Chapter 15
Luke
The mountain cabin has all the vibes that make my Little side want to curl up with Swift and pretend we’re in some fairy-tale hideout.
But I’m not here to play pretend—I’m here to break a story, even if Connor’s stricter-than-ever rules are making it feel like I’m under house arrest.
I’m sprawled on the couch, my backpack beside me, Swift sitting comfortably, my sketchpad open to a half-finished peli-corn.
Connor’s in the kitchen, his low voice rumbling through his earpiece as he talks to one of his buddies, probably the one he calls Cole, about Haynes’s cartel ties or that hit list with my name on it.
His back is to me, his broad shoulders and wide back filling out his t-shirt, and I can’t help but sneak a glance down his body and over his big, strong butt and powerful legs, my cheeks warming at the memory of this morning’s spanking, his hands, his voice calling me a good boy.
Hmmmph.
I feel all hot and tingly.
And also… mischievous…
I’m trying to be good, really, but my journalist side’s itching, clawing at me to keep moving, to keep digging.
The flash drive is out in the open but I haven’t handed it over yet. We’ll get to it soon, I’m sure of it. But right now with Connor busy on a call of his own, I’ve got other things on my mind…
My phone’s on the coffee table, taunting me.
Connor’s rule was clear: no calls, no texts, unless he clears them.
But my colleague at Justice Heart, Sam, might have new info on the finance guy I was supposed to meet at the diner. He’s been digging into Haynes’s campaign too, and if I can just check in, I might get something to keep this story alive.
I glance at Connor again, his head bent, his voice a low murmur. He’s distracted, and the games room’s just down the hall—a small space with a pool table, a dartboard, and a table tennis setup.
Perfect cover for a quick call.
My Little side’s screaming at me to stay put, to be a good boy, but my journalist side’s louder, pushing me to take the risk.
“Aww, hell,” I whisper.
I grab my phone, slip it into my pocket, and ease off the couch, my sneakers silent on the hardwood. Swift stays on the couch this time—I don’t want him witnessing my rebellion.
The games room door’s ajar, and I slip inside, my heart pounding.
The room’s dim, lit by a single window with heavy curtains, the air cool and still. I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dial Sam’s number.
It rings once, twice, then he picks up, his voice hushed.
“Luke? Where the hell are you?” Sam asks.
“I’m safe,” I whisper, keeping my voice low, my eyes on the door. “Got spooked after Mike’s murder. I’m with my bodyguard, laying low. You got anything on the finance guy? Or Haynes’s campaign?”
My heart is thumping in my chest. I know I’m breaking the rules, but this could be essential information…
Sam hesitates, and I can hear him typing, probably in his cubicle at Justice Heart’s office.
“Yeah, the finance guy’s legit,” Sam answer. “Says he’s got bank transfer records, maybe even audio of Haynes talking payoffs. But he’s nervous, Luke. Wants to meet soon, like tomorrow. And there’s chatter about a cartel shipment—big one, West Quay docks. You need to be careful.”
My pulse spikes, excitement mixing with fear.
This is huge—proof of payoffs, a shipment—it could tie everything together.
“Okay, set it up,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Tomorrow, somewhere public. I’ll—”
The door swings open, and I freeze, my phone still at my ear.
Connor’s standing there, his eyes blazing, his jaw tight.
He’s shirtless again, his muscles taut, a table tennis bat in one hand like he’s been planning to challenge me to a game. My stomach drops, and I fumble to end the call, but it’s too late. Connor heard me.
“Sam, I gotta go,” I mutter, hanging up and shoving the phone behind my back, like that’ll hide what I’ve done. My Little side’s screaming, knowing I’m in trouble…
“Really, Luke?” Connor says, his voice low and dangerous, that Daddy growl that makes my knees wobble. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, the bat still in his hand. “I told you—no calls, no texts, not without me. And you sneak off to make one anyway?”
I back up, my hip bumping the table tennis table, my cheeks flaming.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” I lie, my voice shaky but defiant. “I just… I needed to check in with Sam. He’s got info on the finance guy, Connor. It’s important.”
“Important enough to risk your life?” Connor snaps, stepping closer, towering over me. “You’re on a cartel hit list, boy. One call, one trace, and they’re on us. You think I’m setting rules for fun?”
I clutch the edge of the table, my heart racing, but I can’t back down.
“I’m a journalist, Connor,” I say, my voice trembling but my foot instinctively stamping on the polished wooden floor. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Sam’s got proof—bank transfers, maybe audio. I need to follow it.”
Connor sets the bat on the table, his eyes never leaving mine, and I can see the storm in them—anger, worry, that Daddy protectiveness that’s got me all twisted up.
“You need to follow my rules,” Connor says, his voice dropping lower. “You’re not doing this alone, Luke. Not anymore. You could’ve told me, and we’d have made the call together, secure. Instead, you sneak off, put us both at risk. You know what that means.”
My breath catches, my Little side squirming, knowing exactly what’s coming.
“Connor, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small, but it’s too late. He’s already closing the distance, his presence overwhelming, all muscle and heat and Daddy control.
“Strip,” Connor barks. “And that’s Daddy’s Orders.”
“I… I… but… what if…” I splutter, desperately trying to back out of this but knowing that I’m about to feel my bodyguard’s hands on me.
“I want you butt naked and bent over that pool table in thirty seconds!” Connor roars, reaching for the table tennis bat once more and tapping it menacingly on his thigh. “I’m going to paddle that disobedient bottom of yours, boy. You will learn to play by my rules.”
I feel my Little side rise up and almost take total control as I strip my clothes off in a blaze of submissive obedience until I’m naked in front of Connor, my hands cupping my cock and balls to protect as much of my modesty as I can down below.
“D-D-D-Daddy, I’m… s-s-s-s-sorry,” I say, my cheeks flushing red and my suddenly very stiff cock feeling like it might explode at any moment. “I won’t do it again, I pwwwomise!”
“That’s all well and good,” Connor says, taking me by the hand and marching me toward the pool table as I do everything I can to hide my throbbing dick.
“But you’ve well and truly earned this paddling—and it’s going to be one you’ll remember for a long time.
And don’t worry about that erection, I’ve seen plenty in my time. ”
I feel my cheeks blaze red and then gasp as Connor duly bends me over onto the pool table’s green baize.
“Now hold still,” Connor snarly, kicking my legs into position.
I know this is going to hurt and hurt bad. But as I wait for the first paddle swat to land, I can’t resist grinding my stiff dick up against the soft, curved edge of the table just enough that I can feel a shockwave of pleasure over my body.
But my pleasure is short lived…
“Yowwwww!” I holler, the paddle crashing down on my butt, making my cheeks wobble and heat up like hot cakes.
“Hold still, boy,” Connor says, delivering another swat, and then another. “Hold still or I’ll have to find some rope and tie you down. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I reply, way too lost in the moment to think twice about calling Connor Daddy yet again. “Yes, Daddy, I promise to stay still.”
The paddle swats continue and I know beyond any doubt that my ass is every bit as glowing as it feels. I’m crying out in pain as the swats land but at the same time there’s something almost meditative about the whole thing…
Daddy is disciplining me.
I needed this.
Deep down, I wanted it more than anything…
“And that will be that!” Connor bellows, landing one final swat that makes my left cheek wobble so hard I’m worried it might actually fall off my body. “Now be a good boy for Daddy and don’t go anywhere…”
To my shock, Connor takes the paddle and slides it between my butt cheeks, wedging it in far enough that it’ll stay in position.
“Daddy?” I ask.
“You can hold that position until I come back,” Connor replies. “And you’d better not let that paddle drop to the floor or I’ll be putting you over my lap for more.”
“But what if it slips?” I ask, suddenly worried.
“My advice… squeeze those naughty butt cheeks of yours,” Connor chuckles, a hint of menace in his voice. “Daddy will be back soon…”
I don’t know if it’s a single minute, five minutes, or longer… but Connor does return along with his cooling cream. And I feel a real sense of pride that I’ve managed to keep the paddle in place between my cheeks.
And there’s something so exquisite about the humiliation of holding the paddle in place that my dick has hardened all over again.
“Good boy,” Connor says, warmly, as he takes the paddle and places it on the pool table. “Daddy knew you could do it. And it’s so nice for your hard little dick to make another appearance. Boys will be boys though, I suppose.”
I giggle. I’m still kinda catching my breath, my cheeks flushed, my body tingling as Connor moves me, grabs the tube of cooling cream, and squeezes a dollop into his palm, the minty scent filling the air.
Connor has also brought Swift with him and hands him to me, his soft feathers grounding me as Connor’s hands work the cream into my skin, careful and steady.
Connor has a real Daddy’s touch, every movement is soothing, a stark contrast to the sharp sting of the bat, and my Little side’s soaking it up, feeling safe, cared for, even after the discipline—and maybe because of it too.
“You okay, Little Scoop?” Connor asks, his voice low, warm, that Daddy tone that makes my heart flutter. His eyes are softer now, searching mine, and I see the worry there, the need to protect me.
I nod, a small giggle slipping out despite myself, and I hide my face in Swift’s feathers, embarrassed but… okay.
I’m more than okay.
The spanking wasn’t just about punishment—it was about trust, about him showing me he’s in charge, that he’s got me. And I’m starting to accept it, even if it scares me how much I like it.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice soft, teasing. “You’re pretty good with that bat, Connor...”
He chuckles, a low rumble that makes my stomach flip, and finishes with the cream, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“You keep pushing, and I’ll get better,” Connor says, his eyes sparkling with that mix of amusement and warning. “But you did good. That’s a start.”
I blush, hugging Swift tighter, and slide off the pool table, my legs still a little shaky.
“I’m trying,” I say, my voice earnest. “I just… I need to keep going, Connor. This story’s too big to stop.”
“I know,” Connor says, his hand brushing my arm, sending a shiver through me. “And I’m not stopping you. But we do it together, Luke. You and me.”
I want him to say Daddy and Little, I really do…
But he’s not ready, and maybe that’s not even on his mind.
I simply nod, feeling that connection between us, stronger now, like a thread pulling us closer. My Little side’s happy, safe, but my journalist side’s still buzzing, thinking about Sam’s info, the finance guy, the cartel shipment.
I need to keep moving, but with Connor, not against him.
I glance at the table tennis table, a mischievous spark igniting.
“Soooo…” I say, my voice lighter, teasing, “Wanna play a game? You know, since you’re so good with that bat.” I hold up Swift, waving his beak like he’s challenging Connor too. “Me and Swift versus Mr. Bossy. What do you say?”
Connor’s eyes widen, and he laughs, a full, deep sound that fills the room.
“You’re challenging me to table tennis? After that?” Connor shakes his head, disbelief written all over his face, but there’s a grin there too, like he’s charmed by my competitive spirit. “You’re something else, Little.”
“It’ll distract me from my stingy butt… and maybe my naughty pee-pee too. Come on,” I say, bouncing on my toes, my Little side fully out now, all playful and bold. “Unless you’re scared I’ll win...”
Connor snorts, grabbing the bat and tossing me the other one from the table.
“Scared?” Connor roars. “You’re on, young man. But don’t cry when I smoke you.”
I giggle, setting Swift on the table as our “cheerleader,” and grab a ball, bouncing it on the bat.
“Bring it,” I say, my heart lighter than it’s been all day.
The fear’s still there, Mike’s death and the cartel looming.
But here, with Connor, in this moment, I feel safe enough to play, to be a Little, to trust him just a little more—and if anything else might develop between us, well I guess I’ll have to investigate that too…