“Nod if you’re okay,” Rye said softly, and Charlie found himself nodding.
He was in a dark cave and his flashlight couldn’t illuminate far enough for him to know what he was entering into. He wanted to take one more step so he could see farther.
Rye spanked him.
Rye was spanking him.
What the fuck?
He hadn’t done anything wrong! Spanking was a punishment. It was what happened when you messed up, when you broke a rule, when you didn’t do what you were supposed to. But Charlie hadn’t messed up. He never broke rules. He had always done what he was supposed to because he’d never had any other choice!
He’d never had the option to break rules or do things wrong because if he had, they would’ve lost the house, the business would’ve gone under, Jack would’ve starved or failed out of school or—or—or—just things! Terrible things!
So why? Why was he being spanked when he’d followed every single fucking rule for his whole damned life?
“Why?”
The word was ripped from him by the unfairness of Rye’s hand.
“Why what, baby?”
But Charlie couldn’t answer.
Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhy?
“Charlie?”
Rye shifted and put an arm around his waist and it was only then that he realized he was saying the word out loud, over and over, and that Rye had turned on a lamp, was searching his face.
Charlie turned over, the burn on his ass barely registering, and threw his arm over his eyes.
“Charlie?”
“Why did I waste my life?”
Chapter Nineteen
Rye
Rye held Charlie as he cried. He was glad Charlie was finally crying. He was afraid Charlie might never stop crying. He was afraid that when Charlie did stop crying, he’d be embarrassed and push Rye away. People did that sometimes. Rye certainly had.
But although Charlie’s weeping was raw and heaving, he was graceful in the aftermath.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, and scrubbed hands over his face. “Guess that didn’t turn out quite how you imagined?”
He pressed his face to Rye’s neck. The opposite of pulling away.
In fact, it wasn’t so far off from what Rye had imagined. Yeah, okay, he’d kinda imagined jerking him off afterward, but who cared what he imagined. Reality was so much better.
Because Charlie Matheson wasn’t a Boy Scout. He wasn’t Mr. Perfect. And he wasn’t a goody-goody. Charlie Matheson was an adult who’d never gotten to be a child, and Charlie Matheson was finally mad about it.
Good.
“It turned out exactly how I wanted,” Rye said.
Charlie snorted.
Rye’d never had much luck with offering people comfort. He’d never felt he had much to offer, period. But here, now, holding Charlie in his arms as he fell apart, Rye had felt like he was exactly where he should be—where he needed to be.
Rye pressed them tightly together and tucked the blanket around them, cocooning them in the same atmosphere. He pressed kisses to Charlie’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye.
“I’m a bad boyfriend,” he told Charlie in a rush. “Ask anyone. I’ve never been good. But I... I don’t know. I could try. If you...if...if you wanted.”
Rye scowled harder than he’d ever scowled at himself in the mostly dark. Mush, mush, mush!
Charlie cupped the back of his head.
“I cry like a baby and tell you I’ve wasted my life and that’s what makes you wanna be my boyfriend? Your standards need work, Janssen.”
But his voice was soft and rough, and his fingers on the back of Rye’s head were so tender. He brought Rye’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingertips.
“I disagree that you’ve wasted your life. And I can think of a couple of people who’d agree with me,” Rye murmured. He pressed kisses to Charlie’s cheekbones and his beard. “I thought maybe...we could start nonwasting them together. If you wanted. What’s the opposite of waste? Conserve? That’s not what I meant.”
“Build.” Charlie said it with such certainty that Rye felt the word like a lift in his stomach. “Build our lives together?”
His lips were a whisper against Rye’s ear that made him shiver.
Rye reached for him and twined his arms around his neck. When they kissed it felt like sealing a deal.
A promise written in breath.
They kissed until the air between them was hot and they were pressed together everywhere. Rye ran a hand down Charlie’s muscular back and cupped his glorious ass, pulling him closer.
Charlie gasped at the touch. Rye had forgotten about his spanked-hot skin. But Charlie was hard against him, so Rye scratched lightly over the plump of his ass with his fingernails. Charlie groaned.
“Does it feel good?”
“I...yeah.”
Rye squeezed again and Charlie shuddered.
Rye reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.
“You feel so good,” he told Charlie softly, rolling his hips as he scratched across Charlie’s other ass cheek. He felt rather than heard Charlie’s gasp.
“So do you,” Charlie murmured. “Kiss me?”