Chapter 26. Liam
We're still in his office. The tears are dry.
His shirt is damp from mine. We've said everything that needed saying, and the air has shifted.
I'm still feeling lightheaded, the way I always do after a good cry.
I guess I do like being a crybaby. Everything feels better now but not done.
There's still something hanging between us, and I think we both feel it.
I pull back enough to look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, which I will think about forever.
Ethan cried.
For me.
"I did something shitty," I say.
He raises an eyebrow. "You did a few shitty things."
"Hey."
The corner of his mouth twitches.
I look down at my hands. "I let Reed put his arm around me because I knew you'd be coming back. I wanted you to see it."
His expression changes slightly. Not angry again, exactly. Serious.
"I know."
"I wanted to hurt you," I admit. The words taste worse when I say them out loud. "I was angry, and I knew it would make you jealous, so I did it anyway."
He watches me for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"I know you are."
My stomach flips. My face goes hot immediately, and I look at the floor.
"I think," I say, very carefully, "that I should probably be punished."
The silence that follows is electric.
Fuck, I'm hard already.
"Is that so," he says. Not a question.
"Yes, Daddy."
He doesn't move yet.
"Liam. Look at me."
I make myself do it.
"You're not getting punished because you were scared I'd leave you."
I swallow.
"Okay."
"You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to be angry at me. You're even allowed to think I'm a fucking asshole if that's what you're feeling."
I almost smile.
"But deliberately trying to hurt me instead of telling me what was wrong?"
My face burns hotter.
"Yeah."
"That's what you're asking me to punish you for?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"And you're asking because you want this?"
I nod immediately. "Yes."
"Use your words."
"Yes, Daddy. I want you to punish me. Please."
Something in his face settles.
Then I hear the chair scrape back.
When I look up, he's sitting with his knees apart, hands resting on his thighs, the chair already in the center of the room.
I know this script by heart.
My palms sweat. My pulse hammers in my ears. My cock throbs, my mouth filling with saliva. I don't know why my brain is so fucked up that it equates pain and humiliation with getting incredibly horny, but here I am.
He looks at me, and I can't hold his gaze for more than a second. My whole body goes hot and cold at the same time.
"Come here."
I'm shivering slightly.
I do.
I stand in front of him, eyes on the floor.
"Why are you here, Liam?"
His voice is calm. I want to hug him, but I stop myself.
"Because I tried to hurt you."
"How?"
"I used Reed to make you jealous." I swallow. "Instead of telling you I was scared and angry."
He nods.
"And were you wrong for being scared?"
I hesitate.
"No?"
"No."
Something inside my chest loosens.
"Were you wrong for missing me?"
"No."
"Were you wrong for being angry that I wasn't there?"
I shake my head.
"No, Daddy."
"So what did you do wrong?"
I take a breath.
"I tried to punish you for it. In a bad way."
"There you go."
"I'm sorry."
He points to his lap.
"You know what to do."
I do.
I climb over his knees, the floor cold under my socks. My legs dangle off his right side, and my face burns so hot I know my ears are going red too, even after all this damn time.
He waits, one hand heavy on my lower back, the other finding the edge of my waistband and tugging my shorts down to my knees.
"Count?" I ask, voice small.
He shakes his head. "We're not counting today."
I nod, biting my lip.
He tugs my underwear down too, slowly, so I feel every second of the humiliation. My ass is bare, and I know he's looking at it.
The shame is a fire, and I love it.
I'm so fucking hard, leaking pre-cum.
His palm is warm when it lands, the first smack almost gentle. The second is harder, and I gasp, more from surprise than pain.
He spanks me slowly at first, each slap building heat until my whole lower body is tight and squirmy. I grip his ankle, trying not to kick.
The next ones are harder, and I yelp.
He pauses, one hand stroking my back.
"You okay?"
"Yes, Daddy."
He resumes. The pain blooms and burns, and my cock is so hard against his thigh, which is the most humiliating part but also the best part. He keeps going, watching me, calibrating by the way I wiggle or gasp or clench. I lose track of time.
The world becomes the sound of his palm, the heat of my ass, the ache in my chest that wants to cry and laugh and beg all at once.
He keeps going.
It's hard to take, especially when all I can focus on is not coming. My ass is on fire now, probably glowing red, and I'm aware that I'm humping him.
When he finally stops, I'm panting. My whole body is trembling, my face wet, and I'm not sure when I started crying.
He holds me there, both hands warm and gentle, rubbing circles over my back.
"Why did you get punished?" he asks, voice soft now.
"For trying to hurt you because I was hurt."
"Good."
"And because I should've told you what was wrong instead."
"Exactly."
He lifts me up and pulls me into his lap, cradling me. He kisses my forehead, and the tears stop almost instantly, like a switch.
"I love you," he says. "Even when you're a brat."
I laugh, the sound muffled against his shirt.
"Especially when I'm a brat."
He holds me.
We sit like that for a long time, until the pain fades into a warm, throbbing glow.
"Next time," he says, "you tell me. When you're scared, when you're angry, when the bad thoughts are louder than the good ones. Tell me."
I nod against him.
"You don't have to carry it alone. And you don't have to make me hurt just so I understand that you're hurting."
That one gets me.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." He kisses my hair. "I'm sorry I've been away so much. But I'll always come back."
"Yes, Daddy," I say.
And I mean it.
I do.
He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, wiping away the last tear.
"Lie back down," he says, and his voice is different now.
I go willingly, sinking back across his lap, my bare ass still stinging but my cock aching worse.
He runs his hand over the curve of my back, then lower, tracing the line of my spine.
"You need to learn how to ask for what you want," he murmurs.
His finger slides between my cheeks until it finds the spot that makes me clench.
I gasp. "Daddy…"
"Shh."
He spits into his hand, rubs it over my hole, and circles it with a single finger.
"You like this, don't you?"
His other hand wraps around my cock, stroking me slowly, the rhythm matching the pressure behind.
He pushes the tip of his finger in, not all the way, just enough to make my breath catch. I arch for him, needy and desperate.
"Good boy," he says.
He pushes deeper, crooking his finger so I see stars. My hips jerk and he laughs.
He works me open slowly, carefully, and the whole time he keeps his grip on my dick, stroking me with just enough pressure to keep me on the edge.
"You like being played with, don't you?"
I nod, unable to speak.
"You want to come, pet?"
"Please," I whimper.
He speeds up, working his finger in and out, his fist pumping me. I can't hold still, can't think, can't do anything except feel.
He leans close, lips against my ear.
"Come for me, brat."
I do after a few more strokes.
Hard.
It's like a shot to the spine, white-hot and endless. I spasm in his lap, my cum striping his legs, and he keeps going until the aftershocks make me whimper.
When I'm done, limp and half-broken, he pulls me upright and holds me in his arms. His hand is wet with me, and he wipes it on my thigh with a smirk.
"You're so fucking cute," he mutters.
I want to melt into him.
I want to crawl inside his skin and live there.
He puts me on my feet, tugs my pants up, and pulls me into his lap again, this time just to hold me.
He smells like sweat and musk.
"Do you forgive me?" I ask, my voice muffled against his neck.
"Always, silly," he says immediately.
"Can I make you come?"
He shakes his head.
"Not today."
I don't argue. Ethan only does what he wants, always in control. Some people would find that maddening.
I find it steadying.
We stay like that for a long time.
Eventually he says, "You know you can be scared I'm going to leave."
I look up at him.
"I can?"
"Yes, puppy." His thumb rubs slowly over my hip. "You can't always control what your head tells you."
Oh.
"But every time your head says I'm going to leave, you can't make me answer for it like I've already done it."
I nod.
"That's not fair to either of us."
"Okay."
"And next time you're scared?"
“I tell you."
"Next time you're angry?"
"I tell you."
"And next time you decide to use Reed to piss me off?"
I grin.
He raises an eyebrow.
"I definitely don't do that."
"Good answer."
I laugh, still sniffling.
He kisses my cheek.
My skin is still tingling. His thumb keeps rubbing slow circles over my hip, his breath warm against my neck.
We walk back to the dorm together, hand in hand, not caring if anyone sees.