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I shivered against the mattress. Part of me wanted to snap at him, to scream, to create an emotional distance so the impending betrayal wouldn’t hurt so bad. But the other part of me, the treacherous, submissive part, just wanted to sink deeper into his hands.

Suddenly, his phone rang loudly on the wooden nightstand.

George glanced at the screen, then back down at my back. “I should take this, baby. It’s Coach.”

I nodded weakly into the pillow, my throat tightening. I already knew exactly what this phone call was about. George kept one heavy palm resting reassuringly on the back of my thigh as he answered, as if he physically couldn't bring himself to stop touching me.

“Yeah, Coach?” George’s voice was low, instantly professional. “...Yeah, I’m here.”

There was a long pause as he listened to the receiver. Even from where I lay, I could hear the muffled, frantic excitement in coach’s voice vibrating through the speaker.

“The next game?” George asked, his chest expanding as he sat up a bit straighter. “You’re serious? Draft scouts from three different NFL teams confirmed?... No, Sir, I understand. I’ll keep everything completely clean. No parties, no drama, no rumors. I know exactly what’s riding on this.”

My stomach dropped into a bottomless, icy void. This was huge for him. This was the definitive shot at the pros. The singular dream he’d been breaking his body for his entire life.

And I was going to destroy it all. His perfect, golden-boy athletic reputation would go up in flames by morning. No professional team would touch him with a ten-foot pole if rumors of abuse, blackmail, or queer scandal got leaked to the scouts right before the draft. I could finally destroy him. This was the exact revenge I wanted in the first place. Then why was I hesitating?

I tried to summon the old venom in my veins like a protective poison. I desperately wanted to hate him for the high school bullying, for the harassment, so I could justify the knife I was about to slide into his back. But all I felt was an overwhelming, suffocating pain. My heart started hammering frantically against my ribs. My hands fisted into the dark sheets.

George continued talking calmly above me. “I’ve got it entirely under control, Coach. I’m focused. Nothing’s going to fuck this up for me... Yeah. Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

He hung up the phone and set it back on the nightstand. Then, without a word, he went right back to rubbing the cooling medication into my sore cheeks, as if the life-changing conversation hadn’t even happened.

I lay there completely frozen, torn cleanly in half.

This man had just spent the previous night canning my ass because he recognized that it was the only way to drain the trauma out of my head. He was the living nightmare who had driven me away from my old life. The reason I had loathed myself for years. And now, he was gently massaging medicine into the marks he had put on me, while his entire future, the one I was trapped into ruining with a single phone call, hung by a thread.

George leaned down, pressing a remarkably soft kiss right above one of the darkest purple welts on my thigh.

“You’re incredibly quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, baby?”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tasting like ash.

For one dark, vicious second, I imagined leaking the story to Pavel, watching George's entire world burn to the ground the exact way mine had. Then, I felt his broad thumb gently trace a stripe on my skin, a soothing, fiercely protective motion.

And the truly sick part was... I didn’t want to do it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“May I ask for something, Sir?” I whispered into the quiet cabin.

“Yes, you may.” He kept taking care of me, his large hands steady and warm against my skin.

“Make love to me,” I whispered, the words trembling as they left my lips. “Not as my Sir. Not as a punishment or a lesson. Just... like a lover. Just for tonight, George. I want to feel cherished tonight.”

George’s hands stilled instantly on my skin. For a long, agonizing moment, the room went completely silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing. Then, he gently took my hips and turned me onto my back so he could look at me. His dark eyes searched my face, surprised, intense, but incredibly soft.

He reached up, brushing his thumb across my trembling bottom lip. “If this is what you need...” his voice was low, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed his warm mouth to my forehead, making my heart completely flip in my chest. “Then that’s exactly what you’ll get, baby.”

He pulled back, picked up the remote from the console, and turned on the music. The soft, timeless strains of "Every Breath You Take" began to vibrate quietly through the small speakers. Then he smiled, meeting my eyes again as he leaned down and kissed me. It wasn't the brutal, claiming, heavy kisses I was used to from our scenes. It was slow, deep, and sweet, like he had all the time in the world. His mouth moved gently against mine, coaxing my lips open instead of demanding entrance. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested heavily against mine.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my lips. “Tonight it’s just us. No punishment. No games. Just me loving you the way you deserve.”

He took his time undressing the rest of the way, this was the first time I got an eyeful of his hot body. His length, leaking precum, heavy and thick standing up, commanding. His large hands stroked it a few times, making my dick leaking with need. George’s eyes travelled down my naked body, focusing on my cock. Then George settled himself between my spread thighs, keeping his forearms braced so he wouldn't put too much weight on my sore, marked body. His hands never stopped moving, stroking my chest, my sides, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His touch was warm and reverent, like he was actively memorizing every single inch of me.

“Ummmh,” I moaned, my body arching instinctively into his heat.

He kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, and then lower, paying special, lingering attention to the places he’d marked with the cane the night before. Every brush of his lips felt like a healing balm and a terrifying promise at the same time.

“You are so beautiful, Sig,” he praised me softly, and against all my better judgment, a deep sense of pride bloomed in my chest.