Against the Rules

by A. R. Barley

  Forget crawling into bed. Kelly bit back a yawn. “Wherever you think is best.”

  “We can do it here if you want.”

  Kelly nodded. Better to get it over with fast. He slid off the stool. “You want me to strip?”

  “Just to your underwear,” Ian said. “You remember your safe word?”

  “Bluebird.”

  “You don’t like what I’m doing, you say bluebird and I’ll stop.”

  It was a punishment. Kelly wasn’t supposed to like it. He was just supposed to endure, to make Ian proud, to make him smile again. He took off his shirt and shoes, then slowly unbuckled his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

  “I learned how to use this in Los Angeles.” Ian stood up, pulling the heavy bullwhip from his back pocket. “At the clubs. There are a lot of players on the coast, and I wanted to stand out.”

  Kelly snorted. He had a hard time believing that a man with Ian’s looks would ever blend in with the crowd, but he didn’t say anything. He was too busy watching Ian unwrap the length of braided leather from around the whip’s handle. The thing was gorgeous in its design, expertly crafted for a single purpose.

  His heart bopped around wildly inside his chest cavity, like a basketball being handled by someone new to the game. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Ian that pain wasn’t his thing. Push him up against the closest flat surface, cover his body so he couldn’t move, and Kelly would come screaming...

  But he wasn’t sure about the whip.

  It wasn’t like a spanking, with Ian’s hand rubbing against his ass between every stroke. It was distant, impersonal. It would hurt.

  Kelly’s muscles tensed as he waited to feel the whip against his back, the anticipation building until it was thick as molasses in the air. Expectation rose and he forced himself to take in one deep breath after another. The familiar scent of mint tea and Ian’s cologne flooded his mouth. The punishment was what he deserved—it was what Ian wanted—he just had to hold on until it was over.

  He just had to trust his lover for another twenty minutes.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the counter. Ass out.”

  He wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but for Ian? He could take on the world twenty minutes at a time.

  Kelly turned around and assumed the position.

  And then he heard the whip move through the air.

  Crack.

  The sonic boom from the bar sounded as leather snapped across his skin and pain seared its way down his bare back. Kelly’s teeth dug into his lips, biting down hard, swallowing any accidental cries or exclamations. All he needed to say was one little word—two syllables—and it would be over, but then he’d have to face the disappointment in Ian’s eyes. He’d have to live with the knowledge that he’d failed his lover. That was completely unacceptable.

  His grip tightened on the counter, his shifting muscles sending a secondary burst of pain dancing across his nerve endings. He’d claimed to like the bite of a hand on his ass—the aftermath with its dark bruises and sweet release—but those gentle punishments were nothing like the whip. Even the first bite he’d received while kneeling in Ian’s room—the one that had left him gasping and vulnerable—it had been another world compared to the brand the leather left on his skin.

  He struggled to hold still, to find the gentle calm he’d always been able to count on to send him flying. It wasn’t there. The only image in front of him was the well-veined granite countertop. The only sound was the rushing of blood in his ears.

  And then he heard another crack.

  Ian held his breath as the whip descended on Kelly’s back a second time. He’d practiced with the whip, cracking it over and over again for hours until he knew exactly how much pressure to apply to leave a sting...a bruise...or to slice across a man’s flesh and leave him bloody.

  He just wanted to give Kelly a taste.

  Ian could see Kelly’s response in every line of his body. All that tension and pain. Whatever his kinks might be, the whip wasn’t one of them.

  He paused a beat, waiting for those full lips to part and say bluebird.

  The safe word didn’t come. Maybe he’d been mistaken. Kelly hadn’t liked biting at first—the firm chomp Ian had placed against the back of his neck—but eventually he’d started begging for it.

  He took a step back and struck again.

  Crack.

  Muscles flinched underneath smooth skin. Kelly cried out. His hands were white against the granite countertop. He didn’t say anything.

  But that was par for the course.

  Kelly had never really set any limits beyond the basics: no blood, no bodily fluids and no lasting scars. He’d never used the safe word. He’d never even said no.

  Had he liked anything they’d done together? Ian frowned as he struggled to reassure himself. He’d seen Kelly screaming, writhing with pleasure.

  But he’d still never seen him say no.

  Not to his lover. Not to any of the other students who’d asked for his help. Not even to the aunt who was trying to take his home out from under him. Hell, he hadn’t even said no to the professor who’d demanded he stop writing science fiction and start writing something more literary.

  Kelly was strong and capable at work, but when was the last time he’d made a real decision?

  If he never said no, how could Ian be sure he ever really meant yes? Had he liked anything they’d done together or had it all been a show? He was walking on the edge without the safety rail provided by well-established limits and a partner who’d done it all before.

  The whip went up and came down.

  Crack.

  This time Ian hadn’t turned his back on a lover in need. He’d stepped into the lion’s den and rescued Kelly before any harm could come to him. In a bar full of leather-clad men whose only concern was evil intent, he’d managed to stand firm.

  But that didn’t mean Kelly would smile at him in the morning, not if he was still wincing from the pain of the whip on his back.

  One lash left. It wasn’t much in the total scheme of things, but then Ian saw the thin line of blood forming between Kelly’s shoulder blades.

  What the hell had he done?

  The whip dropped to the ground without delivering the final stroke and Ian lunged forward to wrap his arms around Kelly. His entire body was shaking with anger and adrenaline. Somewhere amid all the fear and the worry, he’d lost control.

  He hadn’t been able to keep Kelly safe. Hell, this time instead of stepping aside, he’d done the damage with his own hands. He’d hurt the man he loved.

  All the aftercare protocols he’d ever been taught raced through his head. Hydration first, water or tea. Maybe an aspirin. Then Kelly would need to lie down on his belly while Ian cleaned the cut on his back.

  “Ian,” Kelly said, and his voice was so damn rough. Like he’d been biting back a scream. “Fuck.” His blue eyes were blurry. It took him a few seconds to focus as he turned toward Ian. He took a deep breath, forcing air down into his lungs.

  And then he made a decision.

  Ian could see it in his gaze, in the way his lips pressed together and his chin lifted. He raked a hand through his flowing blond locks as he forced his body upward. His posture was straight and tall. His chest was flushed red above green boxers that nipped in at the waist. Whatever his response had been to the whip, it hadn’t included arousal. He was completely soft.

  “I—” Kelly’s voice was thick with pain and confusion, but none of it got in the way of his resolve. “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Levering himself up onto his feet, Kelly forced air down into his lungs. The weight of what he’d just done pressed down on him like a solid ton of steel blocks. He wanted nothing more than to call Ian back an
d curl into the warmth of his chest, but he couldn’t. Not tonight. Not ever. He’d trusted Ian—twenty minutes at a time—and Ian had betrayed that trust. There was nothing safe about what they’d just done, nothing erotic, just pain and anger and desperation.

  His hands fumbled as he gathered up discarded clothes. He considered pulling them on—giving himself some kind of armor against the coming storm—but he had enough sense to know that putting rough cotton on over fresh lashes wasn’t the best idea. It was about the only sense he had left.

  The whip was still lying there on the ground where Ian had dropped it a few minutes—had it only been minutes?—earlier. No pretty toy or agricultural tool. It was a well-made thing with a heavy handle wrapped in dark leather and a thin braided thong. The leather had been carefully tended. It was buttery to the touch. He toed it across the wide kitchen space, tucking it under the bookcase full of cookbooks, trying not to remember how he’d laughed the first time Ian had mentioned his whip.

  He’d thought it was a joke.

  He should have taken it as a sign.

  They didn’t belong together—no matter how safe and secure Ian had made him feel over the past weeks. They came from different places and they wanted different things. If the whip was any indication as to just how deep Ian’s kinks went, there was no way Kelly would be able to satisfy his desires. He’d thought he was kinky—with his rough sex and occasional forays into bondage—but what he’d just experienced went beyond his most fucked-up imaginings.

  With the whip disposed of, he hauled his sorry ass across the length of the old Victorian and up the sweeping staircase. He went straight into his bathroom with its blue and white motif. The octagon tiles on the floor were original to the house, but the rest had been updated. He stepped into the shower, suddenly grateful that the old claw-foot tub with its stand-up shower had been removed during the house’s renovation. The wide shower stall with its frameless glass door might not be an accurate restoration of the house’s original character, but at least he could lean against the subway-tile coated walls for support.

  Pipes rattled as he turned the shower on and stepped under the stream. Hot water slammed into the damage on his back. “Damn—” The oath choked his throat and exploded across the room. He sucked down one deep breath after another, but it wasn’t enough. His entire body convulsed against the pain, and tears began to pour down his cheeks. He broke out into angry sobs, unsure what hurt more: the fact that Ian had broken his trust or the certain knowledge that he’d only felt four strokes land against his back.

  He hadn’t even been able to take the full punishment.

  Kelly stood under the shower until the water ran cold. His back stung and every time he moved he could feel his fresh gaping wounds. When he was finished, he wrapped a towel lightly around himself—winced—and walked the few short steps into his childhood bedroom. The action figures still populated the top of the dresser, but the sheets were a plain blue color. He’d been sleeping there every night he wasn’t on duty at Halston, and both sides of the bed were rumpled from where Ian had woken up beside him that morning.

  Lola hopped up on the bed, circled twice and looked expectantly at the door. Like she was waiting for someone else to come in.

  Ian.

  When was the last time he’d slept in the bed without Ian? Before they’d gone to eighties night at Ale Mary’s. He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting the towel slip down around his naked ass. It hadn’t started out as an everyday thing, but somehow his small bedroom had turned into their place. A place where Ian could hold him tight and where Kelly could sleep all night long without the nightmares that had plagued him for so long.

  Every breath brought with it the familiar scent of Ian’s body wash and the reminder that he was finally—irrevocably—alone. He turned his head, blinking away tears, and a flash of color caught his eye. The frayed ends of ties still clung to the bedposts where Ian had tied him down on their first night in this bed. Kelly’s breath caught at the memory. At the time Ian’s attention had been everything he’d ever wanted, centering him and bringing him back to earth after so many months spent spiraling out of control.

  He’d give anything to be lost in that haze again. At least then his chest wouldn’t ache thinking about might have been. Some men liked the whip, he was sure. They got off on the sensation. He just wasn’t one of them. It was better that he found out now before he got even more invested.

  Before he fell in love.

  He turned off the light and tried to make himself comfortable. When he finally got to sleep it was on his stomach, stretched out on the clean sheets in his childhood bed, with Lola tucked against his side. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his head was pounding.

  It was too late. He’d already fallen for Ian—hard—and this time he might never recover.

  Ian sent the first text as he walked out the door: I’m sorry. The next one went out a little over an hour later, but it was no less heartfelt: Don’t contact me.

  Every hour without Kelly hurt. It wasn’t like the ache in his gut when he left Los Angeles. It was like someone had gone over his body inch by inch with a ball-peen hammer, breaking every bone and laughing.

  It didn’t get any easier. Not the next day when he taught his sophomore class and saw Jesse in the front row and not the day after that when he caught a glimpse of thistledown hair across the cafeteria. He watched carefully, holding his breath, but when the figure turned around it was a whey-faced coed who’d taken one of his classes the year before.

  It was for the best.

  Ian had gone too far, he’d pushed too hard, he’d lost control...and Kelly hadn’t told him to stop.

  For the second time he’d allowed a lover to be hurt, but this time he hadn’t just stood to the side. He’d been the one with his hand on the whip, delivering a punishment he knew Kelly couldn’t bear. It was every dark nightmare he’d ever had—the worst week and a half of his entire life.

  And then a letter arrived on official Halston University letterhead. Someone had reported him for having an inappropriate relationship with a student. There was going to be an investigation.

  The letter was written in formal language, harsh and stilted, but the intent was clear. Ian was going to get kicked out on his ass.

  After the end of the semester, of course.

  It was three days until finals started and the administration didn’t want to upset any of the students. The hearing was scheduled for the day after graduation. President Aldridge would attend and Ian could bring a witness to testify on his behalf, if he’d like.

  His hand squeezed shut, crushing the letter into a paper ball. If he did nothing, his career was over before it had really begun. He’d be lucky if he could find a job teaching freshman at the nearest community college for two thousand dollars a section. His salary would barely cover the rent on his crappy one-bedroom apartment—it definitely wouldn’t cover his student loans—and the next time his brother came calling, he’d be screwed.

  The charges were bullshit, of course.

  He’d checked the faculty handbook, twice. There were rules against dating a student in one of his classes—even rules against dating a student in his department—but nothing against him dating Kelly.

  He smoothed the letter out on his desk, double-checking to make sure he’d read it correctly.

  The words were still there in black and white.

  The fastest way to refute the charges would be to tell the administration exactly who he was dating. He’d need a witness.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eventually Kelly dragged himself to school. He couldn’t stay in the house. Not when every corner brought a fresh burst of memory—Ian’s laughter, his smile, the life they might have built together. He went to work. He covered the cut on his shoulder with gauze and dressed in a lightweight T-shirt. He tried to forge
t about Ian and the look of horror on his face when he’d finally realized what he’d done.

  It didn’t work.

  Kelly couldn’t sleep, he barely remembered to eat, and—really—he didn’t care.

  “You might enjoy smelling like an outhouse, but the rest of us are over it.” Nick hauled him out of his dorm room and down the hall. The man was a fucking ogre. It was one of the things Kelly had liked about him back when they were dating. Now, he barely managed to get his cell phone out of his back pocket before Nick shoved him fully clothed into one of the dorm showers. “I know your boyfriend broke up with you—for being a dumb ass—but maybe it’s for the best.”

  “I broke up with him.”

  “Oh.” Nick took Kelly’s phone, then reached past him to turn on the hot water. “Sorry I called you a dumb ass.” He took a step back and slammed the curtain shut. “You better be squeaky clean when I get back. Jesse’s got his Spanish final tomorrow, and he needs to be studying...not worrying about you.”

  That explained some things. Nick was a friend, but they weren’t exactly best buddies. Performing an intervention was above and beyond the call of duty, unless it was to ensure his boyfriend’s peace of mind. The big lug freaking doted on Jesse.

  Kelly bit back a curse as he stripped off his shirt. The cut had finally closed a few days earlier, but it still hurt like hell. He took off the rest of his clothes, luxuriating under the hot water. Someone had left a bottle of shampoo and conditioner in the stall. It wasn’t his preferred brand—the lemon-scented shampoo that always left Ian panting for more—but that didn’t stop him from stealing a few pumps.

  It felt good to be clean.

  He was rinsing off the last of the suds when Nick tossed a towel and some clean clothes over the curtain. “Get dressed and come down to our room. I ordered Thai food—your favorite. We’re going to watch a movie while Chi-Chi helps Jesse with his Spanish.”