Page 22 of Kane
“Morning, bookworm!” Davey sings, sliding into the chair opposite me. He’s wearing his favorite pastel cardigan over a soft t-shirt, the perfect Little-in-academia disguise. “Two freshly squeezed orange juices, extra pulp, coming right up. I already ordered.”
I manage a smile as the server sets down two tall glasses of vibrant orange liquid. The citrus scent is sharp and refreshing, but it does nothing to settle the butterflies rioting in my stomach. I take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting on my tongue, and try to focus on my best friend instead of the lingering heat I still feel every time I shift in my seat.
Davey narrows his eyes almost immediately. “Okay,spill. You’ve got that look. The one where your brain is doing cartwheels behind your eyes. What’s up, William? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I know you too well.”
I love Davey. He’s been my safe person since day one of the PhD—my fellow Little, my seminar buddy, the only one who truly gets both sides of me.
But telling him about Kane?
About the way he marched me into the reference section, bared my bottom, and lit my ass on fire with his bare hand?
The words stick in my throat. It feels too raw. Too dangerous. Tooreal.
I swirl my straw in the juice and force a casual shrug. “It’s nothing big. Just… tell me about Charles first. How are things going with your potential new Daddy? You two have been texting nonstop.”
Davey’s cheeks flush instantly, and his eyes light up like fairy lights. Success. Diversion achieved.
“Oh my gosh, he’samazing,” Davey gushes, leaning forward. “We’ve been on two day dates now. The first was just coffee, super respectful, asked me a million questions about my thesis and my stuffies. The second was lunch at this quiet Italian place. He even ordered for me when I got overwhelmed by the menu. Total Daddy energy, but gentle, you know? Not pushy at all.”
He takes a big sip of his juice, practically vibrating with happiness. “And we have a playdate scheduled for this weekend! At his place. We’re going to see how it feels for me to slip into Little Space around him. Coloring books, cartoons, the whole thing. He said he has a huge collection of stuffies and even a playroom he’s been setting up. I’m nervous but… excited? Like,reallyexcited.”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Davey, that sounds perfect. You deserve this so much. He sounds kind and considerate. And exactly what you need after all those disappointing younger guys.”
He beams, then tilts his head. “Your turn. You’ve been dodging. What’sreallygoing on with you?”
I hesitate, my bottom giving a phantom throb as I shift again. The memory of Kane’s firm hand, the sharp sting, the overwhelming rush of heat and slickness between my thighs… it floods back unbidden. The way he pulled my jeans and briefs down without asking. The controlled power in every smack. My face burns.
I want to tell him. Ireallydo. But if I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I’m not ready for.
Instead, I smile softly. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. You’re lucky to have found someone like Charles. Have you two… tried any discipline yet? You know, rules or… spankings?”
Davey’s blush deepens to a full tomato red. He glances around the café like someone might overhear, then leans in closer.
“We have!” Davey trills. “Just once, the other night. I was being a tiny bit bratty, testing him, I guess. He put me over his knee.Eeek! Not too hard, but firm. It was… intense. In a good way. I felt so small and safe afterward. He cuddled me for ages and told me I was his good boy even when I’m naughty.”
Davey giggles, hiding his face behind his hands for a second. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Your turn. Seriously, what’s going on with you? You look like you’re sitting on a secret the size of Twist’s entire stuffie collection.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little shaky. The truth presses against my teeth:I got spanked by a mysterious Russian mafia guy in the library reference section last night. And I’m thinking about going back for more tonight.
“I’m just… distracted with thesis stuff,” I lie, hating myself a little for it. “And maybe a tiny bit jealous of your Charles situation. You make it sound so easy.”
Davey gives me a knowing look but doesn’t push too hard. “You’ll find your Daddy too, William. The right one. Someone who gets the real you, the brilliant scholarandthe boy who needs his Twist the otter and firm rules.”
We finish our juices and the conversation shifts naturally back to safer ground. I pull out my notepad, and Davey does the same…
We dive into pre-lecture notes on the Brontë sisters—discussing themes of repression, desire, and the wild moors that mirror inner turmoil. For a while, academia saves me. The familiar rhythm of literary analysis calms my racing thoughts. We debate Heathcliff’s toxic dominance versus Rochester’s flawed redemption, giggling over our shared love for brooding, complicated men.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of seminars, note-taking, and whispered asides with Davey. I throw myself into the discussions, raising my hand more than usual, losing myself in the gothic worlds on the page.
But every time I pause, there’s only one thing on my mind.
And by the time the final lecture ends and the sun dips low, my decision feels inevitable.
* * *
Later that evening, I stand outside the grand old gothic library, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Yup, I’m really here.
