Chapter 7
William
C het liked to mask to hide his emotions from me when he thought he would be too much for me to handle.
I understood he wanted to protect me just as I protected him, but that wasn’t his job.
All I wanted from him was his honesty, his love, and his willingness to submit to me. I wanted to own him, and I knew I did.
It’d been a few months since he’d tried this bullshit—this whole masking thing I fucking detested . If he wanted to mask around others, that was fine. But trying to hide from me ? Nah. That shit wasn’t sliding.
He’d broken one of my rules, and he knew it. Sometimes, I let it slide, but usually only if he was masking over something miniscule that would disappear in a matter of hours. But this? This was too big. This involved his father, involved our lives.
Involved his fear and his worry . This wasn’t something that was going to go away with a little treat.
Masking was not okay. Not in this scenario.
Chet slowly rose from his seat, his expression bleak.
He hated punishments, and because I knew he hated them, I sparingly handed them out.
Bratting? I let it slide. He wasn’t Chet if he wasn’t being a brat, and I wasn’t out to be a brat tamer, as some Doms liked to call themselves.
If I wanted someone always docile and following my every single command without snark, I wouldn’t have made Chet mine.
I would’ve avoided his bratty ass completely.
“Sir…” There was a slight hitch to his voice, and his fingers curled and uncurled, his anxiety levels rising.
I gripped the side of his neck, tugging him a little closer to me. “Color, baby,” I rumbled. I would not proceed with his punishment if he said anything other than a solid green. Everything in our relationship, punishments included, were one-hundred percent consensual.
“Yellow,” he rasped.
I backed him up to the table, then gripped him beneath his thighs, lifting him onto the tabletop.
Pushing his thighs apart, I stepped between them, then planted my hands on either side of his hips.
His hands came up to grip my cut, his fingers curling into the leather.
“Talk to me. Tell me the very first thing that comes to your mind.”
“Fear,” he blurted.
Baby… Fuck . Sometimes, he broke my goddamn heart—what was left of it anyway .
“Of what?” I asked, resting my forehead on his, knowing he needed the connection.
He tugged on my leather, holding me close.
His vulnerability practically rolled off of him, damn near suffocating me, and it just made me want to protect him more.
Chet was more than capable of taking care of himself.
I knew that with every fiber of my being.
But it didn’t stop my protective urges in the least.
“Losing you. Being too much.” He sighed, moving back a little to meet my eyes. “I don’t want to add more on your plate. It’s so full as it is. You’re already dealing with so much?—”
“Secrecy leads to broken relationships, baby,” I rumbled.
“I know you’re trying to not lean on me so much, but I want you to.
Don’t you get that? You’re my purpose , Chet.
From the moment I rescued you from that shitty club, you’ve been the center of my universe.
” A small smile tilted his lips despite the pinched look still lingering around the corners of his eyes.
“I know every single time you mask around me, Chet.” He winced, his smile falling.
“I only let it slide sometimes because it’s usually something that will sort itself on its own.
But this?” I slid my fingers into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands.
His pupils blew wide, his shoulders drooping, a soft look entering his eyes.
There was my pretty little submissive . “Don’t hide from me about something as big as this, Chet. Understand?”
He nodded. “I understand, sir.”
I kissed him, the kiss quick and chaste. “Color?”
His grip on my cut loosened, and his hands dropped to his lap. “Green, sir.”
I stepped back. “Good boy.” He preened despite facing his punishment.
“Drop your pants and bend over the table, baby.” He slid down, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor, then unfastened his jeans and lowered them to beneath his ass cheeks.
Blowing out a soft breath, he turned and bent over the table, laying his palms flat beside his head.
He was so fucking good for me.
I rubbed my palm over his perfect ass, admiring the firm muscle.
Chet worked hard to train his glutes and keep his body honed to perfection.
Working out was an anxiety reliever for him, and I encouraged it by keeping him fed with healthy, high protein foods.
He mostly saw it as a punishment since he was a lover of junk food—might even love the unhealthy shit more than me—but I would do everything in my power to take care of Chet properly.
“I’m only going to give you five smacks,” I assured him. They would hurt; he knew that. But because he hated punishments so much, I usually made them quick and simple.
He was the only person in this world I would ever be soft for.
“Count each one, Chet. You know the rules. Don’t count, and another will be added.”
He nodded, his cheek resting on the cool table. “Yes, sir.”
The first blow landed hard, his ass cheek rippling and the slap echoing in the room. He choked on his breath, rising onto his toes. Immediately, a red mark in the shape of my hand appeared on his tanned skin.
“One, sir,” he managed, his voice strangled.
“Good boy,” I praised, rubbing my hand over the no doubt throbbing spot. My hand abruptly landed on his left cheek. His breath hitched, and he curled his hands into fists.
“Two, sir.”
“You’re doing so well,” I murmured, massaging the sore flesh. I pushed his pants down a little more, landing a blow on the back of his thigh. He squeezed his eyes shut, a slight tremble beginning in his body.
“Three, sir.” The words were a little choked.
“So perfect, baby,” I rasped. I had to praise him.
I’d quickly learned that without the praise, Chet would spiral.
Punishments felt demeaning to him, even though he and I both knew I did it out of love so he would learn from his mistakes and hopefully not make them again.
If I added praise, it helped him through it.
Reminded him that despite the punishment, I loved him, he was mine, and he was safe with me.
The next blow landed on the back of his other thigh. “Four, sir,” he gasped. His eyes were still squeezed shut, his hands curling and uncurling on the tabletop, almost like he was imagining stress balls in his hands.
Maybe I needed to find him some to use during punishments.
“Last one, baby. You’re taking your punishment so well.” I landed the blow on his right ass cheek. His skin was red now and as dark as a tomato. He would need lotion and aftercare, which I would provide as soon as we were out of the chapel and in our room.
“Five, sir.” His voice wobbled, already damn near at his limit.
I helped him straighten, then quickly turned him around to fix his jeans.
Once he was presentable, I tugged him into the circle of my arms, crushing him to me.
He wound his arms around my waist, burrowing into me like he wanted to crawl beneath my skin and live there.
If it were fucking possible, I would’ve figured out a way already just so I never had to be without him.
“You were so good, baby,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “So perfect for me.” Hooking a finger beneath his chin, I tilted his head back so we were looking at each other. Those dark eyes were hazy. He’d quickly fell into subspace. “Color?”
“Green, sir,” he murmured.
I kissed his forehead. “Let’s get upstairs for some aftercare. Rurik and Malik should be back soon with your milkshake and fries.”
He nodded. I grabbed his hand in mine and tugged him from the chapel and over to the stairs. Thyrie called out Chet’s name, but I ignored her. My man needed me, and everyone else’s needs with him could take a fucking backseat.