Sitting at his desk sent a dull ache through his ass that made his breath catch. The pressure of the chair against his skin, against the marks he could still feel even though he couldn't see them, sent a ripple of sensation through him that was half pain and half something else entirely. He shifted in his chair and the ache flared and he had to press his lips together to keep from making a sound.
Standing up too quickly was somehow worse. He'd stood to get coffee and had to grip the edge of his desk for a moment, eyes closed, breathing through it.
It was like carrying a secret under his clothes. A secret that pulsed and ached and reminded him with every movement that he was someone's.
He couldn't stop thinking about it.
Landen was at his desk when Adriel stepped in. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled, his hair perfectly in place. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread.
He didn't look at Adriel for too long. Didn't linger. Didn't acknowledge what they'd done together, what they'd said, what Adriel's body still carried evidence of. If Adriel hadn't known better, if he hadn't spent the night in that apartment, in that bed, in those arms, he would have believed nothing had changed.
"Morning Adriel. Here you go. Need the notes on the first ten chapters by the end of the day." Landen said evenly, passing him a folder.
Their fingers didn't touch.
"Sure. I’ll get right on it." Adriel replied.
He took the folder. Returned to his desk. Sat down carefully, trying to find an angle that didn't press too hard against the bruises. Failed. Settled for breathing through it and pretending he wasn't.
He understood, logically, why they'd agreed to keep things separate at work. The power imbalance was real. The gossip would be relentless. The way it would reflect on both of them, the questions it would raise, the assumptions people would make. He'd agreed to it. He still agreed with it.
But the restraint hurt more than he expected.
Not because it was wrong. Not because Landen was being cold or dismissive or anything other than exactly what they'd agreed he should be. But because the distance felt like a costume now. Something Landen put on that didn't match the man Adriel knew.
The man who had bent Adriel over his bed and fucked him until he came screaming.
The man who had pulled him into his arms afterward and whisperedyou're everythingagainst his skin.
That man was somewhere inside the polished editor in the office across the floor. But Adriel couldn't see him. Couldn't reach him. Couldn't acknowledge him in any way without breaking the careful rules they'd set.
He looked across the office at Landen's closed door and felt the gap between the private and the public like a physical ache layered on top of all the others.
Chapter 20
Adriel
A few days after the spanking. Adriel was at Landen's apartment again, as it was becoming a habit now, one he hadn't examined too closely because examining it would mean naming it, and naming it would mean admitting how much he needed it.
They'd had dinner. The dishes were cleared. Landen was on the sofa with a manuscript, one arm stretched along the back, and Adriel was curled at the other end with a book he'd stopped reading twenty minutes ago.
The apartment was quiet. The city hummed distantly beyond the windows. It should have felt peaceful. Safe. The kind of evening Adriel had never let himself imagine having.
Instead, his mind was circling something he couldn't leave alone.
Maybe it started with the way Landen spoke to him in bed; the commands that didn't sound like requests, the praise that landed like a reward, the particular tone his voice dropped into when he saidgood boy. The first time Adriel had heard it, something in him had unlocked.
Maybe it started with the possessiveness.
The hand on his throat that didn't squeeze, just rested there, a reminder of who was in control. The fingers gripping his jaw to hold his gaze, forcing him to look up, even when he didn’t want to.
Or maybe it was the tie around his wrists.
The knots careful. The checking of circulation automatic. The way Landen had looked at him afterward, asking without words if he was okay, if it was too much, if he needed to stop. The aftercare too thorough to be instinct alone; the way Landen had held him, touched him, whispered to him until the shaking stopped.
And then came the spanking.
Not just rough sex. Something with structure. Something withrules.