Chapter 7 - Taron
Taron
My butt is on fire.
Like seriously hot hot hot.
I mean obviously not literally on fire, but it might as well be. Each step sends a sharp reminder of Kaleb’s hand, the way it cracked down with that unyielding, Daddy-tastic force.
I’m walking beside him now, back toward Peplinska’s Grocery, the rain a light mist that clings to my hair and jacket. The alley’s behind us… but the memory? It’s front and center, replaying like a loop in my brain.
The way he made my big butt wobble with each spank.
And the sound it was making too! My cock was hard as all get out despite the fact I was hollering in pain.
And I know that Kaleb enjoyed it too. The way he was dishing out each spank with so much relish.
Hey, maybe he likes bigger boys? I’m not complaining, that’s for sure.
I glance up at him—tall, solid, that jaw set like granite.
Like usual, he doesn’t say much, just keeps a steady pace, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging loose.
As enjoyable as it was, part of me wants to bolt, hide in my room at the B&B and pretend none of this happened.
But the sting in my cheeks? It’s a constant nudge: Do the right thing. Own it.
“You okay?” Kaleb asks, voice low, not looking at me.
I nod, swallowing. “Nervous. But… yeah. I need to fix this.”
“Good boy.” The words slip out casual, but they hit me warm, right in the chest. Daddy vibes again. Or maybe I’m just projecting because after that spanking, my Little side is wide awake and needy.
We reach the store, the screen door creaking as he holds it open for me.
Inside, it’s the same cozy chaos—aisles of canned goods, fresh bread smell, a few locals browsing. Mrs. Peplinska is at the counter, silver hair pinned back, wiping her hands on her apron. She looks up, smiles at first, then sees my face—probably red as a tomato—and tilts her head.
“Back so soon, dear?”
I step forward, apples in hand, heart pounding. Kaleb’s right behind me, a silent wall of support.
“Um… Mrs. Peplinska? I… I made a mistake. These apples… I put them in my bag by accident and didn’t pay. I’m soooo sorry. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I was distracted, but that’s no excuse.”
She takes them, weighs them on the scale, eyes kind. No anger, just a soft understanding. “Oh, honey. These things happen. You came back. That’s what matters.”
Relief floods me, but guilt lingers. “I really am sorry. Here…” I fumble for my wallet, pay double what they cost. “For the trouble.”
Mrs. Peplinska simply chuckles and rings it up. Then her gaze flicks over my shoulder to Kaleb, and a knowing smile creeps in. “Well, now. Looks like you’ve got a good influence here.” She leans in, voice dropping. “Cooling creams are in the middle aisle, aisle three. The aloe one works wonders.”
My face ignites, blazing hot, my cheeks almost throbbing with crimson.
Does she know?
Well, clearly she does!
But how?
I stammer a “thank you” and bolt toward the door, hearing Kaleb murmur something to her before following.
Outside, rain patters on the awning. Kaleb catches up, a small bag in hand. “Got the cream.”
I groan, covering my face. “She knew. She totally knew.”
“Small town.” Kaleb shrugs, but there’s a twitch at his mouth—like he’s fighting a smile. “My truck is this way.”
We walk to his pickup, parked a block down. Kaleb opens the passenger door, gestures me in. I climb up, but he doesn’t close it. Instead, he steps close, voice dropping to that commanding rumble. “Jeans and briefs down. Time to cool that butt.”
“Here?” I squeak, glancing around. The street’s quiet, rain keeping folks inside, but still… in public?
“Tinted windows. No one’ll see.” His eyes lock on mine, steady. “You need this. Trust me. That round red bottom is in need of some tender care.”
My pulse races, a mix of nerves and… something hotter.
I nod, shimmying out of my jeans and briefs, feeling the cool air hit my skin. I’m exposed. Super vulnerable. But as Kaleb climbs in on the driver’s side, closing us in, it shifts—sensual, intimate.
My cock throbs once more, that ache from the spanking twisting into a red-hot desire as my balls tighten too.
Kaleb opens the cream, scoops some on his fingers. “Lean over.”
I do, resting on my elbows, butt up.
Kaleb’s hands—rough, warm—touch my cheeks gently now, spreading the cool gel. It soothes the sting instantly.
But his touch? It lights me up. Fingers gliding, careful, almost tender.
I bite my lip to stifle a moan, heat pooling between my legs and my cock aches and throbs.
Don’t think naughty. Book. Think about the book…
The lumberjack hero, felling trees… but damn, it’s him. Kaleb. His strength, his control. No. Plot twist. Make the hero a… baker? Lame. Focus on the plot arc. Independence.
But no matter how much I try to focus on the book, Kaleb’s thumb brushes a sensitive spot, and I gasp out loud.
“You good?” he asks, voice husky.
“Mmm-hmm.” Barely. The cream’s working, cooling the fire, but igniting another.
Finally, Kaleb finishes, wipes his hands on a rag from the glove box. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” I pull up my clothes, face burning. Did he notice my boner? I hope not. But yikes, I’m really not sure.
He starts the engine. “Not taking you back to the B&B. Cabin’s closer. You need rest.”
I don’t argue. The rain’s picking up, and honestly… being with him feels right.
The drive is quiet, radio off, just wipers and tires on wet road. His cabin appears through the trees—rustic, welcoming, smoke curling from the chimney.
Inside, it’s warm, wood-paneled, cozy.
Racer bounds over, tail wagging, sniffing me like I’m new territory.
“Down, boy.” Kaleb hangs our jackets, heads to the kitchen. “Pie in the oven. Leftover from yesterday. Apple. Ironic, right?”
I laugh, the tension easing.
We sit at the scarred oak table, him slicing generous pieces. It’s flaky, cinnamon-sweet. I devour mine, the comfort food hitting perfect after the morning’s chaos.
“This is amazing,” I say between bites. “You bake?”
He grunts. “Sometimes. It clears the head.”
We eat in companionable silence, rain drumming on the roof. Racer curls at my feet, like he’s decided I’m okay and not a total city boy weirdo.
“When the rain stops,” I begin, licking the sugar off my lips. “Can I come with you? To work? For more research?”
He eyes me over his fork. “Rain’s in for the day. And you could use a nap. A spanking takes it out of you.”
My cheeks heat again, but it’s not embarrassment… it’s that fuzzy warmth.
I feel cared for. Protected.
He clears plates, tends to the fire, then nods to the couch. “Come on.”
I follow, sinking into the soft leather. He sits, pats his lap. “Head here.”
Heart fluttering, I lay down, pillowing on his thigh. It’s firm, warm. He drapes a blanket over me, tender and caring.
As the flames crackle, heat seeps in and I feel my eyes getting heavy.
Racer flops nearby, sighing contentedly and thumping his tail on the ground slowly and rhythmically.
Kaleb’s hand rests on my hair, stroking gently. No words—just presence.
I’m safe. Even the faint tingle in my butt makes me feel looked after and cherished.
My eyes drift shut, the rain a lullaby.
For the first time in forever, I feel… held.
Sleep comes easy. And the fact I’ve got a Daddy like Kaleb so close makes it all the better…
The fire’s still crackling when I wake up, softer now, more embers than flames. My body feels heavy in the best way—like I’ve been wrapped in warmth for hours.
I’m still on the couch, head pillowed in Kaleb’s lap, blanket tucked around my shoulders. His hand rests lightly on my hair, fingers occasionally drifting in slow, absent strokes.
I shift just a little, and that’s when I feel it.
Hard. Thick. Pressing right under my cheek.
Kaleb’s big, pulsatingly hard Daddy cock.
My eyes snap open, heat rushing straight to my face. Oh god. I’m literally lying on his erection like it’s a pillow. How long has it been like this? Did I do something in my sleep? Did he…?
I don’t dare move yet. Just breathe. Slow. In. Out.
Above me, Kaleb doesn’t react. No grunt, no shift, no awkward cough. He just keeps turning pages—slow and deliberate like he’s savoring every word. The soft rustle of paper is the only sound besides the fire and the distant rain.
Curiosity wins over embarrassment.
I tilt my head carefully, peeking up without sitting up yet. He’s reading an actual book—not a phone, not a tablet. A thick hardcover, faded green cloth spine, gold lettering too worn to read from this angle. His brows are slightly furrowed, lips pressed in concentration.
He looks… peaceful.
Almost gentle.
Nothing like the stern Daddy who just spanked me in an alley earlier.
I can’t help it. A tiny giggle bubbles up.
Kaleb glances down, one eyebrow lifting. “You’re awake.”
“Mm-hmm.” I push myself up slowly, blanket pooling around my waist. My butt protests with a dull, warm ache—still tender, but the cream helped a lot. I tuck my legs under me, facing him on the couch. “What are you reading?”
He holds the book up so I can see the cover. Middlemarch by George Eliot.
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re reading Middlemarch?”
Kaleb closes it with a soft thud, sets it on the armrest. “Problem?”
“No! I just…” I bite my lip, trying not to smile too wide. “It’s a classic. Like, doorstopper 19th-century classic. I didn’t expect… um…”
“Didn’t expect a tree surgeon to read literature?” His voice is gruff, but there’s a defensive edge under it. “I might swing a chainsaw for a living, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy culture.”
The way he says it—half growl, half pout—is so unexpectedly adorable that I can’t hold back the laugh. It spills out bright and genuine.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, holding up my hands. “It’s just… really cool. I like that there are more sides to you. The grumpy lumberjack who secretly reads Victorian novels? That’s… hot.”
Kaleb simply snorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
“Hot, huh?”
“Very.” I lean forward a little, elbows on my knees. “What part are you at?”
“Dorothea’s just realizing Casaubon’s a dry old stick. He’s starting to question everything.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Hits different when you’ve lived long enough to know people like that.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. It does.”
For a moment we just sit there, the fire popping, rain tapping the windows. It feels… easy. Like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of once.
Then he glances at the clock on the mantel. “Late afternoon already. Got a busy evening ahead. I need to check some equipment, sharpen chains, prep for tomorrow if the rain clears.”
I nod, suddenly aware I’ve taken up his whole day. “Right. Of course. I should get back to the B&B.”
He stands, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt rides up just enough to show a strip of hard stomach dusted with dark hair. My mouth goes dry.
I glance down—can’t help it—and… yup. The bulge in his jeans is still very much there. Prominent. Unapologetic.
A mischievous little spark lights in my chest.
I tilt my head, letting my eyes linger. “You, uh… need a minute before you can stand up? Looks like you might have a situation.”
His gaze snaps to mine. Narrowed. Dangerous in that deliciously Daddy way.
“Keep that sass in check, little boy,” he says, voice dropping low. “Or there’ll be another spanking. And next time I won’t be so gentle.”
Heat floods me—half embarrassment, half pure want. My thighs press together instinctively.
I swallow. “Noted, sir.”
He studies me for a long beat, like he’s deciding whether to follow through right here. Then he exhales through his nose, grabs his keys from the hook by the door.
“Come on. Truck’s out front.”
I stand, smoothing my sweater, still feeling the ghost of his handprints on my skin. Racer trots over, nudging my leg with his big head like he’s saying goodbye.
I scratch behind his ears. “See you soon, buddy.”
Kaleb opens the door, cool damp air rushing in. He waits for me to step through first, then follows, locking up behind us.
The ride back is quiet again, but not awkward. It’s totally comfortable. Like something’s settled between us.
When we pull up outside the B&B, fairy lights glowing soft against the gray afternoon, he kills the engine but doesn’t move to get out.
“Tomorrow,” Kaleb says. “If the rain stops, you can come with me. More research.”
My heart does a happy little flip. “Really?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.” I grin, unbuckling. “And… thanks. For today. All of it.”
He grunts—his version of you’re welcome—then reaches over, tucks that same damp strand behind my ear again. His thumb brushes my cheek.
“Get some rest, Taron,” Kaleb stays. “Don’t stay up too late writing. And most importantly… behave.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.
I hop out before I do something stupid like climb into his lap and kiss him senseless.
As I climb the porch steps, I glance back. He’s still watching me, eyes dark and steady in the cab light.
I wave.
Kaleb nods once in return.
Then the truck rumbles away into the rain.
Inside my room, I collapse on the bed, face buried in Lightening’s fur.
My butt’s calm now but somehow I can still feel it tingling from the spanking. My heart’s racing. And between my legs… a steady, insistent throb.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
I need more of Kaleb, and I need it sooner rather than later…