By His Rules (10 page)

look for Aiden Cole.

* * * *

his arm move to hit Snooze. So he let it ring. He’d been

having a hard time sleeping lately. His hours at the gym

left him wired in the evenings, so that it took him a long

time to fall asleep. And when he finally drifted off, he

half expected, even at home in his own bed, to be shaken

awake in the middle of the night to be fucked or to give a

blowjob or take a beating.

With great effort, he opened his eyes: 9:15. He had

to be at work at ten.
Just another five minutes…
He slapped

the Snooze button and closed his eyes, falling back

asleep immediately.

When he woke again, it was almost noon and his

phone was ringing.

“Where the hell are you?” Hera demanded.

“Huh?”

“Rim Job’s having a fit. We’re slammed. Lunch

rush. Where are you?”

“Shit,” Aiden said, clambering out of bed. “Sorry,

shit. Tell her I’ll—”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No, I—Fuck, Hera, tell her I’ll be right there.”

Hera’s voice softened. “Why don’t I tell her you’re

sick?”

“No, don’t. I’m on my way.”

He hung up, threw on his work clothes, and hurried

out the door. When he got to Joe’s, he expected Rima to

chew him a new one. Instead she smiled at him a little

sadly and asked him to meet her in her office.

“Aiden.” Rima tapped her fingernails against her

desk. “There have been some issues with your job

performance lately.”

Aiden blushed. “I know. I’ll get it together, I

promise.”

“You’ve been a good employee. Joe’s really

appreciates the work you’ve put in this year. But we

have a strict tardiness policy. Three strikes and you’re

out. This is your strike three.”

“What? No—Can’t this just be a warning?”

“I warned you last week when you came in late. I

don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but frankly

I’m a little worried. Not just as your employer.”

“I’m fine,” Aiden snapped. “Or I’d be fine if

everyone would just back off.”

“Everyone?”

Aiden rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve just

been stressed out. I didn’t realize I was in danger of—

Fuck.” He scrubbed his eyes with his fists.

“You don’t look good,” Rima said.

“Yeah, well, I just got fired.”

“It’s policy, Aiden. It’s in your handbook. I wish I

could make an exception, but I can’t.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Aiden didn’t care that he was being

rude. “I’ll go.”

“You can pick up your final paycheck next

Thursday.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, all but stomping out of

Rima’s office. He was glad there was no sign of Hera as

he crossed the kitchen and left through the back door. He

got in his car and drove to Jackson Pier. It was too cold

for sitting out by the lake, and he’d forgotten a jacket in

his hurry this morning. He sat there until he was numb,

until his nose ran and his lips were chapped and his

fingers refused to bend. His teeth chattered as he

returned to his car. He turned the heat on full blast and

drove back to his house.

His stomach plunged as he remembered he was

expected at Scott’s tonight. Some nights, he dreaded

seeing Scott. Others, he was excited, or at least restless

enough that the pain Scott provided was a welcome

distraction. Right now he dreaded the idea of being in

Scott’s house, in Scott’s bed. Of being insulted,

humiliated, hurt.

What was he going to do? He didn’t even have

enough money saved to cover his upcoming rent—with

his upcoming paycheck, he’d have just enough for this

month. He couldn’t afford utilities, that was for sure.

There were no jobs in this town—he’d been lucky to find

Joe’s. And what about his grad school application fees?

He was fucked.

Absolutely fucked.

Maybe it was a sign. A sign that he shouldn’t go to

grad school, that it was time to move to a city and start

pursuing an acting career.

With what money?

He gripped the steering wheel with still-numb

fingers and choked back a sob.

He’d call Scott and tell him he wasn’t coming over

tonight. Scott could just deal with that.

He dialed Scott’s number, intending to be firm and

assertive. Scott answered, and Aiden’s voice broke on

“Hello.”

He ended up pouring out the whole story to Scott,

who listened quietly, then said, “I’m sorry.”

He sounded so sincerely sympathetic that Aiden

was taken aback. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Stay with me awhile,” Scott suggested. “You could

sublet your apartment while you look for a job.”

“No. I mean, no, Sir. I can’t do that to you.”

“What would you be doing to me? You’re training

is going well, and if you move in, we’ll be able to take it

to the next level.”

“I—”

“I was going to ask you anyway if things continued

to go well. Instead I’ll ask you now: Will you move in

with me?”

There was no reason to make a hasty decision. He

could go home, look at job classifieds, start calling

around. He didn’t really want to give up his apartment,

and the idea of living with Scott full-time terrified him.

But a sudden surge of recklessness took over—why the

fuck not? What good was he to anyone else anyway? To

Joe’s, to Hera, to the world? He could live with Scott, be

Scott’s fuck toy until Scott got sick of him, and then he’d

figure something else out.

“All right,” Aiden said.

“Yeah?” Scott sounded a little surprised, and—was

Aiden imagining it?—relieved.

They agreed to move Aiden’s stuff the next

weekend. “A week to change your mind,” Scott said.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Sir,” Aiden said.

* * * *

before to reach subspace when he was with Scott. Now

he flew high every time Scott whipped or fucked him. He

let Scott beat him until he was bruised and sobbing,

loving the sickness of it, begging for more.

“Relax,” Scott told Aiden one night, putting down

the flogger and stroking Aiden’s damp hair. Aiden was

tied to the bed and pulled against the restraints, panting.

“No, Sir, please don’t stop, please—”

“Relax,” Scott said again, more sharply, swatting

Aiden’s ass with the flat of his hand.

Aiden stilled, then burst into tears.

“Shit,” Scott muttered. “Where are you, boy?”

Aiden sniffed. “Fuck me then, at least, please, Sir?”

“You’ve had enough for tonight.” Scott moved to

undo the restraints.

“No!” Aiden shouted. “I haven’t.”

“Settle down. I’m warning you.”

“I won’t settle down, you asshole, you

motherfucker! Why won’t you fuck me? What the hell’s

your problem?” Aiden yelled. He struggled until the

restraints bit into his wrists and ankles.

“Enough!” Scott said, picking up the flogger again.

“You’re gonna remember your manners, Shithead, before

we’re done here.”

He lashed the leather tails with such force across

Aiden’s backside that Aiden couldn’t even cry out with

pain—the sound stuck in his throat, and he choked as he

tried to breathe around it. Scott lashed him again. “You

do
not
speak that way to me. Not
ever
.”

Aiden resumed his struggle, driven now by fear

and pain rather than anger. The lashes were hard enough

to break skin and fell relentlessly and haphazardly. Scott

didn’t stop until Aiden was whimpering broken

apologies, lying limp on the sheets.

Scott undid the restraints. Aiden made no move to

get up. He felt a gentle trickle of blood down the back of

one thigh.

“Little shit,” Scott panted, throwing down the

flogger. “I don’t even want to fuck you, you scrawny

whore.”

Aiden let out a sob as Scott left the room. Was this

true submission? Feeling hurt, angry, confused, and

humiliated? Alone? Aiden knew the role-plays he’d done

with tops in the past hadn’t demanded real submission.

They’d been fun, undemanding, and interchangeable.

What he had with Scott was real. And yet, wasn’t a D/s

relationship supposed to be mutually supportive?

Wasn’t the sub supposed to get
some
pleasure out of the

relationship?

You do, Aiden reminded himself. You were in

subspace tonight when he was whipping you. You get

hard when he fucks you.

But Aiden was turned on by the acts themselves,

not by his
relationship
with Scott. He didn’t trust Scott.

Sometimes he didn’t even really like him.

But you’re stuck with him now, Aiden reminded

himself.

He reached back to wipe the blood from his thigh.

There wasn’t much, but brushing the wound sent pain

ripping through him. He liked the feeling and did it

again.

Aiden was once again jacketless on the pier. He

loved this little ritual—numbing himself to everyone and

everything. Hera had tried calling him three times today,

but he refused to pick up. She’d been upset when he first

told her he was moving in with Scott, but had since tried

her best to be happy for him. Now he almost wished he

could enlist her help in getting himself out of his

arrangement. But he didn’t want to admit he’d been

wrong.

There was snow in the air today, just a few flakes. It

wasn’t even quite mid-October. Aiden watched the cloud

of his breath merge with the gray sky. He ached

everywhere. His muscles, from the gym. His ass, from

Scott. His head, from hunger. He was used to ignoring

hunger, but today for some reason he couldn’t stop

thinking about food. The idea of eating made him feel

nauseated, but his body overpowered his mind,

demanding sustenance.

What you want doesn’t matter, he reminded

himself.

If Scott ordered him to eat tonight, he would.

Otherwise he could make it without food.

He heard footsteps crunching in the frosted grass

behind him, but didn’t turn. The sound stopped, and

Aiden had the feeling he was being watched.

“Where’s your coat?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

Aiden almost laughed. Who the fuck cared about a

coat? He was Shithead—he couldn’t feel cold without

permission. He turned and saw Keaton Hughes.

Keaton was wearing a fitted black wool coat that

flattered his slim but strong figure. His glasses today had

stylish black frames that matched the coat and made him

look even smarter and more studious than he had at

Obey. His hands were in his pockets, and a feeling of

complete, utter warmth filled Aiden when he looked at

the man, so that for a moment he couldn’t even feel the

chill in the air.

Keaton was taller than Aiden had realized, and

positively statuesque. Aiden was so busy staring at him

that he forgot Keaton had asked him a question. Aiden

shrugged as best he could with arms stiff from cold and

turned away.

“I can’t even imagine how cold you must be.”

Keaton took a couple of steps closer.

“I’m all right,” Aiden replied.

“Any particular reason you’re out here freezing

yourself to death?”

“I like it.”

“You won’t like it so well when you have frostbite.”

Aiden didn’t answer.

“I have an extra jacket in my car. Will you let me

give it to you?”

Aiden glanced at him again. “I’ll be all right.”

He found he couldn’t look away this time. Up close,

Keaton’s expression was warm and calm. There was

some amusement in his gray-blue eyes, but it was

overshadowed by genuine concern.

“Honestly I won’t be able to sleep tonight worrying

about you losing fingers and toes.”

“It’s not your problem,” Aiden said.

“I guess you’re right.” Keaton sat on the long,

narrow bench that stretched the length of the pier—not

right next to Aiden, but close enough that Aiden could

feel a slight heat from his body.

“Keaton Hughes,” he said.

Aiden sighed and closed his eyes. “Aiden Cole.”

“Sorry,” Keaton said. “I’m intrusive. It’s a flaw of

mine. I’m sure you can take care of yourself.”

Aiden tried to focus on the water, but all he could

think about was Keaton Hughes, sitting a few feet from

him. While he wasn’t interested in further conversation

about his lack of outerwear, it was comforting to have