I feel silly now. What was I thinking? Why was I panicking like that? He’s right here. He didn’t leave me. He was with me the whole time. The feeling is gone, obliterated, vaporized by nothing more than his touch.
“No! I need to be here.”
He kneads the thick, tense muscle that joins my neck and shoulder. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I just…I, uh…” I think of a hundred excuses. A million explanations. Maybe more. I land on something almost bizarre in its simplicity. The truth. “I got scared. I couldn’t hear you. I thought I was alone.”
“You’re not alone.” His hand is open now, palm flat, rubbing big, slow circles through the shirt on my back. A warm puff of air hits the back of my neck. “You’re not alone.” He says it over and over. Both hands are on me, finding tension that’s been there since God knows when and releasing it. Hard touches that remind me in no uncertain terms where I start and where I end. Soft touches that make me feel like I’m floating.
When the timer he set finally goes off, I move my face away from the wall and drop my head back against the immovable solidness of his chest. There’s a phantom of lips against skin. A whisper. “Daddy’s here.”
Pure, warm liquid relief envelops me. It circles me, wrapping around me. I think of all the stupid things I’ve done in my life. It’s not that I haven’t been trying. I have. I’ve been trying my hardest. I think how hard it’s been to rein myself in, to manage myself. Despite how limited my success has been, I think of the effort it’s cost me to watch my words, my actions, my thoughts. I think of how much pressure I’ve put on myself to be better, do better.
Stuart circles my waist with one arm, steadying me, and I feel a rampant, ecstatic, giddy sense of relief.
Certainty.
Conviction.
I’m his problem now.
10
Stuart
Elliotscootsalittlecloser to me on the sofa. His legs are curled up under him. He’s squirmy, wriggling around now and then to take his weight off his ass. He has his head nestled into my shoulder, silky dark hair tickling my chin when he moves. My palm is hot and tingling. My dick is tingling too. I’ve had my arm around him since we sat, and I won’t be moving it anytime soon. Arrangement or not, there’s no way on Earth I’lleverlet a boy who needs comfort go without.
We’re half-watching TV, half-drifting in and out of a conversation about what happened between us earlier. He’s still a little shaky and subdued. I’m still a little amped and protective. We’re talking to each other in a way that’s different from how we’ve talked to each other before. There are veils between people all the time. Strangers. Friends. Family. Almost every interaction you have with someone else is veiled in some way. And that’s okay. It’s necessary, even. No one would get anything done if we were all laying our truth on everyone around us all the time. There’s still a thick curtain between Elliot and me, but a veil dropped tonight, and we’re both feeling tender from it.
“Is there anything else you need me to do differently?” I ask. He’s silent, but I feel a slight falter, a hesitation. “Tell me.”
“It’s dumb, and I know it’s a me thing, but like, I can’t stand it when people tell me what to do. It makes me feel stupid ‘cause half the time, I don’t knowhowto do shit.”
“What should I do instead?”
His voice is small and breathy. “Teach me.”
I let that sit with me. I let it sink in. It touches me that that’s what he wants. It touches the best parts of me. Honorable parts. Noble parts. I’m impressed that he knows this about himself, and I’m glad he’s told me. It explains a lot, and I know it’s something I can help him with.
We watch another episode of whatever is on. It’s getting late by the time the credits roll.
“So,” I say, “what have you learned from your antics this evening?”
He peers up at me through thick, dark lashes. His brows shoot up, and he replies earnestly, “I learned that youdoknow how to spank hard.”
He looks adorable when he says it. A picture of boyish innocence. For a second, I think he might mean it, but then his eyes flicker with humor, alerting me that any innocence about him is faux.
“Elliot,” I warn, trying not to laugh, “you should know that if I have to spank you more than once in a day, the second time will be just as long and hard as the first time.”
He turns his face into my shoulder and lets out a warm breath. His shoulders shake visibly as a deep tremor quakes through him. He keeps his face hidden. “I learned that you’re not a mind reader. I have to tell you what I need.”
There’s a sudden fullness in my chest. A deep-seated sense of well-being. A feeling I used to know well but one I haven’t felt in so long that it feels strangely unfamiliar.
“That’s right. And how should you tell me?”
He takes a while to answer but manages at last. “Any way I can, ‘cept without the shouting and swearing.”
“Yes, because what’s going to happen if we have any more shouting and swearing?”
