By His Rules Read online

  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.

  * * * *

  Aiden didn’t know why it had been such a struggle

  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.

  Chapter Eight

  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
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  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

  Keaton here. He was almost disappointed when Keaton

  got up and walked away.

  Like you know anything about him, Cole. Or want to. He

  could be a total asshole, for all you know.

  Aiden hugged himself as an icy gust blew back his

  hair.

  Keaton was worried. This boy didn’t look at all like

  the Aiden Cole who’d caught his eye at Obey. This

  Aiden was far too thin—bony arms clutching his middle,

  as though he could prevent some of the late fall chill

  from entering through the thin fabric of his long-sleeved

  T-shirt. This Aiden was wary, withdrawn. He was also in

  pain. It showed in his eyes and in every stiff, shuddering

  movement of his body.

  Keaton reached his car, unlocked it, and grabbed a

  jacket from the backseat. He liked the jacket—it was a bit

  small on him, but it was warm and sturdy. Still, he didn’t

  mind giving it up for a good cause. He tried not to rush

  back to the pier. No need to spook the kid with his

  enthusiasm.

  Aiden glanced up only briefly when Keaton

  returned. “Here,” Keaton said, holding out the jacket.

  “For my peace of mind.”

  Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want it.”

  “Please.” Keaton said it sincerely, and Aiden

  looked at him as though unable to comprehend why this

  mattered so much to Keaton.

  Then Aiden shrugged again and took the jacket.

  He couldn’t get it on—his fingers were numb, and

  he shivered so hard he could barely raise his arms.

  Keaton reached out to help him, and Aiden shied

  violently from his hands. Keaton stopped moving.

  “Shit,” Aiden muttered. He shook the jacket off and

  thrust it at Keaton. “You keep it. I have to get going

  anyway.” He stood and hurried away, leaving Keaton no

  time to decide whether to call after him.

  * * * *

  Aiden landed a part in a local production of Twelfth

  Night. He’d come to look down on community theater

  while he was in college, especially the shows put on in

  this dump of a town. But he missed acting and was

  thrilled for the chance to play Malvolio. In productions at

  school, he had inevitably been cast as the romantic lead.

  Now finally he got to play a character part: the priggish,

  joy-despising steward who turns out to be far more

  complex than he initially seems.

  Having rehearsals to look forward to each night

  brightened his mood considerably. He ate more

  regularly and had an easier time sleeping through the

  nights. He practiced his lines while Scott was at work,

  and, as opening night grew nearer, tried to persuade

  Scott to come.

  “I hate plays,” Scott said.

  “Don’t you at least want to support me?” Aiden

  asked, trying for the charming grin that had served him

  well in the past. He often faltered when he smiled now,

  afraid Scott would think he was being fake or

  manipulative.

  Scott snorted. “Like you need any more support

  from me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Scott shrugged. “Maybe instead of wasting your

  time with this play, you should be out looking for a job.”

  “I’ve tried. You know I’ve been trying.”

  “Have you? How hard can it be to get a job as a

  cashier somewhere?”

  Aiden bit his lip. “Well, I don’t just want to be a

  cashier somewhere. I want to think about my future.”

  “Well, I wish you wouldn’t think about it on my

  dime.”

  Aiden’s face burned. He struggled to keep his voice

  steady. “Joe’s was good because the hours were flexible.

  Serving’s a great day job for an actor. If I could get<
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  another job as a server, I could make sure my evenings

  were free to pursue more theater opportunities.”

  “So you can be a waiter for the rest of your life, but

  not a cashier?”

  “It’s not for the rest of my life. It’s just until I can

  start making a living as an actor. Or—I don’t know, if I

  get into grad school… ”

  “This all sounds like fantasy to me. I mean, how is

  acting a viable career? Unless you’re a movie star?”

  “People make money at it. Not a lot, but—”

  “How does that contribute to society, though?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how does being an actor benefit anyone?”

  Aiden’s mouth fell open. “People need theater. It’s

  part of… of culture; it’s part of what makes us human. It

  teaches us about ourselves—”

  “Look, don’t have an aneurysm over it. Theater’s

  just not my thing. So enjoy your show, break a leg or

  whatever, then buckle down and find a real job when it’s

  over.”

  Aiden stood, fists clenched at his sides. Scott was

  being completely unfair and condescending. “There’s a

  party closing night for the cast and crew. I was gonna ask

  you to go with me. But forget it.”

  “When’s closing night?”

  “What do you care?”

  Scott caught his wrist as he turned to leave. “When

  is it?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Next Saturday I need you here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have something planned. Part of your training.”

  “Well, I can’t miss the cast party.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  “No.”

  Scott quirked an eyebrow. “What did you just say

  to me?”

  “I said no.”

  Scott jerked his arm. “Do you need a reminder of

  who’s in charge around here?”

  “I know who’s in charge, Sir,” Aiden spat. “But I

  also know I have my own life outside of being your sub.

  And the cast party is part of it.” Aiden’s heart thudded,

  but he forced himself to keep his gaze locked with

  Scott’s. He didn’t dare fight Scott’s grip on his wrist; Scott

  would win. He simply waited.

  Scott stared at him for a long moment, eyes black

  with fury. Then he thrust Aiden’s arm away from him.

  “Go then.” He left the room.

  Aiden stared after him. Was it really that simple?

  He’d surely pay for this later, but he’d gotten what he

  wanted—Scott’s permission to attend the cast party.