6. Connor
Connor
Three nights in a row.
Not one. Not two. But three …
I wake up gasping, sheets soaked with sweat, heart hammering like I’ve just sprinted ten miles with a pack on my back.
The nightmare is the same every time: shadows from the past, blood on my hands, the kind of ghosts that don’t stay buried no matter how deep I dig. I sit up in the dark, chest heaving, and drag a hand down my face.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the quiet cabin. “Not again.”
Shadow lifts his head from the foot of the bed, ears twitching. Spirit stays sprawled across the rug, but both dogs watch me with that quiet concern they get when I’m like this.
“Easy boys,” I say reassuringly. “I’m all good. Just another… whatever the hell this is.”
I swing my legs out of bed, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The fridge light cuts through the darkness as I grab a cold beer.
The bottle hisses open.
First long pull is ice-cold and bitter and exactly what I need.
I drop into the chair at the small wooden table, flip open my leather notebook, and click on the desk lamp. The pen feels good in my hand. Too good.
The words come rushing out like they’ve been waiting for me.
Page after page.
My protagonist is deep in the woods again, tracking something dangerous, tension thick enough to cut. The scenes pour onto the paper: raw, dark, charged with heat I didn’t plan on writing. Every time I think of danger, I see flashes of blue eyes and a red spanked ass.
Every time I write about control, I feel Milo bent over my lap.
I don’t stop. My hand flies across the pages. Beer forgotten. Time disappears.
When I finally look up, faint dawn light is creeping through the slats of the window blinds. Pink and gold bleeding into the sky.
I blink hard, neck stiff, eyes burning.
“Goddamn it,” I growl, slamming the notebook shut. “Lost the whole night. Workout’s gonna be shit today. No wonder most authors look like they can’t bench a damn matchstick.”
I shove the notebook into the drawer like it personally betrayed me and head to the kitchen.
Fresh pot of coffee.
Strong. Black. No cream, no bullshit. The usual.
I carry the steaming mug out onto the deck, Shadow and Spirit following close behind. They settle on either side of my chair as I drop into it, legs stretched out, watching the sun crest over the distant peaks.
The view is perfect . Golden light spilling across the valley, mist rising off the trees, birds calling like the world is brand new. Normally this is my favorite part of the day—quiet, clean, mine.
But something feels off.
I take a sip of coffee and immediately grimace.
It’s bitter. Flat . Nowhere near as rich or smooth as it should be.
My mind flashes straight to Milo’s coffee, the one he must have brewed specially before bringing those cupcakes.
Warm. Bold. With that perfect little edge of something sweet underneath.
Damn him.
And just like that, my brain drags me right back to the spanking…
How soft and jiggly his bare ass felt under my palm.
The way it bounced and flushed deeper red with every hard swat.
The little gasps and whimpers he made when I pinned his wrist and told him to take it like a good boy.
How hard his cock was—the way I could feel it flexing and twitching on me as I punished him.
The boy was howling in pain, but evidently loving it too.
My cock thickens heavy against my thigh at the memory. I shift in the chair, jaw tight.
Shadow lets out a sharp bark, then Spirit joins in, both of them staring at me with those knowing brown eyes like they can read every filthy thought in my head.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” I mutter, reaching down to scratch behind their ears. “Not happening. I’m not making contact with that boy again. Ever . You know my rules.”
The dogs tilt their heads, tails thumping once like they don’t believe a word I’m saying. Smart sonsofbitches.
I finish the coffee anyway, even if it tastes like dirt.
The sun is fully up now, painting the deck in warm light. I stand, stretching my arms overhead, muscles already complaining about the lost sleep.
“Supply run,” I tell the dogs, heading back inside. “Fresh coffee beans. Some meat for you two. Maybe a new chain for the saw. That’s it.”
I say it out loud like it makes it more true.
The mission into town is definitely not because I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain blue-eyed, cupcake-baking, trouble-making boy wandering around town with that stubborn little sway in his hips.
Nope.
Not at all.
I pull on a clean black t-shirt, worn jeans, and my boots. Grab my keys. Shadow and Spirit are already waiting by the truck, tails wagging like they know exactly where we’re going.
I open the door and let them jump in the back.
“Town,” I say firmly, more to myself than them. “In and out. No detours. No distractions.”
As I climb into the driver’s seat and fire up the engine, the image of Milo bent over my lap flashes through my mind again: red ass, soft whimpers, that breathy “Yes, Daddy” before he ran.
My hands tighten on the wheel.
Three nights of nightmares. One afternoon with him. And now I can’t get the damn boy out of my head.
This is exactly why I stay up here alone.
But as I pull away from the cabin and head down the long dirt road toward town, I already know I’m lying to myself.
Because no matter how much I tell myself I won’t see him…
I’m already wondering what he’ll be wearing if I do.
* * *
I park the truck on the far side of town, right by the old fire station. It’s a solid ten-minute walk to the specialty coffee roaster I usually hit on the rare occasions I show my face in town, but I kill the engine and sit for a second anyway, jaw tight.
Shadow and Spirit are already standing up in the bed, tails wagging, noses in the air like they know exactly why we’re here.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, climbing out. “Not a word out of either of you.”
I admit it to myself as I slam the door: I parked on the opposite side on purpose. Longer walk means more chances of “accidentally” crossing paths with a certain blue-eyed troublemaker.
Even as I think it, I scoff.
If I do see Milo, I’m not stopping. I’m not talking to him.
I just want one look. Just enough to remind myself why I shut it down, why a man like me has no business getting tangled up with a sweet, stubborn Little who calls me Daddy after one spanking.
I clip the dogs’ leads and start walking.
The morning air is crisp, the main strip already busy with locals grabbing breakfast and tourists snapping pictures of the mountains. Shadow and Spirit trot beside me, well-behaved until…
A big, happy dog comes bounding toward us from the cross street.
“Easy,” I growl, but both my boys pull hard, tails going crazy. The dog’s owner jogs up after him, leash in hand.
Kaleb .
I know him. Not friends, exactly… we’ve crossed paths a few times deep in the woods when he’s out tree surveying.
Two big alphas who prefer their own company.
We give each other respectful distance… usually.
But it’s never really been a case that we’ve gone beyond the basics.
It’s always been polite, but standoffish.
“Morning, King,” Kaleb says, voice calm but guarded as he reels his dog back. His eyes flick over me, then the dogs. There’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t expect to see you in town twice in one week.”
“Supply run,” I answer flatly. “You?”
“Same. Taron needed a few things.” He nods toward the opposite side of the street where a cute boy is waving at him, bright smile on his face. Taron. I’ve seen him around with Kaleb before.
Kaleb gives a short whistle and his golden immediately heels. “Well… take it easy out there.” He pauses, then adds in a lower tone, “And maybe keep that temper in check around certain curious boys, yeah?”
My eyes narrow. He knows. Of course he knows. Small fucking town.
Before I can reply, he lifts a hand in a half-wave and jogs across the street.
Taron lights up the second he sees him. He leans down, kisses his forehead, then takes his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Their dog trots happily beside them as they walk off down the sidewalk together laughing, connected, easy .
Something tightens in my chest.
Not jealousy exactly. Just a sharp, hollow pang. I haven’t let myself want that kind of life in years. Haven’t let myself believe I could have it.
I shake my head hard, like I can rattle the feeling loose. “Let’s go,” I tell the dogs, voice gruffer than necessary.
We keep walking.
I scan every storefront, every passing face. No sign of Milo. No bouncy ass, no short shorts, no bright laugh cutting through the morning air.
Deflation hits me harder than it should. I tell myself it’s for the best. He’s probably already moved on. A smart boy like Milo doesn’t need to chase after a grumpy recluse who spanked his bare ass and sent him running.
The specialty coffee shop comes into view up ahead. I reach for the door, still half-lost in my own thoughts.
The bell jingles as I push it open.
And there he is.
Milo .
He’s standing near the back by a row of burlap sacks of fresh beans, clipboard in one hand, pen tapping against his lower lip as he takes notes.
His hair is all shiny, his frame slender but with an ass that’s more than good enough to feast on.
He’s wearing tight black jeans and an oversized sweater.
It’s cute, casual, but even hotter because I know what his body looks like underneath, or at least the bottom half.
Whatever.
The sight of the boy hits me like a punch to the gut.
Milo hasn’t seen me yet. He’s completely focused, biting his lip in concentration the same way he did when he watched me eat his cupcake.
I freeze in the doorway.
Choice time.
I could back out right now. Let the door close quietly. He’d never know I was here. I could drive home with the same mediocre beans I always buy and pretend this little detour never happened.
Or I could step inside.
My eyes drop to the curve of his ass in those jeans. The memory of how soft and jiggly it felt under my palm flares hot and immediate. My cock twitches.
Shadow lets out a soft whine, tail wagging as he stares straight at Milo. Spirit does the same.
I stand there, one hand still on the door, torn between walking away for good and the sudden, powerful urge to hear his voice again. To see those big blue eyes look up at me like I’m the most interesting man in the world instead of the town monster.
Fuck .
This was supposed to be a simple supply run with a side of cute boy sightseeing for good measure.
Now it feels like the most dangerous decision I’ve made in years.