Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 (6 page)

The boy was a bit of a br
at, but Raif found it endearing. He could see why Chicklet would let Tyler run a little wild—he must be fun to play with. Settling down on the sofa, Raif folded his arms behind his head, pleased that Tyler kicked off his shoes and removed his jeans without any fuss. He rolled his eyes when Raif glanced pointedly at his socks, but toed them off and then simply stood there and waited for the next command.

Raif took his time enjoying the sight of the toned body before him, muscles not large, but well
-defined. Pale skin flush with the excitement and energy of youth, only the slightest brush of golden curls on his chest and stomach. Dark blue silk boxers, not as snug as briefs, yet still short enough to show off most of his legs and the swell of his slack dick. Raif didn’t let his gaze linger there for long; he didn’t play with straight virgin boys.

A wicked part of his mind wondered how quickly he could get Tyler hard if he used the right tone. The right touch. He looked at Tyler’s face and knew those soft lips would feel like heaven sliding down his cock.

Punishment, Zovko. You have him for punishment.

With a firm nod, both to his own thoughts, and to let Tyler know he was ready to begin, Raif held his hand out, motioning to the floor. “I want you in plank position. Hold it as long as possible, then lower to your knees when your arms become sore. I expect you to tell me if you are in pain, but you know how to use your safeword, yes?”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna use?” Tyler glanced to either side of Raif as though he expected some tool of torture to be laying on the sofa cushion. Perhaps tucked away out of sight. “I need to know because I hate the cane, and I gotta brace myself for—”

“No cane. No pain at all other than that of holding yourself in place.” Raif shook his head slowly when Tyler opened his mouth. “You will not speak again aside from what we’ve discussed. And no one will speak to you. You are nothing but an object now, boy. A footstool, to be exact.”

A dark red blush spread across Tyler’s cheeks. He chewed hard on his bottom lip, then dropped to his knees. The thick muscles in his back and his calves hardened as he put himself in plank position, arms and legs perfectly straight.

Raif waited a few moments before taking the punishment a step further. He lifted his booted feet and set them on the center of Tyler’s back. Watched Tyler’s expression go from utter humiliation to calm acceptance. He smiled as Tyler adjusted himself, moving a little closer so Raif could get comfortable.

There it was. Raif gestured for the waitress to bring him two bottles of water. And spoke quietly.

“Don’t move. And don’t speak.” He let his tone drop into the smooth, lulling one he used for his lovers. And his subs. “But I want you to know, I am very pleased with you, Ty.”

Tyler didn’t lift his head, but Raif saw his lips curve up just a bit. That was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

* * * *

A dull ache in Tyler’s arms had him lowering to his knees without even caring that it might make him look weak. The hard-core music in the club faded away. So did all the people. He sensed them moving around him, but he felt so far removed from everything, they didn’t matter. The solid weight on his back kept him grounded, kept his head where it needed to be.

He was doing this for Chicklet. And it was a good punishment. He’d gone into the scene room not really thinking about what she might be doing. H
e and Laura might not always get along, but that didn’t make what he’d done okay. He’d pretty much demanded his Mistress’s attention. Then he’d demanded Callahan’s. He wasn’t more important than them—didn’t want to be.

And now he was proving that he got that. He’d become nothing. Just a
n object.

Part of his brain wanted to shout and swear and tell Raif that this was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking piece of furniture.
He should be able to talk. Taking the pain Callahan would have dished out would have been easier.

But it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Wouldn’t count for anything if it was easy.

That part of his brain sank deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The ache in his arms was getting worse. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. Focused on breathing. His face got real hot as Raif’s boots moved, like he was changing position. He wanted to look at Raif, see the pleasure he’d heard in Raif’s tone. But that would screw up all the good Tyler had done. Raif was happy because he’d done what he was told.

So he’d keep doing it. Seemed like he’d become the thing he was pretending to be as the minutes passed, like he could stay there forever and not budge when the cleaning lady came around. Like she wouldn’t realize he was a person and she’d dust him off and then walk away.

A lot of people were walking away. There were familiar voices above him. People speaking to Raif. They didn’t see Tyler. And everyone always saw Tyler. Fans, coaches, his friends. His mom.

He pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think about her now. Not here.
Never
here.

But all he had
were his own thoughts to keep him company. And it was getting harder to see himself as a plain, polished wooden footstool. His mom was dating again. She’d stopped for so long and she’d seemed so much stronger. All those years of saying she couldn’t be alone—he knew she could do it. She didn’t have to work because he made enough to support her, but she loved her job at the library.

She’d met the man there. He might be a decent guy
; she thought he was amazing. They all were at first though. The emotionally abusive ones were the hardest to spot, and she’d had a few of those. Tyler had learned how to spot them when he was a teen. They didn’t scare him as much because his mom had her church and her therapist that helped her get away from them.

The physically abusive ones though
…they were a real problem. His mom had dated three of them. Including Tyler’s father. And every time she became a different person. She’d stay away from everyone if there were bruises people could see. And hide those they couldn’t when she did go out. Those were her longest relationships. It was almost like she could deal with getting hit better than being told she was worthless.

She shouldn’t have to deal with either. But Tyler didn’t know how to help her. He winced as a woman’s cry broke through his haze.
His mother never cried out when a man hit her. Tyler used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of his mother being slapped, wishing he was big enough to go out there and stop it. But after getting punched a few times, he’d been too afraid to leave his bed.

Tim
…the Cobras’ coach, a man they’d all loved who’d been killed months earlier in a car crash—he’d talked Tyler into going to the team therapist. And spilling everything to the shrink had made Tyler realize that as a kid he couldn’t have helped him mom. All he could do was be there for her now.

I’m a footstool. A fucking footstool. I don’t gotta think about this stuff.

A man’s laughter. The sloppy wet sound of fucking.

The soft gasp of a woman, more from pain than pleasure. Whoever she was, she didn’t make another sound.

Tyler pressed his eyes shut.

“Ty, speak to me.”

Raif sounded worried. Tyler opened his eyes and shook his head. A cool sense of calm spread through his veins as he let himself feel the pain in his arms and the weight of Raif’s boots. “I’m all right.”

“Are you? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Deeper and deeper. He wasn’t sure he could answer, because he let himself be the thing he’d been asked to be. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “I don’t need to speak. I’m here. I’m a good footstool.”

“You are.” Raif’s soft voice
with his lulling accent, the weight of his boots leaving, then his hand on Tyler’s cheek. A water bottle against Tyler’s lips. And sweet, cool liquid filling his mouth. “A quality piece to be cherished.”

Tyler didn’t see a cleaner dusting him off anymore. He could see Raif, rubbing him down with oil and using that voice to tell him how solid he was. How good and strong he was.
Chicklet made him feel good and strong, but then Laura needed her. Laura needed her a lot.

A footstool.

“Tyler? Hey, you okay, man?”

A
foot—
that was Luke. Luke couldn’t see him like this. Luke wouldn’t get it and he talked to Luke about everything, and the worst thing would be to have something he couldn’t talk to his best friend about.

“I—”

Raif cut Tyler off. His tone was hard. “Ramos, if you please?”

“
Niño
, not now.”

That was Ramos. The team was here. What the fuck was he doing becoming a thing where people could see him and wonder what the fuck was wrong with him
?

Luke let out an angry sound. “Sir, this isn’t—”

“This is a scene you are not part of. Come.”

Tyler turned his head a little and saw Luke moving away slowly. Then there was someone else.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Zovko? This ain’t right.”

Scott. Tyler’s two closest friends had seen him now. And they didn’t get it. Not that they should have to. Tyler was being punished because
he’d
fucked up, and they’d never fuck up like this. He didn’t want his friends worrying about him. But he wanted to show Raif he could do this.

But he couldn’t do both.

“Demyan, stay out of it.” Now it was Mason talking. The whole team seemed to be there. And Tyler wasn’t a sub in front of the whole team. He only did this around the ones who understood and they didn’t and how the fuck was he supposed to deal with that?

“Not fucking happening, Mason. How about you do your fucking job?” Scott sounded like he wanted to hit someone. “Does he look like he’s okay? This asshole just gets to grab random subs because he got more points than the rest of us? Is that how we’re playing now?”

Their voices faded. Raif pulled Tyler to his feet and standing felt wrong. He wasn’t ready to stand. To have to be real again.

“Let us go see your Mistress. She will be impressed at how well you’ve done.”

Words. Raif was saying shit, but they were only words. Chicklet was with Laura and she’d forgotten him. And Raif had just made him look pathetic in front of everyone.

But Tyler had asked for it, so he’d be good. He lifted his head to meet Raif’s eyes. “I think I want to go home.
” All right, just kinda good. “And I think you need to stop fucking touching me.”

Raif’s eyes hardened. His gaze dropped to the front of Tyler’s boxers. “Do I? Because I think you needed exactly what I gave you.
A little discipline, perhaps?”

Okay, yeah, his dick was fucking rock hard. But it wasn’t because of Raif. Couldn’t be, no matter what his voice did to Tyler’s senses. No matter how
much he’d wanted to please the asshole during those few minutes that had seemed so perfect. He was hard because…well, because the punishment almost hadn’t been one. He’d accepted that he was a sub a couple years back, and the weird-ass scene had triggered that part of his brain.

Which he’d shut down now, thank you very fucking much. And he wouldn’t make the mistake of interrupting Chicklet again. He kept his eyes locked with Raif’s. “Thanks for your help. See you Monday.”

“If you’re determined to leave, you will at least have one of your friends drive you. Practice tomorrow—optional, but you will be there. And you will call me when you get home.” Raif glanced over to where Scott was still talking to Mason. “Mr. Demyan doesn’t appear to be busy.”

Tyler g
ritted his teeth as he followed Raif’s gaze away from Scott, to the dance floor. Pearce and Becky were dancing to a slow rock song, surrounded by other couples who’d finished playing for the night. He let the bitterness he couldn’t help feeling practically drip off his tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d love Scott to drive me home. Get him out of your way.”

Raif rubbed his hand over his face, releasing a sharp laugh. “I apologize, Tyler. I thought I could help you, but I haven’t, have I?” He shook his head, staring at the ceiling when Tyler didn’t answer. “Go. And try to keep out of trouble.”

Grabbing his clothes, Tyler headed to the other side of the room to put them on by the bar. He wasn’t playing, so he might as well have a drink before he took off. A petite, dark skinned Domme who’d become a regular since last fall and usually manned the bar after midnight on the weekends, came over. Her dark red lips curved as Tyler slumped onto one of the stools.

“What can I get you, hon?”

“Vodka and OJ. And no, I’m not playing.” He tongued his upper lip at her level stare. Right, no need to be rude. “Sorry, Ma’am. Tonight’s been all kinds of fucked up.”

“Call me Deisha. And I’ve had nights like that, so I understand.” Deisha placed a clean glass on the bar. Hesitated. Tyler was sure she was gonna ask if his Mistress would mind hi
s drinking, but instead she held out her hand. “I’m all for letting loose, but you gotta hand over your car keys first.”

Fair enough. Tyler plucked his keys from the pocket of his jeans and passed them to her. “Not a problem. I’ll catch a cab or something.”