Page 70 of Two for Roughing

On the nightstand, his phone buzzed, and he scrambled for it.

howza68: will you call me?

Damir got to his feet.

He wore his oldest sweatpants, a little short in the leg and worn thin. His ankles were chilly, his feet bare on the floor.

He pressed the call button.

“You said you would punish me,” Kilian said immediately, his voice small and lost.

“Kilian.”

“No, don’t—don’t baby me. I need to get out of my head. You can make it happen.”

“And you want me to…”

“I want it to hurt.”

Damir took a deep, steadying breath. “Not over the phone. Can I come over?”

“Yeah.”

A burglar in his own home, Damir hastened across the dark hall into the room Kilian had been staying in for three weeks now. His clothes lay scattered across the floor, a wild mix of the few items he’d brought and the stacks of team-branded workout gear he’d been given. Damir skirted around a pair of scissors resting on top of a T-shirt with the collar cut out unevenly.

Kilian sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched. He wore nothing but a pair of dark blue briefs, and the exposed stretch of his skin was so pale it shone white in the dim light of the bedroom, as though he were a ghost of himself.

Maybe he was.

“What—” Damir cleared his throat. “What do you need?”

Kilian looked up at him, his eyes red-rimmed, his lips bitten raw. “I don’t know. I don’t—just make me stop thinking.”

Damir bit down on the frustration. It wasn’t Kilian’s fault he’d never had a decent negotiation for a scene; it was Damir’s. “All right. Here’s what will happen. I am going to sit down where you are now, and you will lay yourself across my lap. Then, I’m going to spank you until I think you’ve been suitably punished, yes?”

Kilian nodded eagerly, pushing himself to his feet.

Damir took his place, legs spread wide, inviting Kilian to lie down across them.

He was warm and heavy, a welcome weight. Damir pulled Kilian’s underwear down and admired the swell of his ass. Just as beautiful as he’d known it would be when they’d talked about this as an idle fantasy. He ran greedy hands across it, squeezing and petting.

Kilian squirmed in anticipation.

A contrary part of Damir wanted him to wait longer. Kilian expected a hit; Damir didn’t want him to know when it would come. He was supposed to be in charge here, and he needed it to feel like it.

He massaged Kilian’s ass, his thighs, the space between the apex of his legs where the skin was dark and sensitive. He groped the supple flesh, then skated fingertips over Kilian’s balls, already somewhat swollen.

At first, Kilian tensed at every touch, but little by little, he relaxed into Damir’s hold. When he did nothing but spread his legs a little farther each time Damir chose a new way to touch him, Damir decided he was ready.

He brought the flat of his hand down on the swell of Kilian’s right ass cheek with a resounding clap. Damir knew the sound was more of a shock than the sting. He had tried it the other way around at Kilian’s age, and he knew the experience was at least half rooted in the humiliation of their positions and the accompanying sensory input.

Still, it did sting.

Damir admired the red print on Kilian’s skin before smacking the other cheek.

He rested his free hand on Kilian’s back. His shoulder blades rose with the shuddering intake of his breath, and Damir continued to spank him, first one side, then the other, over and over. It would have been meditative, but for the ache in Damir’s hand.

Eventually—it must have been after fifteen or twenty hits—the rise and fall of Kilian’s breathing became jerky and rushed, sobs escaping his lips only to be buried in the bedsheets.