Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7) Page 5

  The pain is how he shows love, he reminds himself, and thinks it over and over again, clinging on to the words like they can keep him still. Compliant. The noises he makes are partly from agony, but partly from fear.

  “What are you thinking now?” Xander asks quietly, once it’s over. He bends over Ben, who has let his legs fall down again.

  “I’m thinking…you must love me an awful lot.”

  “I’m thinking you’re right.” Xander pauses, and then says roughly, “Roll over. I want to fuck you.”

  Ben rolls.

  Chapter Six

  Afterwards, covered in gels and creams and unnecessary bandages, Ben falls into a deep sleep before Xander wakes him again, hours later. Xander is dressed and ready to go out.

  “I have that film premiere,” he reminds Ben.

  “Oh, right. Have a good time. I’m just gonna keep sleeping for a while.”

  “No, you’re not. Get up, please. You can go take a piss and then come to the kitchen.”

  Ben obeys, nervously. He doesn’t quite know what to expect. He’s heavy with sleep still, dragging a little as enters the kitchen, where there is a plate of antipasto and a fresh bread roll on the bench. “Eat that. You missed lunch. You’ll be missing dinner, too.” Xander watches him eat every mouthful, and it’s disconcerting.

  After that, Xander takes him to the lounge room. There’s a large white square of paper stuck to the wall, and a line in tape on the carpet, parallel with and close to the wall.

  Ben looks at the tape and back at Xander, who holds his face with one hand. “Stand still,” he says, and Ben watches him bring up—a lipstick? Bright red. With sparkles.

  “I got this at the drugstore. I don’t know if it’s really your color, but I guess we’ll see,” Xander says, smiling a dangerous smile. “Close your eyes.”

  Ben obeys, fully expecting to feel Xander painting up his mouth. But instead, Xander draws a thick, sticky line from the top of his forehead, down his nose, over his mouth and chin. And then two more horizontal lines across his cheeks.

  Ben blinks into Xander’s eyes, confused.

  “Stand over there. Toes on the tape. No, Benjamin, facing the wall.”

  Ben turns to face the wall, yawning widely. He stretches. His thighs are still very sore from the riding crop and his ass is throbbing. In front of his face is the square of white paper, a couple of inches away from his reddened nose. “Don’t you have to—I mean, I thought you had to leave soon,” he says.

  “I do. Hold your hands behind your back, please.” Ben obeys, although it’s difficult to have them resting too close to the welts of the caning, and then Xander comes up very close behind him to speak in his ear. “You’re going to stand here like this until I come home. You will simply wait. You will not move your hands or your feet, and you will not lean against the wall. Do you understand?”

  Ben nods wearily. “I don’t know how long I can keep it up, though, Xander. I’m tired. I’m really tired.”

  “I want you to try. And if you can’t do it, that’s fine. But I will have to—”

  “—punish me,” Ben finishes for him. “Perhaps you should just do that now, and I could go back to bed.”

  Xander leans against the wall, looking at him darkly. “What’s the point of this exercise, do you think?”

  Ben stares straight ahead, not daring to meet Xander’s gaze. “I don’t really know. I guess it’s another test.”

  “It’s not just another test.”

  “Well…then I don’t know, Xander. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re doing this because it makes me happy. It will make me happy, when I’m out tonight, to think of you standing here and doing what you’re told, even though it’s just about impossible. It will make me happy to think that you’re struggling to be obedient for me, even when I’m not with you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are we clear?”

  “We are clear.”

  “I’m going to sprinkle baby powder around you, so I can see how much you move your feet.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” He really doesn’t. Ben has no intention of moving.

  “I know,” Xander says. “But nevertheless.”

  It is just about impossible to stand upright, Ben finds quickly, because he’s so tired and so sore that he sways where he stands. His knees bump into the wall, but it’s uncomfortable to rest against it with his head hanging back, even if he wanted respite, which he doesn’t. He stands as straight as he can, but it’s not long before his eyes droop shut and his nose bumps the paper on the wall. It leaves a red, sparkly smudge. He can’t even cheat and turn his face, because of the lipstick on his cheeks as well. As time passes, and his hands begin to cramp around each other, the red blotches on the paper increase, and so does his concern about what Xander might say when he gets back. Will he be disappointed?

  But thinking of Xander amplifies his resolve each time. He’s glad to be able to do this for Xander, or try to do it, anyway. Just to make Xander happy. And he knows that Xander is thinking of him, staring at the wall, his nose smeared over with cheap, strawberry-scented lipstick. Like a clown. Like Rudolph. Ben grins, ducks his head, bumps the paper again. Another red scuff. He scowls. At least he hasn’t moved his feet, or doesn’t think so—he doesn’t want to look behind to check in case it throws off his balance.

  He loses track of the time. His feet and ankles are getting a little numb by the time Xander comes back, and his shoulders sag in relief. But Xander doesn’t speak to him, just moves around the apartment as though Ben isn’t even there, as though he’s just a strange ornament in the room.

  After about ten minutes, he finally comes close and looks over Ben’s shoulder at the wall, reaches over to pull down the paper. It’s smeared all over with red smudges by now.

  “Go and wash your face,” Xander says softly, and Ben stumbles out of the room.

  Even after two washes, a faint pink blush remains across Ben’s skin, and some errant sparkles. Xander, taking pity on him, grabs some kind of fancy skin care product from the cabinet and wipes his face over again. The cotton pad is stained deep pink by the end, but Ben’s face is finally clean.

  “I need the newspaper,” Ben mutters afterwards, and Xander raises an eyebrow briefly, but follows him back into the lounge.

  Ben grabs up a pen and the newspaper with the tallies and looks at Xander, making sure he watches as Ben marks another short black line, a little away from the previous tally. “Were you happy tonight, thinking about me here?”

  Xander looks like he’s about to answer, but is overcome before he can get the words out. He pushes Ben back up against the wall, the tape still marking the line on the carpet, baby powder flying up around their feet, and kisses him ferociously until both of them are panting, lips sore and flushed. “Yeah,” Xander says. “Yeah, I was fucking delirious.”

  “I was happy too.”

  “You’re falling asleep.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come to bed. You can write in your journal and then you’re done for the day.”

  There are some things I like more than others about this whole thing, Xander, but it’s true—I was happy tonight. I’m not entirely sure why, but knowing that you were pleased with me, it made everything worthwhile. I’m not saying I want to do that again, but I like that we’re feeling things out together.

  It’s like I’ve been traveling through space for billions of years, and I’m finally finding the edges of it; the edges of reality. I never really could wrap my head around the concept of an infinite Universe. I don’t think my patience is infinite either. Or my ability to give in to your will.

  But I like that you’re tough on me.

  I like that things aren’t fair.

  I never knew that about myself, or I didn’t want to admit it, and it freaks me out, but it’s true. Now that I know that, I have to figure out what to do with the knowledge.

  I hope you’re finding out what you wanted about yourself, too.


  Your Shadows. Whatever they are.

  Xander closes the notebook and looks down at Ben in the bed, who is fighting to stay awake.

  “I am. Finding out.” He looks troubled.

  “Is it a good thing? You can add that question to the tally if you like. I don’t mind.”

  “No more tallies. Not for tonight, anyway.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, what, where, when, why, how? And fucking fuck, you were hard on me today.”

  Xander smiles back wanly. “Yes. And tomorrow too. But if it’s too much—”

  “It’s not. But—promise me, this is how you wanted it?”

  “It’s how I wanted it.”

  “I do love you, you know,” Ben tells him. Xander looks mildly surprised, but then smiles. “You just looked like you needed to hear it,” Ben adds.

  Xander nods. “I did. Thanks.” He puts aside the journal and turns off the bedside light, snuggling into Ben. “Hey.”

  “Mm?”

  “You make a much better sub than I do. Kudos.”

  “I know,” Ben mumbles. “I’m fucking awesome, right?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Really?” Ben asks.

  “Really.”

  “You want to feed me? Like I’m a baby?”

  Xander tips his head to the side a little, considering. “More like a five-year-old who hasn’t quite mastered cutlery.”

  Ben drops his head into his hands, elbows defiantly on the table, although Xander hasn’t said anything else about that since the first time anyway. “Xander, I don’t know.”

  “You don’t need to know. Just do what I say.”

  “I don’t think I’ll enjoy it,” Ben says desperately.

  “Are you safe-wording or not?” Xander sounds cold, and it’s not helping.

  After deliberation, Ben shakes his head. “If you want me to, I’ll do it. But I don’t understand what you’re getting out of it.” You don’t have to understand, Ben is sure Xander will say, but he doesn’t.

  Xander looks at the plate for a moment and then says, “Control.”

  “It’s just,” Ben says, all in a rush to get it out so Xander will understand where he’s coming from, “there’s been a lot of micromanaging going on and I didn’t think you really liked that, I mean, you always said it bugged when people asked for permission to do things all the time, so I thought this sort of thing would bug you too.”

  “It doesn’t bug me.”

  Ben waits, but Xander is pressing his lips together and looking stubborn. Not confident or authoritative, Ben notes—just stubborn.

  “I’m not questioning you, Xander. You can do whatever you want. If you want to feed me, well, okay. If you want to—” Actually, Ben doesn’t want to give Xander any ideas. “Whatever you’ve wanted, I’ve agreed to do it, haven’t I? I’m not questioning what you want to do, I’m just wondering why. Because the whole point of this trial was for you to find out some things about yourself. And you haven’t said much about that, you just look pained from time to time.”

  Xander smiles then, but it’s closer to his scary smile than his happy one, and Ben whips his elbows off the table instinctively. “I look pained? If that’s the most important thing to you right now, I’m not doing my job properly.”

  Ben decides to take a risk. “Of course it’s the most important thing to me. I agreed to this trial so that you could explore some stuff. No,” Ben says, when it’s obvious Xander is going to argue. “I know, there were other reasons, and I’m not saying I’m only doing this for your benefit. I’m enjoying it too.” Parts of it, he adds privately. “But you don’t seem to be getting out of it what you were looking for in the first place. So maybe we need to talk about that.”

  “I don’t want to talk. I want to do this.” Xander waves his hand at the food, which he’s already cut up in preparation.

  Ben woke up starving again this morning, and when Xander offered to make breakfast, he asked for pancakes and bacon and hash browns and eggs. Xander had looked dimly appalled, then Machiavellian; he cooked it all and then started up this I want to feed it to you refrain.

  So far, Ben has found the morning a little trying. Xander’s tossing and turning woke him several times during the night, and each time Ben’s aching ass made it difficult to fall back asleep. In the early morning hours, Xander draped himself completely on top of him like a too-hot, too-heavy blanket.

  “Xander, get off,” Ben had complained, and had to shove backwards with his shoulders a few times before Xander woke. “Get off me, I can’t breathe.”

  “No, I told you, that’s too dangerous,” Xander had told him sleepily, but rolled over and mumbled, “Stop asking,” into the pillow.

  “I’m not—” But Xander was already asleep again.

  After they got up an hour later, still too early, Xander followed him to the bathroom and Ben found himself fed up.

  “Dude, what is this?” he asked, too tired to care whether Xander was going to start counting his questions again.

  Xander looked blankly at him.

  “I get that I have no privacy right now, but seriously? I can’t even piss in peace?”

  “I want to check your marks.”

  “Well, can you give me a few minutes?”

  Xander began to get an obstinate look about him, but the exhaustion in Ben’s face seemed to make him think twice. “Alright. A few minutes.” He retreated, but pointedly did not shut the door.

  Afterwards, Ben stood quietly in front of the bathroom mirror to let Xander tend to him. Ben was already concerned at the state of his chest, and then he caught sight of his butt in the mirror: a mess of black, purple, red stripes, with puffy welts and contusions exploding like dying stars.

  “What in the heck happened to consideration?” he demanded suddenly, and Xander looked up in surprise.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Blood Bond, my play. I told you I had a lot of work coming up and you said, ‘I’ll take it into consideration,’ and then you do this to my chest? This is consideration? In a few days I have a six-hour flight sitting on this ass back to LA, and maybe you’re not aware, but it hurts like a son of a…gun.”

  Xander didn’t reply, and ducked his head again so that Ben couldn’t see his expression. But after he finished, Xander said, “I won’t punish you for asking questions today,” and Ben wondered if that was his way of apologizing.

  And now they’re glaring at each other over the table and a plate of congealing bacon and cooling pancakes.

  “Why do you want to feed me? It just seems weird.”

  “You’re making me regret that I allowed you questions today, Benjamin.”

  “Xander, I’m not pushing back, I just want to understand.”

  “You are pushing back.”

  “Well, so what if I am? You said you liked it when I push back.”

  “Maybe I don’t like it anymore,” Xander says frostily, and they look at each other in consternation. “I mean…”

  “You mean you prefer me as a mindless, obedient toy?” Ben snaps. “Just something to play with and then put away?”

  “No, no. That’s definitely not what I meant.”

  “A dog, then? Trained and obedient?”

  “Stop it. Of course not.”

  “Then what did you mean, Xander? Please, explain it to me. Small words, so I can understand.”

  Xander shoves his chair a little back from the table, and Ben is sure he’s going to stalk out of the room, but instead he leans forward and drops his face into his hands. “I’m drowning,” he says, muffled. “I think I’m drowning.”

  Ben stares at him, unsure what to do. “Drowning?”

  “I don’t think this was a great idea. This whole trial.”

  And somehow that makes Ben even angrier, like Xander is blaming him. Like Ben hasn’t been good enough, obedient enough. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to, what more do you want from me?”

  Xander rubs his face slowly, wearily, and looks
at Ben from between his fingers. “That’s the problem, Benjamin, I want too much. I thought I’d find a point where I could stop wanting more, but I haven’t yet, and I feel like I’m being sucked under into something—dangerous. A whirlpool. I can see you feeling out what you’re comfortable with and it’s like…” He trails off.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’ve found the bottom of the ocean already and now you’re swimming back to the surface. But I can’t follow you.”

  That’s very poetic, Ben wants to say, but it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. “I don’t feel like I’ve found my boundaries. Not yet.”

  “You’re close. You are starting to push back.”

  “And you don’t want me to now?”

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Xander sighs. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Were you testing me?”

  “No. I was just being a jerk.” He gets up and hands over the fork. “Here. Eat. I’m going to run down and get some of that coffee you like. I’ll be right back, but I…I need some air.”

  But Ben finds he’s lost his appetite after Xander leaves. He’s flying back to LA the day after tomorrow, and everything seems off-kilter. His butt still hurts to sit on, so he flops onto the bed instead, on his stomach, and writes in his journal.

  I thought you were enjoying it. You said you were finding out things about yourself, and that’s what you wanted. I wish you’d talk to me more, if it’s so hard for you, if you’re worried. This was supposed to be a joint effort, but it feels like you’re trying to do it all yourself.

  You asked me to help you. You said you couldn’t think of anyone who could help you better.

  So do you want my help, or not?

  Ben rolls gently onto his back. It’s not so sore when he’s lying down. He spreads his arms and legs like he’s making a half-hearted snow angel and stares at the ceiling, painted a muted cream.