Chapter 12
Travis
The restaurant’s a swanky joint in the heart of the city’s business district, all polished wood, dim lighting, and overpriced wine lists.
I’m tucked into a corner booth, nursing a black coffee, my eyes fixed on Kyle Knox at a table across the room. He’s entertaining a corporate client, some suit with slicked-back hair and a watch that costs more than most people’s houses.
That’s it, asshole.
Keep laughing.
Show me who you are…
Kyle’s loud, his laugh grating as he waves for another bottle of champagne, the stressed-out waitress scurrying to keep up. I keep my phone low, snapping subtle photos of the client, my movements practiced and discreet.
I send them to Cole with a quick message…
TRAVIS: ID this guy. Knox’s lunch date. Urgent.
I lean back, blending into the booth’s shadows, my black jacket and plain t-shirt making me just another guy grabbing a late lunch.
But my mind’s not entirely here.
It keeps drifting to this morning, to that moment when I stepped out of the shower, water still dripping off my skin, and caught Miles’ wide-eyed stare through the crack in the bathroom door. His face—flushed, awestruck, with a hint of embarrassed arousal—burns in my memory like a snapshot.
He thought I didn’t notice, but I did, and fuck, it turned me on.
Knowing I’ve got that effect on him, that I can make the boy blush and squirm without even trying, sends a heat through me I can’t ignore. He’s a Little, all sass and fire, but that look told me he’s feeling this pull between us just as much as I am.
I shift in my seat, forcing the thought down.
He’s a job, Travis. A threat. Focus.
I check my phone again, the tracker app glowing with Miles’ location. He’s leaving the Knox it was raw, unfiltered want, and it’s got me thinking.
I’ve spent years keeping my emotions locked down, but Miles is cracking that open, making me feel things I can’t afford to feel. The memory of him over my kitchen table, his ass reddening under my wooden spoon, doesn’t help.
The cab pulls up to my building, and I pay, stepping out into the evening air.
The tracker shows Miles is still at the café, and I’m torn between storming over there and dragging him back or waiting him out.
I choose the latter, heading up to my apartment, the sparse space feeling colder without him in it.
I pour a whisky, the burn grounding me, and sit on the couch, my phone open to the tracker app.
He’s got ten minutes before I go get him myself, and when I do, he’s gonna learn what happens when he breaks my rules.
I think back to Kyle Knox, his smarmy grin, the way he threw around money like it was nothing.
Cole’s digging, but I’m betting Knox is neck-deep in whatever’s threatening Miles.
The cartel connection, Los Lobos reborn, makes too much sense.
I was there when we took them down, lost Symon and Kent in that firefight.
The memory’s a scar—blood, gunfire, the jungle closing in.
If Knox he’s a loose end. And I’m not letting anyone touch him, not Vane, not Knox, not some cartel thug. He’s mine to protect, whether he likes it or not.
My phone buzzes, a text from Cole…
COLE: Client ID: Victor Rodrygo, ex-PMC, now freelance consultant. Known ties to South American syndicates. Careful, Travis. This is serious.
I read the text, allow it to sink in. Time’s up, Little. Daddy’s coming to get you, and when I do, you’re gonna regret this little stunt…
My blood’s boiling as I stride through the city, the tracker app glowing on my phone, Miles’ dot pinned at The Sugar Spoon.
He disobeyed me, plain and simple, and it’s got me pissed for two reasons.
First, he’s putting himself in danger. That note wasn’t a joke, and with Knox & Rain tangled up with a cartel, every second he’s out here, unprotected, is a risk.
Second, he’s defying my orders, and that doesn’t sit right with the Daddy in me. I told him to go straight home, to follow my rules, and he’s off sipping hot chocolate like we’re not in the middle of a goddamn war.
My jaw clenches, and I pick up my pace, the city’s evening buzz fading into a low hum as I zero in on the café.
The Sugar Spoon’s pink and yellow sign glows ahead, its windows spilling warm light onto the sidewalk.
I pause outside, my breath steadying as I catch sight of Miles through the glass.
He’s at a corner table, laughing with another boy, his face lit up, a smear of chocolate frosting on his cheek.
They’re sharing a slice of cake, mugs of hot chocolate piled with marshmallows between them, and Bean is propped on the table like he’s part of the party.
The scene is pure Little—bright, cozy, all giggles and sweetness—and damn if it doesn’t hit me right in the chest. Miles looks so at ease, his eyes sparkling in a way I haven’t seen before. He’s adorable, no question, and for a second, I almost forget why I’m here.
But only for a second.
He broke my rules, and that’s not okay.
Cute or not, he’s getting a lesson tonight.
I push open the door, the bell jingling, and step inside.
The café’s warm, smelling of sugar and coffee, with pastel decor and plush booths that scream Little-friendly.
Miles’ laughter stops short as he spots me, his eyes widening, then narrowing into a defiant glare.
He sets his mug down, crossing his arms, and I can practically see the sass rolling off him.
“Travis,” Miles says, his voice sharp but with a nervous edge. “What are you doing here?”
I step closer, my boots heavy on the hardwood floor.
“You know exactly why I’m here, Little,” I say, keeping my tone low, Daddy-firm. “I told you to go straight home. You disobeyed me.”
The friend glances between us, his eyes curious but wary, and I notice the other patrons—mostly Littles and their Daddies—watching too.
Before Miles can fire back, a broad guy in a flannel shirt steps forward from behind the counter.
He’s got a beard, a calm but commanding presence, and the kind of stance that says he’s seen his share of trouble.
Definitely a Daddy.
“Hey,” he says, his voice steady. “I’m Logan, co-owner. If you two need to settle something, we’ve got a private playroom in the back.”
Miles’ cheeks flush, and he shoots me a look that’s half defiance, half panic.
I nod at Jack, appreciating the offer.
“Thanks,” I say, my eyes never leaving Miles. “We’ll take it.”
Miles opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a look, my hand hovering near his elbow.
“Move, Little. Now.”
“Yes, D-D-D-Daddy,” Miles replies, his cheeks red and a nervous energy practically making him vibrate.
His lips press into a thin line, but he grabs Bean and his backpack, standing with a huff. The friend gives Miles a sympathetic glance, but I don’t miss the way Jack nods at me, a silent understanding between Daddies.
This place is safe, discreet, and I’m grateful for it.
Miles is about to learn what happens when he breaks my rules, and we’re doing it where no one’s gonna interfere…
“So, do you have anything to say for yourself?” I ask, closing the playroom door behind me and casting my eyes around the plush, pastel colored set-up.
“Bleurgh. I just wanted some fun,” Miles says, his lawyer exterior long melted away, probably in no small part down to a huge sugar overload and being around all the other Littles in the café. “Are you… going to… p-p-p-punish me now?”
“You’re a quick learner, Little Lawyer,” I say, walking over toward the comfy patchwork couch and taking a seat. “Now be a good boy and pull your trousers and briefs off. Fold them neatly and place them in the corner. Top off too. Daddy wants to see his boy as naked as the day he was born.”
I watch as Miles does exactly as he’s told, not a hint of sass or back-chat.
“Good boy,” I say, my cock stiffening in my trousers as I see Miles naked, his soft but athletic body on display for me. “Put your hands on your head and walk slowly toward me.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Miles replies, his bare chest looking good enough to eat.
I wait a moment, drinking in the sight before me.
The anticipation is getting to Miles too, the way he crossed one foot over the other as he stands telling me everything I need to know.
His cock is twitching, exposed, and looks like it’s only moments away from turning harder than a steel pipe.
But this is a spanking. Anything else will simply have to wait.
“Now lie across Daddy’s lap,” I command. “You’re going to get a thorough spanking. You can kick and squeal all you like, but this bottom is going to be lit up good and proper. Do you understand?”
“I… I… understand,” Miles answers, gingerly lying across my lap, no doubt fully aware of the big, hard outline of my cock as it presses up against him. “I… I… mmmmph.”
I smile as I feel Miles grinding his crotch against me.
The boy might be turned on now, but by the time I’m finished with his butt I think he’ll have other things on his mind…
“One!” I bellow, landing a hard spank to his left cheek and follow it up with a shot to his right buttock. “Two!”
“Owww! Owwww! Owwww!” Miles hollers, his legs instinctively kicking in protest as I continue to lay down his punishment. “Yoooow! This is sooooo unfair! You stink, Daddy! I wanted milkshake! Yoooooow!”
I see right through Miles’ attempt to sass me.
The young man knows he is guilty of disobeying me and he knows that the more he protests, the more spanks he will receive. Well, if that’s the way he wants it, who am I to object?
And by the time Miles’ protests turn to quiet whimpers, I land one final spank—softer, almost playful—and immediately turn Miles over and cradle him in my arms.
“Daddy, I needed that…” Miles says, his hard cock throbbing against his stomach and a look of wonder in his eyes. “Work was hard. I felt weird there. Something’s up. I…”
“Hush, boy,” I say, running my fingers over Miles’ lips. “We can talk about all of that. Later. For now, I just want to get this butt cooled off, give you a cuddle, and then maybe we can go and grab one last drink with your friend out there. How does that sound?”
I watch Miles smile sweetly and nod his head in agreement, his defiant sass replaced by his submissive Little streak.
But the truth is that I think we both needed this spanking.
There might be difficult times ahead, but I’m beginning to think that what I’m fighting for is something way deeper than just the mission…