Page 156 of Piece Us Together

“Oh yeah?” He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me until I topple over. I don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late—then he’s fucking tickling me. I let loose an embarrassingly high laugh, feet kicking as I squirm and wiggle, trying to escape. “Not so bratty now, are we?”

“N-not—” I laugh harder as his fingers make their way to my ribs. “—a br-ahhhhh!”

He stops, letting me sag into the mattress with a relieved, happy sigh. There’s laughter in his own voice when he says, “You’re not a brat, so don’t go acting like one, darling. Otherwise I’ll have to punish you.”

I swallow hard, torn between wanting to find out what a punishment is like coming from him—a good dom, the best fucking dom, a dom that loves me,mydom, all mine—and the overwhelming desire to be a good boy at all times. “I don’t want to be a brat, sir…”

“Mmm.” He rolls me onto my back, hovering over me. I can feel his hard cock against my hip. My own is rising to meet his stomach. His eyes search mine for a moment before he whispers, “Do you want to be punished even when you’re good? Is that what you’re saying?”

I shiver. Then, tentatively, I nod.

He grins. “That’s something we’ll have to talk about when our boy is back then, isn’t it?”

Our boy, our boy, our boy.

I grin. “Yes, sir.”

He kisses my forehead before carefully climbing off of me and getting off the mattress. His eyes dart down to where my cock is bare and hard and leaking.

My stomach jumps in anticipation. He grins like he can hear my thoughts, see my desires. “Bend over the bed.”

I shake off the blankets as quickly as possible, lucky not to get tangled up in them. I settle on my stomach with my knees nearly on the floor, my back arched to give him my ass. The first smack is harder than his usual warm-ups. I suck in a breath, eyes wide and unseeing for a moment. The second smack is just as hard, though on the opposite cheek. He hums appreciatively, his hands kneading the abused flesh.

Without warning, something cool drips onto my hole. I glance over my shoulder just in time for him to cap the lube bottle. There’s a plug in his right hand, seemingly taken from thin air. It’s bigger than my usual one. I have just enough time to get excited before he’s pressing two fingers straight into my hole. The burn is exquisite, pulling me out of my messy thoughts and into a space that’s fuzzy and warm. Not subspace, not even near it, but still a mindset that feels awfully fucking nice.

He preps me just enough to be able to press the plug in without damage. It’s a sharper pain than he usually gives me, followed by a throbbing ache.

“There you go,” Hunter murmurs before playfully tossing a pair of sweatpants onto my head. “Get dressed and cook me breakfast.”

I shiver, trying to adjust to the mixture of arousal and calm. He leaves me there as he gets dressed. I breathe through the sensations. The plug is heavy. Cold. It makes me feel grounded, like the world isn’t going to spin apart at the seams without Maison here. I don’t know the psychology behind that. I honestly don’t care.

I don’t realize I’m drifting until sir is suddenly beside me, fully dressed as he crouches by my hip. He places a warm hand on my cheek, thumb stroking along my jaw. “You ready yet, darling?”

“Yeah.” I blink, coming back to myself a little. There’s still a distance, still a barrier between me and the chaos of my reality, but it’s easier to navigate now that he’s brought me back. Especially because he’s smiling at me like I handed him a prize or something instead of just lying here. “I mean, yes, sir. I’m ready.”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Fucking perfect,” to himself.

Then he helps me stand and dresses me himself, giving me quiet prompts of where to put my hands or when to lift my legs. When he has me all bundled up in my sweatpants and Maison’s sweatshirt, he takes my hand and leads me downstairs.

I hate having to separate from him in order to cook. It feels like ice seeping into the edge of that warm space. Without noticing, I begin to shake from the cold. Something prickles along my skin as I try to focus on the omelet I’m making. It feels itchy but too sensitive, like if I dared to try itching, it would be painful instead of relieving.

My teeth have just started to chatter when a body suddenly presses against my back, one arm wrapping around my waist, the other lining up with my right arm so his hand can join mine where I’m fisting the spatula like it’s the only weapon against the horror of the world.

“Shh.” He presses a kiss beneath my ear as he works on prying my fingers off the spatula and taking it from me. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

I blink when I realize everything is blurry. A few tears spill down my cheeks, my vision clearing enough to see smoke curling out of the pan. I choke on a sob. “Oh no!”

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s fine.” He scoops the omelet out of the pan and onto a waiting plate, flipping it as he does. “Not that bad,see? Just a little brown. Think it was that cheese there that was smoking. I think it’ll still be delicious.”

I sob, not choking on it this time. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling…” He makes sure the stove is off before turning me in his arms to hold me to his chest. He’s such a good dom, good boyfriend. He knows what’s really wrong. He knows this has nothing to do with the eggs, not really. He proves that by saying, “He’s going to be okay. Our boy is smart. Skilled. He’ll come back to us, Nolan. He will.”

“What if—”

“Hewill,” he says firmly.

There’s no other choice but to believe him. I don’t think I’ll get through this otherwise. This is so much worse than the one other time he left for a mission, when the operatives and Casey went to the house of the man who sold Casey to Jake. There’d been more information then. A ton of planning. I had heard from multiple sources that it should be relatively easy. I had seen them studying the layout of the house and watching surveillance videos. The fact that they were bringing Casey at all was a testament to how confident they all felt about the safety of the operation.

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