Bad Behavior

by K.A. Mitchell

  “Plans like what?” David rested his head on Tai’s shoulder.

  “Anything.”

  “Change them to what?” David turned back, brow wrinkled.

  “To me.”

  David smiled. “Yeah. That works for me.”

  Tai fucked his boy, slow and steady until he came, rubbing and pressing on the bruises to teach him how to slide between the pain and pleasure, letting him know with body and words that Tai would always give him both, feed the hunger he’d found in his boy.

  He clamped down with his muscles to hold back his own orgasm as David’s ass pulsed on Tai’s dick and the thick shots coated their fingers where they were wrapped around David’s cock.

  He jerked free and pushed David facedown, stripped off the condom, and worked himself against the ridges on David’s ass, stroking back and forth until he painted him with spunk.

  An hour later, David flopped and sighed for the fifth time, and Tai pinned him under a thigh and arm. “Settle down.”

  “They still burn.”

  A spark of doubt had Tai studying David’s face.

  “I don’t think I want to do that again.”

  As hot as the marks were, Tai had thought he’d wear a hole in Nic’s floor from pacing by the time David got there. “Me either.”

  “But if I need it, would you?”

  Tai tightened his arm around David’s waist. “Always.”

  BEACH FELT so relaxed, he managed to completely forget about the sentencing until his alarm went off Tuesday morning.

  Tai followed him into the bathroom.

  “Thanks for coming with me today. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “Well, if we can keep it under the lid around my boss and coworkers, that might help. I can take DiBlasi in a fair fight, but if he knew why I traded you off to him, he might get inventively dangerous.”

  “What is his report going to say?”

  “That’s another reason he’s pissed.” Tai tugged the plastic bag over Beach’s hand and taped it down. “The boss said in the interest of public and interdepartmental relations, he had to stick to only matters pertaining to your pretrial release.”

  “Oh.” Holding his hand outside the door, Beach ducked under the spray. “You know, it’s not too late for me to move to someplace else. I don’t think they’d hound me to the ends of the earth over a misdemeanor charge.”

  Tai grabbed David’s arm and pulled him dripping out onto the mat. “What—”

  Tai bent Beach forward over the sink, an arm around his waist pinning him against hard marble and an equally hard hip, while a harder-than-either hand slammed into his ass. Between wet skin and the cane marks, it hurt like hell. Beach yelped, shock keeping him speechless for the first five swats.

  “I was joking.”

  “Do I seem amused, boy?”

  “No, Sir.” Beach relaxed in Tai’s hold.

  Tai rubbed the skin his palm had been scalding. “Still nervous?”

  Beach didn’t even want to lie. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Concentrate on this, then.” Tai stung his ass with a slap. “Count backward from fifteen.”

  “Fift—”

  “Okay. Make it twenty.”

  Beach let out a long breath. Tai squeezed his ass. “Yes, Sir.”

  By fifteen, Beach was having trouble not moving his feet. He didn’t know why his body thought shifting his weight from side to side could make his ass hurt less, but he kept trying it.

  Jesus, Tai’s hand was so big it hit every one of the bruises at the same time.

  “Thirteen,” he managed through gritted teeth. If he’d kept his mouth shut, he’d be halfway done.

  “Twelve.” His right hand came up off the counter.

  “Do you need me to hold that for you?”

  “No, Sir.” He put it back down and rocked forward under the next spank.

  At eight, he made up his mind to never get smart-mouthed in the shower again. He’d survived through the caning, and his eyes were watering from Tai’s hand on wet skin.

  But then Beach’s body moved toward the sensation, back arching to push his ass out to meet Tai’s palm. Beach knew his mind wouldn’t be far behind.

  “Five.” His head went quiet, nothing to do but count and process the sensation of the thud and sting on his ass.

  “Four.” Pain slammed in, swelled, and broke away like a wave, washing clear anything that didn’t matter.

  The last three left him swaying, and Tai held him there for a minute after the last spank had landed.

  When Sir let him up, David went to his knees. “Thank you, Sir.”

  Sir stroked a hand through David’s hair. “I love you, boy.”

  FOR ALL that the criminal trespass charge had ended up changing Beach’s life completely, the resolution happened in front of a bored-looking judge in less than ten minutes. After Beach pled guilty to a misdemeanor charge, the judge said, “Close supervision seems to serve Mr. Beauchamp well. Three months suspended jail sentence, five hundred hours of community service, and a year’s probation, with continued monitoring of sobriety.”

  With a quick tap of the gavel, they were done. Al shook his hand and winked. “If you think that was bad, wait until you see my bill, Beach.”

  Gavin had come, despite Beach telling him not to bother. “Five hundred hours would come in really handy sanding and painting and cleaning. I think I’ll contact the probation office.”

  Beach thought of the miles of walls in the three-story building of Gavin’s shelter. “I hate you.”

  “I’d treat you to a bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée, but….” Gavin shrugged.

  “You are really spending way too much time with Sergeant Boyfriend.”

  Gavin arched his brows. “And here comes your Sheriff de Sade now.” Gavin hugged Beach and walked away.

  Tai maintained a respectable distance, but Beach felt him like they were touching, skin humming, everything sparking to life.

  “David.” His voice was softer than Beach had ever heard it. Beach faced him.

  “A whole year in one place. Feeling antsy?”

  His skin did tingle, and his ass was throbbing, but both those sensations only let him know how much could happen when he was standing still.

  “No.” Beach smiled as the happiness bubbled up from his landlocked feet to his head. “I’m pretty much ant-free.”

  “Pretty damned free considering your ass isn’t in jail,” Tai said.

  “Yes. I had one hell of a probation officer. Got me time off for good behavior.”

  “Boy, your ass is in no shape to cash the check your mouth is writing.”

  “Those overdraft fees can be steep.” Beach nodded.

  “I need to buy you a muzzle.”

  “Hm. What about a collar?”

  “Don’t push, brat.”

  Author’s Note

  THANK YOU for reading this story. There will be more stories with the characters from the Bad in Baltimore books. I can’t seem to say goodbye. I hope you enjoy visiting them as much as I do. After Bad Habit, Marco needs to grow up a little before he’ll be ready for anything permanent. Nic isn’t ready to settle down, but he’s very interesting. Gavin’s brother-in-law, Lee, has started poking at me. I’d love to hear your opinions on which couple should be first to get married.

  Exclusive Excerpt

  Bad in Baltimore: Book Six

  Life is always looking for ways to screw you over. Scott McDermott survived the foster care system and knows better than to let anyone close, but Liam Walsh is his one vulnerability.

  Twice Scott let down his guard, and twice Liam vanished from Scott’s life. So when Scott comes face-to-face with Liam for the first time in five years, he punches Liam in the nose. Only after Scott’s friend—and Baltimore County police officer—Jamie reads him the riot act does Scott discover that in the intervening years Liam has been to war and lost his leg.

  Liam hasn’t had the easiest life either. He took care of his drug-addicted mo
m when she was unable to take care of herself. He’s fallen in love with Scott twice, but when Liam saw Scott going down the same path as his mother, Liam left. The lesson that he can’t save everyone has been a painful one for Liam to learn. Maybe what he and Scott had can’t ever be fixed.

  Scott and Liam have never fallen out of love—which becomes obvious when they start working together—but what will make this time any different from all the others? Will the third time really be a charm?

  Coming Soon to

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Chapter One

  Twelve years ago

  THE NEW kid Liam was a fucking punk. Everyone knew not to touch Scott’s stuff.

  Scott ran his tongue on the inside of his fat lip. He’d won anyway. Hit the motherfucker in his eye, mouth, and gut before Derrick pulled them apart. Scott shot a look over at the chair three spots away where Liam sat. Fuckface smiled back at him.

  Scott rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the door to the conference room. Some social worker was supposed to show up and counsel them on resolving their issues. Scott had been through the drill before. He thought things were pretty simple. Don’t touch me or my stuff and there won’t be any fucking issues to resolve.

  But Scott had done a few stints in the hole, which was what everyone at St. Bennie’s called the lockdown rooms over the gym. A mattress and a bucket to piss in and food when someone got around to bringing it. He’d play the game with the social worker. Anything beat what had happened to him when he first got here, being held down for a shot of Vitamin H in his ass to turn him into a zombie for forty-eight hours.

  “Hey,” the Liam-ratfucker said.

  Scott stared at the wood grain of the door. Part of it looked like a freaky skeleton with a big alien head.

  “Let’s just settle this now,” Liam-can’t-buy-a-clue went on.

  Scott dragged his feet in from his sprawl to get ready. If he had to go to the hole, so be it. Rep was all he had. “You wanna go again, bitch?”

  But Liam didn’t make any moves toward him. “No. I mean, I’m sorry I touched your box of whatever.”

  There wasn’t much in the old shoebox. Two fading pictures, a Batman valentine his older sister had given him, and a Rugrats washcloth—though where he’d gotten that, he couldn’t remember.

  “You put it in the fucking trash.”

  “I said sorry, okay? I didn’t know it was important.”

  That was a problem. As soon as people knew something mattered to you, they could hurt you with it. Scott shrugged. “Just don’t touch any of my shit, and it won’t be a problem.”

  “Okay.”

  Scott stared at Liam. He wasn’t acting scared of another beatdown, didn’t sound sarcastic. He sounded nice, and not even fake-nice like a new social worker. Liam had been at St. Bennie’s for a month and people liked him. Reason enough for Scott to hate him. Not that he needed a reason.

  The social worker finally showed up. Shit. It was that bitch Kristin who hated Scott. Their hall staff Derrick was with her.

  She started in on him before she even opened the conference room door. “I’ve told you before, Scott, violent behavior is not going to help you get out of here. A foster family is not—”

  “It was my fault, Miss Kristin.” Liam-can’t-keep-his-mouth-shut cut in. The number one rule of survival here was Don’t volunteer information.

  That stopped her midbitch, though. “Liam? Derrick, let me see the incident report.”

  “Put it in your mailbox an hour ago.” Derrick leaned against the wall behind Scott.

  “Well, can you at least tell me what it said?” Bitch Kristin sighed like Derrick should have been able to whip the paper out of his ass.

  “Eight twenty, Scott came into the common room, hauled Liam off the couch by his left arm, and punched him in the mouth. Liam swung back, striking Scott in the face. I initiated a restraint on Scott. Gerry restrained Liam.”

  Derrick was big, solid muscle. If he took you down, you didn’t get back up. Gerry was big too, all of it in his gut. Scott wondered if that was the first time Liam had been restrained and how he liked 300 pounds pressing into his back.

  “So it was unprovoked.” Bitch Kristin was happy about that.

  “I did provoke him.” Liam must have wanted to spend a couple of days in the hole. “I threw his belongings in the trash.”

  Belongings? Who the fuck said that kind of shit?

  Kristin deflated. “Why would you do that, Liam?”

  “Someone dared me to.”

  “Who?”

  Liam was smart enough to shut his mouth then. Henry, Scott bet, or Curtis. They’d both been laughing next to Liam on the couch.

  Liam turned toward Scott. “I’m sorry, Scott. I promise not to touch your stuff again.” Liam stuck his hand out.

  Scott felt the adults’ eyes burning into him but concentrated on Liam’s. They were a weird light brown, one swollen from were Scott had punched him, but the other looked friendly.

  What the fuck. Guy like Liam would probably be out of here in a couple of months. Scott flexed his sore knuckles and slapped at Liam’s hand in a brief shake.

  They’d missed the main lunch, but Derrick took them down to the cafeteria so they could make sandwiches before going to class.

  “Jesus, that Kristin has it in for you.” Liam reached in front of Scott to grab a giant scoop of institutional peanut butter from the can. “Whadja do?” He licked the knife and stuck it back in, barely missing Scott’s belly.

  He curved his spine out to avoid touch, but it still made the hair on his arms stand up.

  “Got born, I guess. Plus I’m unplaceable.”

  Liam dropped a dab of jelly on his mountain of peanut butter and folded the bread over, then repeated the process on the other half.

  Scott had never seen anyone make a sandwich like that, but it looked like a good way to get some extra food.

  “My mom will probably get clean in a couple of months, and she’ll petition to get me back.” Liam folded his second slice. “At least this place is better than the one I got sent to in Florida.”

  They hadn’t said more than ten words to each other since Liam had been shoved into Scott’s room a month ago.

  “What’s so better?” Scott said, slapping margarine on a slice of bread.

  “Smaller roaches.” Liam laughed.

  But Scott remembered there was more of an issue to resolve. They grabbed juice cups and the least soft apples from the bin and sat at a table, eating slowly to kill more time.

  “Who dared you?”

  Liam wiped his face on the back of his hand and shook his head. He moved his eyes toward where Derrick was leaning on the counter, peeling an orange. “Later.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Scott could find out himself.

  “No. Really. Promise.” Liam tried a big smile, then winced.

  Fuck it. Scott wasn’t apologizing for hitting him. Ratfucker had it coming.

  In the room that night after showers, they had about fifteen minutes before bed check. Scott checked to see that nothing was disturbed in front of his new hiding place for the shoebox, then hung up his towel before hauling up his boxers to get in Liam’s face. “Who the fuck dared you to mess with my shit?”

  “No one.”

  “I swear to God—”

  “No one. I did it on my own.”

  Scott was so surprised he sat down on the bottom bunk. Should have known better than to believe Liam was anything but another asshole trying to fuck with Scott.

  “I wanted you to talk to me.”

  “You’ll be talking to my fist again in a minute.” Scott jumped back up.

  “You never talk to me, but I’ve seen you shoot me looks. When you think I don’t notice.”

  Scott froze. Liam couldn’t mean it like that. No one could know that. Not ever. Scott had that safely locked away. Safer than the shoebox, safe as it could be, deep inside. Even he only let himself think about it late at night, staring a
t the ceiling and hating it even when it made him so fucking hard he ached. Liam had been the first one he thought of with a face. Before it had just been pieces. The curve of some guy’s ass. The cut of a hip. Width of a shoulder. Mouths. Dicks.

  “In your dreams, queerbait.” Safest thing was to throw it back on him.

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

  Scott’s mouth went dry. This little fa—he could just say it?

  Liam put a hand on Scott’s chest.

  Hot. Shivery. Terrifying.

  Scott froze under those sensations, which was how Liam managed to shove him back onto the bunk, so hard Scott bounced against the bolted furniture and thin mattress.

  It was why he couldn’t say a word when Liam knelt in front of him.

  Barry, the night staffer, yelled for everyone to get in their rooms.

  Liam winked his unswollen eye. “Fifteen before bed check. Wanna fight some more or want me to blow you?”

  Ten months later Scott stared hard at the filthy ceiling through dry eyes as Liam wiped some snot on his shoulder.

  “I’ll write you. And remember the email address I told you to get so I can find you when you get out.” He pressed quick short kisses along Scott’s collarbone.

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  “I love you.” Liam’s tears made their kiss salty. But that wasn’t the reason Scott couldn’t make himself kiss back. Or say what Liam wanted to hear.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Scott.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you, like, even agree that this sucks?”

  Scott’s lips cracked as he opened them. “It sucks.”

  But he’d known this would happen. Hadn’t hoped for one fucking second that things would stay like this. Happy was for people too stupid to know better. And Scott sure as shit knew better.

  But it would have been nice to get more than ten months of this. Of Liam. It wasn’t only the blowjobs and quiet frantic grinding that Scott kind of liked even better. It wasn’t just a body to hold, the idea of having contact that wasn’t meant to hurt but make him feel better.