Taron glances at his watch, bites his lip.
“I will,” he offers. “I promise. But later? I’m in a rush. I had this great idea for my book and I need to write it down before I forget.”
“Not good enough.” My voice drops, authoritative. Daddy mode kicking in, unbidden. “Now. While it’s fresh. Show some accountability.”
“I’ll do it later,” Taron says. “It’s just two apples.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, my temper rising. “Stealing is stealing.”
He shifts, eyes darting. “Kaleb, please. It’s embarrassing,” Taron protests. “I’ll fix it after lunch. Or later. It’s two freakin’ apples!”
The rain picks up again, dripping off my hat brim.
People passing by, umbrellas up.
This isn’t the place for this.
“This isn’t the city” I say. “We treat people right here. Respect means something.”
I take his elbow—gentle but firm—and steer him toward the side alley between the store and the hardware shop.
Out of sight, away from prying eyes.
Taron doesn’t resist, but his breath hitches. “What are you?—”
“Quiet.” We stop in the alley, sheltered by an overhang, private. “We have values here. Values that don’t seem like they matter to you. Well, like it or not, you’re here now and you’ll play by our rules, city boy.”
I release his arm, but he doesn’t bolt. Just stands there, apples clutched in his hands, looking up at me with those wide eyes. Guilty.Vulnerable.
Something stirs in me—protectiveness mixed with that stern urge to correct.
Taronneedsthis.
He needs a lesson. He needs boundaries.
“Boy,” I say, voice low. “Mistakes happen. But you need to own this. Right away. No excuses.”
He nods, swallowing. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s too late for words. We tried that,” I step closer, the air between us thickening. “You’re gonna march back in there, apologize, and pay. That’s happening. But first…”
His eyes flick to my hands, then back up… anticipation? Fear? Something else?
I reach out, tuck a damp strand of hair behind his ear.
“First, we deal with thismy way,” I growl. “Here and now.”
I can see that Taron knows exactly what I mean. But there’s a look of defiance in his eyes too, like he won’t simply accept his fate. I’m going to need to take firm control from start to finish—and first things first, I need the boy’s safeword…
“Potato,” Taron says, answering my question. “My s-s-s-s-safeword ispotato.”
“Good,” I reply, fixing a stare on Taron that a grizzly bear would be proud of. “Now unbuckle your belt and drop your jeans down to your ankles.”
“H-h-h-here? Now?” Taron asks, half pleadingly but his fingers already working his belt open.
“You’re answering your own questions,” I say, my eyes drawn to the thick shape of his upper thighs, perfectly fleshy but with a real hint of strength underneath them too. Just how I like it, and certainly more than enough to get my cock as hard as a rock inside my boxers. “Now turn around and present that bottom. I’ll handle taking those briefs down.”
Taron’s cheeks flush bright red, a crimson shade that only makes him even more attractive. I watch as he turns and rests his hands against the large commercial refuse box. His briefs are pure white, cut high on the thighs and have a perfect baby-blue band that runs around the waist.