By His Rules (26 page)

Aiden had been unable to stop staring at Keaton,

wondering at how Keaton could make getting hired at a

crappy pizza chain feel like a real accomplishment.

Aiden had found Keaton attractive from the

moment he saw him, and he’d appreciated Keaton’s

kindness in giving him a place to stay and distracting

him from the memories of his traumatizing encounter

with Scott. The discipline relationship, silly as it had

sounded at first to Aiden, ended up being exactly what

he needed to get his life back on track. He owed Keaton a

great deal, valued his friendship with the man, and was

more than a little grateful to be having the best sex of his

life.

But lately his feelings had become even more

complex. The idea of
not
having Keaton in his life was

like a raw wound, too painful to touch. He felt a silly,

fawning devotion when he looked at Keaton, and wanted

to run to him, throw his arms around him, crawl inside of

him, and live safely under his skin.

Love.

Was he
in love
with Keaton Hughes? He’d pushed

the idea aside. Of course he wasn’t. He was overly reliant

on Keaton’s guidance. He’d grown needy and clingy, to

the point where he feared leaving the safety of Keaton’s

house and the certainty of Keaton’s rules.

But Aiden had a nagging suspicion that even if

Keaton lived in a cardboard box on the street and had no

clue how to administer a spanking, Aiden would still

want to be with him.

Don’t think he feels the same way about you, Aiden

warned himself. You’re one boy out of dozens, maybe

hundreds, he’s done this with. You have plans anyway—

grad school, or else a move to a big city. It’s never going

to end happily ever after. So why bother fantasizing?

Aiden checked the Recycle Bin on his laptop one

more time, in case by some miracle he hadn’t wiped his

personal statement from the computer. No such luck. He

shut the laptop and headed upstairs. Better get this over

with. He had to be at Zippy’s in an hour, and his butt

would need time to cool after Keaton was done with

him.

Keaton was in his studio, hands dark with clay,

classical music playing on the radio. He wore an apron

splattered like a butcher’s, but with gray instead of red.

He didn’t hear Aiden come in, so Aiden waited by the

door, watching him, a mix of tenderness and despair

tightening his chest. Keaton was beautiful. So beautiful.

So calm and confident and content. What did Aiden have

to offer someone like Keaton?

Keaton finally noticed him and smiled. “Hey,” he

said, turning down the radio.

“Hey.” Aiden went to him, threw his arms around

him, and nuzzled the crook of Keaton’s neck and

shoulder.

“I’ll get clay on you,” Keaton warned.

“I don’t care.”

Keaton’s arms closed around him. Aiden savored

the moment as long as he could, then pulled away.

“I did something bad.”

Keaton waited patiently.

Aiden stared at his feet. “I deleted my personal

statement from the computer. And I shredded my print

copy.”

“Oh?”

“I was reading over it, and I just… hated it.”

“I looked over the statement yesterday and thought

it was great.”

“Yeah, I thought it was okay. But it wasn’t.”

“Do you think it might have been a good idea to

talk to me before you deleted it?”

Aiden flushed. “I didn’t know I was going to delete

it—it just sort of happened.”

“What are you going to do now? Write another

one?”

Aiden didn’t know whether to be relieved or

frustrated that his foolishness hadn’t prompted

immediate outrage on Keaton’s part. “I don’t know. Now

I wish I still had the old one. It wasn’t that bad.” To his

horror, he felt tears stinging his eyes. No
way
was he

going to start crying over this. What was he, a little kid?

Normal twenty-three-year-old men didn’t behave this

way, he was sure of that.

“No, it wasn’t,” Keaton agreed.

“So what happens now?”

“Well, you’ve got another—what, two weeks?—to

write one you like better.”

“Aren’t you going to punish me?”

“We’ll deal with it when you get home from work.”

“But that’s not fair! I can’t work for six hours with a

spanking hanging over my head.”

Keaton kissed his forehead. “Go on. Get ready.

Don’t fret so much.”

Well, this is a new one, Aiden thought as he left the

studio. He’d expected Keaton to go ballistic—well,

ballistic for Keaton. He’d anticipated a very thorough

spanking, a lecture on not sabotaging himself, and

possibly some time plaster gazing in his favorite corner.

He suddenly grew suspicious—was Keaton going

easy on him because his audition for Case was this

weekend? He grumbled his way to work. Keaton didn’t

have to baby him. He knew full well when he’d done

something wrong, and what he deserved.

Work passed slowly, and Aiden grew more upset

about the essay. He really didn’t want to rewrite it.

Maybe there was some way he could collect the pieces

from the paper shredder. Ha. Not likely.

He tossed pizza dough and tried to take some

consolation in the fact that his audition might not be a

complete disaster. He’d given in last week and let

Keaton see his monologues. Keaton had been genuinely

impressed—not the fake impressed you had to be when

you didn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. And it had

helped Aiden to have someone to deliver the

monologues to—especially his Shakespeare monologue,

which dealt with the nature of love. Not that he loved

Keaton. Nope. Not even a possibility.

He arrived home, unsure what to expect. Keaton

had salad, chicken, and rice on the table.

“I ate at work,” Aiden said.

“You sure about that?” Keaton asked cheerfully.

“Fine.” Aiden grumbled, sitting down.

“How’s your stomach been lately?”

“Okay.”

After dinner, Aiden did the dishes, wondering if

they were, in fact, going to “deal with” this morning. He

went to the bathroom, and when he returned to the

kitchen, there was a typed copy of his personal statement

on the table, along with a notebook and a pen.

“You’re lucky,” Keaton said. “I printed out a copy

when I read it yesterday.”

Aiden eyed the notebook apprehensively. “That is

lucky.”

Keaton clapped him on the shoulder. “But just in

case you should shred this one in a fit of pique, I’d like

you to copy it out by hand, twenty-five times, please.”

“The whole thing?” Aiden demanded.

“The whole thing.”

“That’ll take forever!”

“Not only will you have twenty-five copies, but

you’ll have it committed to memory. No danger of losing

it again.”

Aiden sat in the chair, dreading this as he’d

dreaded little else in his life. A spanking would hurt, but

at least it would be over quickly. Copying a five-

hundred-word statement twenty-five times would take

hours. And he was already tired from work…

Don’t act like you don’t 100 percent deserve this, he

told himself, picking up the pen. He wrote out his own

words, hating them, hating himself. But as he wrote, he

found little corrections to make here and there. By the

third copy, the statement sounded much better.

Editing lost its novelty around copy four.

By copy six, Aiden wanted to die.

Copy ten. His hand was cramping and his eyes

were blurring when Keaton entered the kitchen.

“How’s it going?” Keaton asked.

“Fine,” Aiden muttered, attacking the paper

furiously with his pen, determined to get through this.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Keaton said gently.

Aiden glanced at him, incredulous. “A break? From

a punishment? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?”

Keaton took the pen from his hand. He sat down

beside Aiden and massaged Aiden’s wrist. “You’ve done

enough for tonight.”

“I’m not even halfway through.”

“You’re done for tonight,” Keaton repeated firmly,

leading Aiden out of the kitchen and upstairs to the

bedroom. He settled Aiden on the bed and retrieved

something from the back of a dresser drawer. As Keaton

approached the bed, Aiden saw that it was a large

wooden hairbrush.

“Jesus, Keaton.” Aiden sat up. Deleting the

document hadn’t been
that
horrid of a crime. And he’d

written the lines, just like Keaton had asked…

“Shhh,” Keaton said. “Put your head in my lap.”

Aiden did, heart pounding. Keaton ran the brush

through his hair. The bristles were soft, scratching his

scalp just enough to make his body tingle. He sighed

and closed his eyes as Keaton brushed his hair using

long, slow strokes. “I thought you were gonna spank me

with that.”

“I just thought this might feel nice,” Keaton said

softly.

“It does.” Aiden sighed. “You’re always nice to me,

even when I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad. Sometimes you make mistakes,

and I correct you. But you’re not bad.”

Aiden stretched and buried his face in Keaton’s

thigh. “I love you,” he murmured.

Keaton paused midstroke. “What did you say?”

Aiden tensed. “I didn’t—I just meant… I really

appreciate how good you are to me.” He raised his head.

“I see.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He tried desperately to

read Keaton’s face. “I know there’s no way—I mean,

we’re just—It’s temporary,” he finished lamely.

Keaton set the brush aside and ruffled Aiden’s hair

with his fingers. He seemed sad, distant. “I suppose so.”

“I know I’m not really anything to you. I just—I like

doing the discipline thing with you. You’re really good

at it.”

He was making things worse now. Even in the dim

light, he could see Keaton’s mouth set in a thin line. “I’m

sorry,” Aiden mumbled, moving out of Keaton’s lap.

“You’re not anything to me?” Keaton asked quietly.

“I don’t—You can’t—”

“Do you have
any
idea how much I care about

you?” Keaton demanded, voice suddenly rough with

emotion. “Any idea at all?”

Aiden’s eyes widened. “How much?” he asked.

Keaton flopped back on the pillows and rolled

away from Aiden. Aiden crawled closer and peered

hesitantly over the broad barrier of Keaton’s back. “How

much?” he asked again.

Keaton sighed. “So much that it hurts me to think

about it. But I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I didn’t

want you to feel obligated to stay. And now you say

you’re not anything to me? Maybe we’re not on the same

page at all, Aiden.”

“Are you pissed at me?”

“I’m hurt that you’d dismiss what we have that

way.”

“I’m not dismissing it!”

“That’s what it sounded like.” It was the closest to

anger Aiden had ever heard Keaton come. “If you have

something to say, you should just say it.”

“You can’t expect me to just be able to say exactly

how I feel!” Aiden’s temper rose. “I’m not perfect like

you.”

Keaton rolled over and stared at him. “What the

hell does that mean?”

“You want too damn much! You want to use your

stupid rules to turn me into something I’m not. Your

perfect little robot.”

“
Our
rules.”

“Whatever.”

Keaton turned back to the wall. “Go to sleep,

Aiden.”

“The hell I will.”

Keaton sighed again. “I’m really not in the mood

for this.”

“And what if I meant it?” Aiden demanded.

“Meant what?”

“What I said—that I love you.”

“Then I wish you’d say it again. But only if you

mean it.”

“What would you say?”

“Take a chance. Find out.”

“What if you tell me to get lost?”

Keaton rolled over and faced Aiden. “Have I ever

told you to get lost? I’ve had to virtually beg you to stay

here with me—twice. Say what you need to say, brat.

Don’t make me spank it out of you.”

“I love you,” Aiden said. It was easy, and as soon

as he said it, he felt light, content, completely relaxed.

“You sure?” Keaton asked.

“I’m positive.”

“Final answer?”

“Keaton! Say it back. I feel like a dork.”

Keaton rolled onto him, pinning him to the bed.

“Make me.”

Aiden struggled, giggling, while Keaton nibbled