By His Rules Read online

  for breakfast.” The temptation was to bolt, but he figured

  after last night the least he could do was wash his plate.

  He went to the sink and looked for a trash can where he

  could throw the rest of his waffle. Keaton got up and

  stepped close to him. Aiden could feel the other man’s

  heat, smell his shampoo. He shivered, dying for their

  bodies to brush against one another, not sure he could

  survive if they did.

  “I’ll take that if you’re not going to eat it.” Keaton

  reached over and snagged the waffle from Aiden’s plate,

  grazing Aiden’s hand as he did. Aiden nearly dropped

  the plate. How was this man—so calm, so kind, so

  bookish—so electrifyingly hot?

  “It may ruin my figure, but that’s a risk I’m willing

  to take.”

  “Nothing could ruin your figure,” Aiden said

  before he could stop himself. He blushed, feeling

  Keaton’s gaze on him as he put his plate in the

  dishwasher. “I mean—you look good.”

  He hurried from the room before he could

  embarrass himself further. He spent the afternoon at the

  library, looking at job classifieds on the computer. There

  were a couple of hotel desk jobs he could apply for—

  night shift, both of them. Why not? I’m not doing much

  sleeping. The idea of being a desk clerk sounded

  unfathomably boring.

  He briefly pulled up his application to Irvine on the

  computer. All he had left to do for that one was his

  personal statement. He groaned silently. He didn’t even

  want to think about that right now.

  He left the library, discouraged. He stopped by

  Hera’s, but she wasn’t home, so he sat down on her stoop

  and tried to appreciate that the sun was shining on such

  a chilly afternoon. He realized the best part of his day by

  far had been talking to Keaton over waffles. Keaton

  made it easy to talk, though Aiden still worried about

  revealing too much.

  He has his own life. He doesn’t want to spend his free time

  listening to you moan about your future—or lack thereof.

  He pictured Keaton in his studio—long, thin hands

  kneading clay, brushing on glaze, stepping back to cast a

  critical eye on what he’d created. Aiden thought he’d like

  to watch Keaton work sometime.

  Keaton had said he liked Aiden. Liked him as a

  friend? Or as more? “You need time to heal,” Keaton had

  told him last night. What was there to heal from? Aiden

  thought bitterly. Scott had turned out to be too intense

  for Aiden. Their last night together had spooked Aiden,

  but it had been his own fault for coming home drunk, for

  not being stronger, for not repeating his safe word.

  I’m not fragile. I’m not broken. Keaton doesn’t need to

  treat me like I am. He can fuck me, hurt me, punish me…

  What would it be like, to be punished by Keaton?

  Keaton didn’t seem very tough. But maybe Keaton was

  holding back because he saw Aiden as delicate. The

  more Aiden thought about it, the angrier he got—at

  Keaton for holding back, and at himself for showing such

  weakness around Keaton. No wonder Keaton thought he

  was fragile—he’d spent last night weeping in the man’s

  arms. He needed to be tougher, show Keaton he could

  handle anything.

  He needed to force Keaton to reveal his dom side.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next couple of days were rough. Aiden was

  moody and irritable, snapping at Keaton whenever

  Keaton tried to make conversation. He couldn’t sleep

  and threw up everything he ate—discreetly; he didn’t

  want Keaton to catch him in such a vulnerable state

  again.

  He waited for Keaton to get fed up, snap, punish

  him. It didn’t happen.

  “I rented a couple of movies if you’re interested,”

  Keaton said on Saturday night.

  “I’m not,” Aiden said.

  “Okay then. Do you mind giving me a hand with

  dinner?”

  “I’ve got some stuff to do. I’m not eating, anyway.”

  “You sure? Homemade pizza. My specialty.”

  Aiden wrinkled his nose. “Yuck.”

  Keaton stood in the foyer, sorting through the day’s

  mail. “One of my students is making a ceramic pizza for

  her final project. It’s pretty cool looking.”

  “Why do you teach at a community college?”

  Keaton looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you not qualified to teach at a real school?”

  Aiden asked nastily.

  Keaton looked more surprised than offended. “I

  guess I fail to see how community college isn’t a ‘real

  school.’ Part of the reason is that the job was available—

  it’s tough to find work in this economy. You’ve got to

  take what you can get. Also, major universities tend to

  breed a lot of departmental politics. I feel like I deal less

  with the political side of academia at Florence.”

  Aiden wasn’t sure how to respond in a way that

  would provoke Keaton. He flopped back on the couch,

  letting his legs sprawl open. “I fucked a college

  professor once. Not one of my professors, I mean. But he

  taught somewhere near here, and he was in town for the

  weekend. He wanted me to pretend I was a student. Are

  you into schoolboy scenes?”

  “Can’t say I am.” Keaton tossed an envelope onto

  the side table.

  “Have you fucked a lot of guys?”

  Keaton looked pointedly at Aiden. “That’s really

  not your business.”

  “Just asking.”

  “I’m going to go start dinner. You’re welcome to

  help.”

  “Why should I help with something I’m not going

  to be able to eat without getting sick?” Aiden

  complained. “Then when I puke, I’ll have to worry about

  you barging into the bathroom and watching me.”

  “Settle down.” Keaton started toward the kitchen.

  “Make me,” Aiden said.

  Keaton stopped, turned.

  Aiden’s heart pounded, but he pressed on.

  “Fucking make me settle down.”

  “Aiden,” Keaton said quietly.

  “Keaton,” Aiden mocked.

  “I’m not going to ‘make you’ settle down.”

  “Why not? Because I ‘need time to heal’? Or

  because you don’t know how to be a goddamn top?”

  Keaton looked like he was trying to hide a smile,

  which infuriated Aiden further. “Well, here’s the truth—

  there’s nothing you could do that would make me

  behave. I can take a lot of pain. You’d have to beat the

  complete shit out of me to get me to do anything.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Aiden snapped.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to do that.” Keaton

  turned again to leave.

  Aiden walked to the foyer table, grabbed the twigs

  out of Keaton’s spiral vase, and hurled them at Keaton.

  They landed on the floor between them.

  Keaton paused.

  Aiden waited, chin lifted defiantly. His heart


  thrashed against his chest like a caged animal, and fear

  snaked around his wrists and ankles, binding him where

  he stood. But he continued to send out his silent plea to

  Keaton: Please stop me. I need you to stop me.

  “All right,” Keaton said.

  “All right what? You’re going to beat the shit out of

  me? I’d like to see you try, you fucking asshole. If you

  fucking touch me, I’ll—”

  Keaton dragged a high-backed wooden chair that

  sat against the living room wall over to a corner, looked

  at Aiden, pointed to the chair, and said, “Sit down,

  please.”

  “Why should I?” Aiden asked, starting to panic.

  Keaton took a step toward him, and Aiden jerked

  back, bumping the table. Keaton’s vase wobbled. Keaton

  held out a hand.

  Aiden eyed the offered hand. Keaton didn’t grab

  him. Didn’t shout or swear or strike. He just waited.

  Cautiously Aiden put his hand in Keaton’s.

  Keaton led him to the chair and sat him down. Then

  he picked up the chair with Aiden in it and turned it to

  face the corner. Aiden held his breath. Keaton’s lips were

  almost against the back of his neck; the other man’s

  warmth and sweet smell were so close that Aiden ached

  to throw his arms around Keaton and just inhale for

  hours.

  Except now you’ve pissed him off. Now he’ll show you

  what he’s really like as a top.

  He had a wild urge to leap up from the chair and

  run away. Keaton put a hand on his shoulder. “Just sit

  here. Relax. I’m going to go make dinner.”

  Aiden couldn’t speak. How long was Keaton going

  to leave him here? Was he just supposed to sit in the

  corner like some naughty kid? What would Keaton do to

  him when he came back?

  He watched Keaton leave the room, wishing

  suddenly, desperately that he could take the last ten

  minutes back. He wished he was in the kitchen chopping

  vegetables, talking to Keaton about his day. He wished

  he hadn’t been such an asshole. What if Keaton never

  forgave him for the things he’d said?

  “Shit,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. Was

  Keaton going to do what Scott had done that night at

  Obey—put Aiden in the corner and then yell at him, call

  him names, point out everything that was wrong with

  him? Aiden hated that. He hated it worse than Scott’s

  beatings.

  The idea of Keaton physically disciplining him

  made Aiden nervous, but it would be a hell of a lot

  better than this—this limbo, this waiting, this…

  loneliness. Even Scott at his cruelest had at least engaged

  with Aiden.

  “Shit,” Aiden said louder, half hoping Keaton

  would hear him and come into the room, even if it was

  just to tell Aiden to shut up.

  What right did Keaton have to leave him here?

  What was to stop Aiden from getting up and walking out

  of the room? Who was this cowering deadbeat sitting in a

  chair in the corner of a stranger’s house? What had

  happened to the Aiden who had graduated from State

  last year, soaring high on dreams of the future?

  To his utter humiliation, he began to cry— for what,

  the eight hundredth time this week? He wiped his eyes

  furiously, trying to turn the emotion into anger at

  Keaton.

  But he didn’t hate Keaton. Only himself.

  * * * *

  Keaton chopped vegetables, the familiar motions

  calming him. He didn’t want to admit how much Aiden’s

  outburst had bothered him—not that the boy’s words

  had offended him, exactly. It was just difficult to witness

  someone in so much pain. Aiden’s tantrum had been

  motivated by fear, self-doubt, mistrust, anger, and stress.

  If Aiden were an ordinary brat, Keaton would have

  settled things with a few sharp swats to the seat of the

  boy’s pants. And for all he knew, that might have done

  the job for Aiden. Aiden seemed to crave physical

  reinforcement and reassurance. But Keaton couldn’t risk

  spooking him any further. They still didn’t know each

  other well, and Aiden needed to know he was safe here

  —from abuse, from force.

  Keaton hoped the corner time would chill Aiden

  out, give him time to reflect in private while still offering

  him the boundaries he needed to feel secure. He was

  pleased with his handling of the situation until he heard

  a thud from the living room. He rolled his eyes, hoping

  things weren’t about to get out of control. He put the

  pizza in the oven and went to check on his brat.

  Aiden was still sitting in the chair, but he was

  kicking the chair leg, hard, every few seconds. Keaton

  walked to the corner and stood behind him. “Aiden?”

  Aiden kicked the chair leg.

  “Aiden, look at me please.”

  Aiden didn’t move, so Keaton picked up the chair

  and turned it so it faced the room. What he saw shocked

  him. Aiden’s eyes were red and swollen, the pupils

  dilated with fury. His cheeks were wet, his nose runny,

  and he looked at Keaton with such loathing that Keaton

  almost took a step back.

  “Are you done with me?” Aiden demanded before

  Keaton could speak. “Or is there more?”

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Keaton said, striving to

  keep his voice calm.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to know if I can get

  up.”

  “As soon as you tell me what’s upset you.”

  “What’s upset me?” Aiden shouted. “What is this

  shit? You left me here. I didn’t know what to do!”

  His face was red, and tendons strained in his neck.

  Keaton wanted to put a hand on him but was afraid to

  touch him.

  “Is this your idea of punishment? Because it’s

  fucking torture.”

  Keaton shook his head. “Not punishment.

  Discipline. I thought this would help you relax, and—”

  “Relax?”

  “I’d like you to help me understand why it was so

  bad for you.”

  “I don’t get it! I’m just supposed to sit here? And

  then what? Are you going to call me shit?”

  “Call you… ?” Keaton was confused.

  “Call me names or whatever? Yell at me? Tell me

  how stupid I am? How no one will ever want me?”

  Aiden’s voice broke.

  “Is that what he did?”

  “Fuck you!” Aiden yelled. “You’re no different than

  him. You get off on being in control. You think you’re

  some kind of fucking god, and that I should just listen to

  whatever you say, and you don’t— know— anything!”

  Aiden kicked the chair leg again.

  “Aiden, I’m listening,” Keaton said. “Please stop

  kicking the chair.”

  Aiden kicked the chair.

  “Last warning.”

  Aiden kicked as hard as he could. The chair leg

  creaked in protest.

  Keaton moved fast. He had Aiden out of the chair

  and bent over his arm in seconds, and before the boy />
  could struggle or protest, delivered two firm swats to

  Aiden’s jean-clad rump. Hard enough to be felt, but not

  hard enough to hurt or to compound the pain of any

  bruises or welts that hadn’t healed yet. Keaton

  immediately pulled Aiden upright and settled the boy

  back against his body, wrapping his arms firmly around

  him. Aiden struggled for a moment, then went limp,

  sobbing. Keaton held him while he cried himself out.

  “You spanked me,” Aiden choked finally.

  “Mm-hm,” Keaton said. He dropped a kiss on

  Aiden’s hair.

  “I hate you.” The statement was halfhearted, and

  Aiden sounded completely relaxed.

  “I know.”

  They stood in silence for another moment, Keaton

  refusing to let go, Aiden not trying to get away. “I don’t

  really,” Aiden said finally.

  “That’s good.”

  Aiden twisted so that he faced Keaton, and pressed

  his head against Keaton’s chest. “I was scared, Keaton,”

  he whispered.

  “Tell me why.”

  “I didn’t like being alone in here. I wanted to be in

  the kitchen with you. I was pissed at myself for being

  such an asshole.”

  “You weren’t an asshole.”

  “I know I was. I did it on purpose. I was just so sick

  of wondering when you were gonna show your true

  colors.”

  “My true colors?”

  “You’re a top. And I thought you wanted me here

  because I was a sub, and you… I just kept waiting for

  you to try to… whatever.”

  Keaton held Aiden tighter. “Poor boy. No. That’s

  not what I wanted at all.”

  “I just wanted to know how you would punish me.

  If you were like Scott or—different.”

  Keaton rubbed his back. “I see.”

  “I don’t get the corner time thing. I thought you

  were trying to build anticipation—get me freaked out

  before you started hitting me or whatever. Or that you

  were going to make me sit there while you called me

  things. Mostly I just didn’t like being alone and knowing

  I’d pissed you off.”

  Keaton sighed, angry with himself. He should

  never have attempted any form of discipline, however

  mild, without first communicating with Aiden. “I’m glad

  you’re telling me this,” he said. “Come here.” Keaton led

  Aiden to the couch and sat down, settling the boy against

  him. “I truly didn’t mean to scare you or make you feel

  alone. I thought that time in the corner would let you