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,
