.” They stared together, darting glances back and forth between t
he grainy page and the man on the porch now brushing a dark lock of Cindy’s hair behind her ear.
“It’s him,” Tobias said. “That’s the guy who took Ghost.”
“If it isn’t, it’s a hell of a coincidence.”
The balding man went inside, but was back outside in fifteen minutes, getting not into his truck this time, but into Cindy Jackman’s beige sedan. Sullivan started the Buick.
Tobias didn’t know much about how to follow someone, but after the long week of stakeouts, he figured Sullivan was more than competent. He always kept two cars between them when he could, and seemed to have a sort of sixth sense for when to hang back before yellow lights and when to assume the balding man would demonstrate a lead foot. All the same, Tobias wanted to tell Sullivan to go faster, to make something happen. He knew it was counter-productive, but he couldn’t help it.
The balding man stopped in front of a brick-red ranch house, and was knee deep in four shouting kids by the time Sullivan had found a place to park. A woman stood on the stoop, a backpack dangling from one hand; she held it out for the man to take, then produced a car seat from behind her, which she shoved into his arms as well before disappearing back inside, shutting the door firmly enough behind her that the kids fell silent for a beat. Then they went back to swarming the man—their father, Tobias figured, and a fairly absent one at that, judging from their near-panicked devotion. All of the children were talking at once and the balding man nodded and listened as he carried the backpack and car seat to the sedan, where he spent several long minutes getting everyone situated.
“That explains why he switched vehicles,” Tobias said. “Can’t take four kids in a truck. He must’ve picked Ghost up either right before or right after he hung out with his kids.”
“So Cindy got in the middle of the marriage but didn’t stick around to be the new mommy,” Sullivan mused. He’d already started taking more pictures. “Write down that address, will you?”
