Page 121 of Love By Design

“You were much more excited about this earlier today,” I reminded him. “Was it horrible? What happened to sour your mood between the last time we talked and now?”

“My mood isn’t sour,” he grumbled, fidgeting his hands together in front of him like a petulant child. Silas blinked up at me, tired but earnest. “It was just work.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he gave me nothing else.

“Just work,” I repeated, and he nodded. “Alright. We’ll celebratejust workmy way then.”

He swallowed audibly, and I stood, taller than him…broader than him…stronger than him, and far more determined.

“May I please brush my teeth first?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to tell him no but letting him into the bathroom seemed better than keeping him in the bedroom. If he wanted to run, I would gladly chase him.

“Of course, Silas.”

He gave me one more look before turning on his heel and heading into my en suite. After he’d walked away from me, I went into the closet, dug out a wooden paddle, and went after him. A spanking in the bathroom was not my first choice, and not even my second. It was less than ideal, and for the first time ever, I was envious of friends who had better-equipped playrooms than I did. I could convert my office, but I liked the separation of work and home.

I’d spent enough time making my house work for me, withthe hooks in the ceilings and the bolts in the bed, but there was no real space dedicated for impact play beyond what I could come up with on the fly. That had always been fine, though. I’d never kept anyone around long enough for any part of my house to become boring or predictable for them. Maybe one day I would task Silas with the job of designing a dungeon. See if his skills were up for the challenge.

Dropping the paddle on the counter to his right, I caught his stare in the mirror. He looked at me and then the paddle; then he spit toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

“Fresh and clean?” I asked

“Yes, Sir,” he whispered.

“Good. Now drop your pants and grab the edge of the sink.”

His exhale trembled, but he shoved his basketball shorts down to his ankles and hinged at the waist, sticking out his ass and bracing his hands like I’d told him to.

“Does this feel like a celebration to you?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Good. Whenever you’re ready to celebrate, you let me know and we’ll start,” I told him, picking up the paddle and testing the weight of it in my grip. “Until then, count them out and thank me.

Silas huffed, and I cracked the paddle down hard against both of his ass cheeks. He cried out, jerking away from the counter, and I collared my hand around his throat, pinning his face down toward the sink and delivering another strike against his ass.

“You’re not countingorthanking me,” I warned.

“One, thank you, Sir. Two…” He panted, shoulders heaving against my forearm. “Thank you, Sir.”

He still had marks from my cane on the front of his thighs, and if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass, he wasn’t going tosit right for a week. Cory would be the last person to ever ask him for an explanation as to why, but it would certainly make settling into his new job more difficult than it needed to be. And maybe I was reacting poorly over his attempts to dodge the conversation, but our relationship was built on a trust that ran both ways, and I knew Silas had lied about work at worst or offered me disingenuous half-truths at best.

He caught up after that, forcing out his numbers and his thanks until my forearm started to ache from how hard I was hitting him. I gave him one more, an even ten, before dropping the paddle onto the floor and sucking in a much-needed lungful of air. Over the sink, Silas sobbed, gasping for breath, and I’d never felt smaller.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, folding myself over him and kissing the back of his neck. I pulled him upright and awkwardly reached around him to turn on the taps. The water ran cool over my fingers, and I lifted them to his face to wash away the tears that had become waterfalls over his lash line.

Instead of pulling away from me, he leaned in close, letting me wash his face before turning around and burying himself against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and stroked circles across his shoulders and down his spine, my lips pressed softly against his temple.

“I’m sorry,” I told him again.

“You were right for it,” he muttered, sniffling hard and no doubt smearing snot all over my shirt. “I deserved the punishment.”

“Why did you lie to me?” I asked, pulling him back enough that I could see his face, his splotchy cheeks and trembling lips.

“I…I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Use words maybe.”