Chapter 7
William
“Hey, watch it!” I holler, an Uber getting a little too close for comfort as I pedal.
The morning air is crisp and full of energy as I ride my old blue bicycle through the bustling city streets.
My backpack bounces gently against my shoulders, packed to the brim with notepads, heavy textbooks, a fresh set of colored pencils, and a handful of reliable ballpoint pens.
Tucked carefully in the front pocket is my little packed lunch—two PB&J sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a banana, and a juice box. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep me going through a long day of Bronte seminars.
The city is already alive around me: delivery trucks rumbling past, pedestrians hurrying with coffee cups in hand, the honk of impatient taxis.
It should be a perfectly normal morning. The kind I’ve had dozens of times since moving to the city. But my mind refuses to cooperate.
Every time I shift on the narrow bicycle seat, I feel it, like a phantom echo of last night. The redness on my bottom has faded to almost nothing… I checked in the mirror this morning, blushing furiously the whole time.
But the heat inside me hasn’t gone anywhere.
It simmers low in my belly, warm and insistent, every time I remember Kane’s strong hand coming down on my bare skin. The sharp sting. The controlled power. The way he’d bent me over that old oak table like I belonged to him in that moment.
“I haven’t dismissed you yet.”
The memory sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through me. I grip the handlebars tighter and pedal faster, trying to outrun the flush creeping up my neck. My jeans feel a little too snug today, and every bump in the road makes me acutely aware of the lingering tenderness.
I feel myself blush and almost go dizzy with shame.
What kind of boy lets a near-stranger spank him in a public library and then seriously considers going back for more?
This boy, apparently.
I shake my head, forcing my focus back to the street. Davey is waiting. Seminars. Notes. Academic life—the safe, predictable world I’ve worked so hard to build.
But no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting to dark eyes, a gravelly Russian accent, and the commanding way Kane had looked at me when he said I was a good boy for showing up on time.
By the time I lock my bike outside our favorite café across from the Uppington Building, my cheeks are warm from more than just the ride. I smooth down my sweater, adjust my backpack, and take a deep breath before heading inside.
The morning sun spills through the big windows of our favorite café, painting the wooden tables in warm golden light.
I’m already seated when Davey bursts in, his curly hair bouncing and a bright smile on his face.
We’re across the road from the Uppington Building, and we’ve got a full day of Bronte seminars ahead—Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, the whole deliciously dramatic lineup.
Normally I’d be buzzing with excitement, but today my mind is a whirlwind of yesterday’s events.
“Morning, bookworm!” Davey sings, sliding into the chair opposite me. He’s wearing his favorite pastel cardigan over a soft t-shirt, the perfect Little-in-academia disguise. “Two freshly squeezed orange juices, extra pulp, coming right up. I already ordered.”
I manage a smile as the server sets down two tall glasses of vibrant orange liquid.
The citrus scent is sharp and refreshing, but it does nothing to settle the butterflies rioting in my stomach.
I take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting on my tongue, and try to focus on my best friend instead of the lingering heat I still feel every time I shift in my seat.
Davey narrows his eyes almost immediately. “Okay, spill. You’ve got that look. The one where your brain is doing cartwheels behind your eyes. What’s up, William? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I know you too well.”
I love Davey. He’s been my safe person since day one of the PhD—my fellow Little, my seminar buddy, the only one who truly gets both sides of me.
But telling him about Kane?
About the way he marched me into the reference section, bared my bottom, and lit my ass on fire with his bare hand?
The words stick in my throat. It feels too raw. Too dangerous. Too real.
I swirl my straw in the juice and force a casual shrug. “It’s nothing big. Just… tell me about Charles first. How are things going with your potential new Daddy? You two have been texting nonstop.”
Davey’s cheeks flush instantly, and his eyes light up like fairy lights. Success. Diversion achieved.
“Oh my gosh, he’s amazing,” Davey gushes, leaning forward.
“We’ve been on two day dates now. The first was just coffee, super respectful, asked me a million questions about my thesis and my stuffies.
The second was lunch at this quiet Italian place.
He even ordered for me when I got overwhelmed by the menu.
Total Daddy energy, but gentle, you know? Not pushy at all.”
He takes a big sip of his juice, practically vibrating with happiness.
“And we have a playdate scheduled for this weekend! At his place. We’re going to see how it feels for me to slip into Little Space around him.
Coloring books, cartoons, the whole thing.
He said he has a huge collection of stuffies and even a playroom he’s been setting up.
I’m nervous but… excited? Like, really excited. ”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Davey, that sounds perfect. You deserve this so much. He sounds kind and considerate. And exactly what you need after all those disappointing younger guys.”
He beams, then tilts his head. “Your turn. You’ve been dodging. What’s really going on with you?”
I hesitate, my bottom giving a phantom throb as I shift again.
The memory of Kane’s firm hand, the sharp sting, the overwhelming rush of heat and slickness between my thighs…
it floods back unbidden. The way he pulled my jeans and briefs down without asking.
The controlled power in every smack. My face burns.
I want to tell him. I really do. But if I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I’m not ready for.
Instead, I smile softly. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. You’re lucky to have found someone like Charles. Have you two… tried any discipline yet? You know, rules or… spankings?”
Davey’s blush deepens to a full tomato red. He glances around the café like someone might overhear, then leans in closer.
“We have!” Davey trills. “Just once, the other night. I was being a tiny bit bratty, testing him, I guess. He put me over his knee. Eeek! Not too hard, but firm. It was… intense. In a good way. I felt so small and safe afterward. He cuddled me for ages and told me I was his good boy even when I’m naughty. ”
Davey giggles, hiding his face behind his hands for a second. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Your turn. Seriously, what’s going on with you? You look like you’re sitting on a secret the size of Twist’s entire stuffie collection.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little shaky. The truth presses against my teeth: I got spanked by a mysterious Russian mafia guy in the library reference section last night. And I’m thinking about going back for more tonight.
“I’m just… distracted with thesis stuff,” I lie, hating myself a little for it. “And maybe a tiny bit jealous of your Charles situation. You make it sound so easy.”
Davey gives me a knowing look but doesn’t push too hard. “You’ll find your Daddy too, William. The right one. Someone who gets the real you, the brilliant scholar and the boy who needs his Twist the otter and firm rules.”
We finish our juices and the conversation shifts naturally back to safer ground. I pull out my notepad, and Davey does the same…
We dive into pre-lecture notes on the Bronte sisters—discussing themes of repression, desire, and the wild moors that mirror inner turmoil.
For a while, academia saves me. The familiar rhythm of literary analysis calms my racing thoughts.
We debate Heathcliff’s toxic dominance versus Rochester’s flawed redemption, giggling over our shared love for brooding, complicated men.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of seminars, note-taking, and whispered asides with Davey. I throw myself into the discussions, raising my hand more than usual, losing myself in the gothic worlds on the page.
But every time I pause, there’s only one thing on my mind.
And by the time the final lecture ends and the sun dips low, my decision feels inevitable.
* * *
Later that evening, I stand outside the grand old gothic library, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Yup, I’m really here.
I’m really, really, really here.
But… can I actually go through with this?
The stone building looms against the darkening sky, arched windows glowing with that same warm, inviting light as last night.
I don’t know if I’m really going to do this.
My feet are rooted to the sidewalk. Part of me wants to turn around, walk home, curl up with Twist and a cup of cocoa, and pretend last night was a fever dream. A one-time lapse in judgment...
Kane is dangerous. Older. Clearly involved in things I shouldn’t even know about. He spanked me in a public building, for goodness’ sake.
What kind of boy goes back for more? Certainly not a fully funder PhD candidate with a history of Straight As and not a single detention or academic black mark in his entire life, that’s for sure.
I bite my lip, shifting my weight
I take a shaky step backward, ready to bolt.
Then I see him.
Through the tall windows, Kane is inside. He’s climbing the wide stone staircase toward the upper floors, toward the quiet reference section where he disciplined me last night. His tall, broad frame is unmistakable even from here.
I watch Kane. He doesn’t look around. He moves with purpose, like he already knows I’ll be there.
My breath catches.
It’s now or never.
I stand frozen for one more heartbeat, every instinct screaming in different directions—run home, go inside, pretend you never met him, let him ruin you.
Then I square my shoulders, adjust my backpack, and push open the heavy doors.
The familiar scent of old books and polished wood wraps around me like a welcome. My sneakers are quiet on the marble floor as I head toward the stairs. My bottom tingles with anticipation. My heart races with equal parts fear and excitement.
Kane is waiting somewhere up there.
And this time, I’m choosing to walk straight into his world.
I climb the stairs, one hand gripping the strap of my backpack, the other brushing nervously against my thigh. Each step brings me closer to whatever happens next… another spanking, more of his intense gaze, maybe something even more dangerous.
By the time I reach the top, my breathing is shallow. I pause at the entrance to the reference section, peering down the shadowed aisles.
There he is.
Kane stands near the same oak table from last night, arms loosely crossed, looking straight at me like he knew exactly when I’d arrive.
A slow, satisfied smile curves his lips.
“My bad boy returns,” Kane murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Not a second late.”
My knees feel weak. Heat pools low in my belly.
I don’t even know if he’d let me run now. But here’s the thing, I don’t want to…