Chapter 23 #2
Tane closed the door behind him, set his keys in the bowl, and locked the deadbolt out of habit. He crossed the room slowly, eyes flicking from Jacob’s face to the shoes, then back again.
“Shoes off the couch,” he said, voice low and even.
Jacob blinked, then glanced down at his own feet as if just noticing them. The grin turned sly.
“Make me.”
Tane stopped three steps away, arms folding across his chest. The shoulder protested the motion, but he ignored it. “Boy.”
Jacob tilted his head, all mock innocence. “What? They’re clean. Mostly. And it’s not like I tracked mud in. I walked on sidewalks, Captain. I’m civilized.”
Tane shook his head once—slow, deliberate, the disapproval plain. “You know the rule. Shoes come off at the door. Always have. Especially when you’re in my house.”
Jacob rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was a flicker of something else under the sass… anticipation, maybe, or the tiniest edge of nerves. Whatever the motivation, Jacob didn’t move his feet.
Tane exhaled through his nose.
The day had been long: the drive, the meeting, the quiet threat of FBI shadows and rivals circling like sharks. He didn’t have the bandwidth to lecture about partying tonight—not after Antonio’s explicit order to keep Jacob locked down tighter.
That conversation could wait until tomorrow.
But this? This small, deliberate act of defiance? This he could handle. This he needed to handle. A reset. A reminder. Something simple and physical to cut through the noise in both their heads.
“Up,” Tane commanded, his voice a bark of intent.
Jacob’s grin faltered for half a second. “You’re serious?”
“Very.”
Jacob searched his face, then—slowly, making a performance of it—swung his legs down and sat up properly. The sneakers hit the floor with twin thuds. He kicked them off one at a time, socks mismatched as usual, one black, one with cartoon bears, and wiggled his toes against the rug.
“Better?” he asked, voice lighter now, testing.
Tane didn’t answer right away. He crossed to the sideboard, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the slim maple paddle, the one with the rounded edges and the small holes drilled in a neat grid pattern.
It wasn’t the heaviest implement they owned, but it stung like hell and left a nice, even burn without breaking skin.
Perfect for a quick correction.
Jacob’s eyes tracked the paddle the second it came into view. His throat moved on a swallow.
“Pants down,” Tane said, turning back to him. “Bend over the arm of the couch. Now.”
Jacob hesitated… just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t folding instantly…
then stood. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his joggers and shoved them down along with his briefs in one motion, kicking the bundle aside.
His cock was already half-hard, bobbing against his thigh as he moved.
The sight sent a familiar heat curling low in Tane’s gut, but he kept his expression stern.
Jacob draped himself over the rounded arm of the sectional, forearms braced on the cushions, ass presented. The city lights painted faint stripes across his bare skin.
Tane stepped up behind him, resting the cool wood of the paddle against one cheek for a moment, letting Jacob feel the weight, the promise.
“How many?” Jacob asked, voice smaller now, the sass mostly gone.
“Ten,” Tane said. “Five each side. Count them out loud. And thank me after each one.”
Jacob nodded against the cushion. “Yes, sir.”
Tane lifted the paddle, paused just long enough for the anticipation to coil tight, then brought it down in a crisp, controlled arc.
The crack echoed sharp in the quiet room.
Jacob sucked in a breath. “One. Thank you, sir.”
Tane waited three seconds, long enough for the sting to bloom, then delivered the second on the opposite cheek.
“Two. Thank you, sir,” Jacob said, struggling to hold back an owww as his voice wavered.
By the fifth swat Jacob was shifting his weight, toes curling into the rug, a soft whine escaping between counts. The skin was already pinking up nicely, warm to the touch when Tane rested his palm there between sets.
The second five came faster—Tane angling the paddle to catch the sensitive undercurve where thigh met ass. Jacob’s voice cracked on eight and nine; by ten he was panting, hips rocking minutely against the couch arm.
“Ten. T-t-t-t-thank you, sir.”
Tane set the paddle on the coffee table and smoothed both hands over the heated skin, gentle now, soothing circles. Jacob shivered under the touch.
“Good boy,” Tane murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the nape of Jacob’s neck. “You took that well. We’ll get that butt cooled down soon enough too.”
Jacob turned his head, cheek pressed to the cushion, eyes glassy but bright. “Mmmph, I needed it,” he admitted quietly. “Everything is… so loud in my head tonight.”
Tane’s chest tightened.
He helped Jacob stand, pulled him in close, arms wrapping around bare skin while Jacob buried his face against Tane’s shoulder.
The joggers and briefs stayed pooled on the floor.
Tane didn’t care. He held Jacob like that for a long minute, one hand carding through blond hair, the other resting possessively at the small of his back.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Tane said against his temple. “About everything. Tonight you just breathe.”
Jacob nodded against him, arms tight around Tane’s waist. “Can we… stay like this a while?”
“Yeah,” Tane said. “We can stay like this as long as you need.”
Tane guided them both down onto the couch. Jacob curled into his side, bare ass still warm against Tane’s thigh, head tucked under Tane’s chin. The city lights kept moving outside the window, indifferent and endless.
Tane pressed another kiss to Jacob’s hair.
The air felt cleaner. Jacob was safe in his arms.
Tomorrow was Game Seven.
Tomorrow the warnings about parties and rival clubs and FBI whispers would have to be said out loud.
But tonight, the paddle had done its job.