“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
