EMS

Donovan Moore served himself a hefty portion of chicken cacciatore and carefully eased himself out of the crowd at the lavish buffet. Settled on one of the floor cushions piled by the penthouse's floor to ceiling windows with his plate in his lap. Checked his watch surreptitiously.

"Donovan!" Dr. Maurice Napier grinned down at his guest, two beers in hand. "The night's young, the party's just beginning. Don't even think about cutting out early."

"Busted," Donovan said ruefully. "How're you doing, Doc? Nice party."

"Thanks. I'm doing about as well as you are."

Maurice handed one of the beers to Donovan and lowered himself to the floor with a sigh.

"You feeling all right, Doc?" Donovan asked.

"Just tired. It was a long day. With my office right downstairs, it's always tempting to squeeze in just one more patient. Jay has to rein me in."

"Good for Jay," Donovan said.

Maurice nodded wryly in agreement.

"Help me! Oh please, someone, help me!"

The frantic cry momentarily silenced the room. All talk stopped as the party guests looked toward the source of the disturbance.

Light brown hair disheveled, jeans undone, a pale young man swayed in the doorway of an adjacent bedroom.

No blood. Nothing alarming or even particularly interesting to the determinedly blase crowd. Just someone else's pretty boy date having a bad evening. No need to intervene.

Loren clung to the doorframe, knowing it was futile to beg, but begging anyway. Watched as eyes slid over him and away again.

The hum of conversation resumed.

Donovan studied the young man carefully. Something was really off here. The kid was badly frightened.

A good-looking man with short, dark hair materialized behind the shaking figure. Donovan grimaced as he recognized Pete Hahn. Prick, First Class.

Pete grabbed Loren's arm roughly from behind.

"You little shit! Where the fuck do you think you're going, you fucking brat?" Pete jerked Loren's arm up, hard.

Loren yelped in pain.

"Sorry sorry sorry..." Loren babbled, his voice high and scared. "Please sir, I'm sorry..."

Setting his half-finished plate on the floor, Donovan rose to his feet.

"Shut up and get in here, you fucking bitch." Pete forced Loren back into the bedroom.

Donovan followed, unnoticed.

Loren was shaking. Pete was going to hurt him; he was resigned to it now. The only question was, how bad?

Pete gave Loren's arm another painful jerk. He smiled coldly as Loren whimpered.

"Pete. Let the kid go." Donovan's voice was soft, but his eyes were not.

"Saint Donovan Moore," Pete sneered. "Must be my lucky day. Still preaching the gospel of safe, sane and consensual?"

"I'm telling you nicely, Pete. Let him alone."

"Keep out of this, Donovan. He's mine. He likes to play rough. Don't you, bitch?"

Pete slapped Loren carelessly across the mouth.

"Yes, sir," Loren said dully. No one could save him now. He'd been a fool to even hope for help.

"Let go of the kid, Pete," Donovan said, his voice hardening. "Take your hands off him and leave."

"What's it to you, Donovan? Find your own bitch!"

"Pete." Donovan's voice was velvet over steel. "I know where you work. Get out of here, now, or I'll be in your boss's office tomorrow. You won't have a job when I'm done."

"You fucking son of a bitch!" Enraged, Pete thrust Loren roughly aside and swung at Donovan.

Loren watched wide-eyed as Donovan caught Pete's arm and threw him across the bedroom.

Pete got slowly to his feet, looking at Donovan warily.

"It's time to leave, Pete," Maurice said from the doorway.

"Fuck you too, Maurice," Pete said. "Ciao. I'll just leave Loren for you and Jay. He does anything. Feel free to share him around."

Donovan clenched his jaw angrily as Pete brushed by them without a backward glance. Only his deeply ingrained respect for the sanctity of another man's home prevented Donovan from teaching the cold bastard a lesson he wouldn't forget.

Loren shuddered. As frightening as Pete could be, his cruelties were at least familiar. But now Pete had left him alone and at the mercy of strangers. The idea filled Loren with dread.

Maurice evaluated Loren quickly, his mild eyes belying his keen intelligence and years of clinical experience. The young man was much too pale. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his breathing labored.

Maurice extended his hand to the trembling young man.

Loren flinched reflexively.

"I'm Dr. Napier, Loren. I'm going to help you. Donovan, bring the kid downstairs so that I can look him over. I'll open my office."

Oh, shit, I hate doctors, Loren thought miserably.

Donovan interrupted Loren's nervous reverie.

"Loren, come along now," Donovan said crisply, taking charge of Loren. Judging from his tone of voice, he was not pleased with his new responsibility.

Loren studied Donovan covertly. He was tall and heavily muscled, with wavy brown hair, combed back from a broad forehead. He wore jeans and boots, topped with a black turtleneck sweater.

Donovan's calm hazel eyes met Loren's anxious gray ones. Loren dropped his eyes immediately, hoping he hadn't already angered the older man.

Donovan led Loren downstairs to Maurice's hastily opened office.

"Get undressed please, Loren," Donovan said firmly.

Too well schooled in obedience to refuse, Loren trembled even as he complied with the command.

Loren knew he was nicely put together. Not gorgeous, but nice enough. He tried not to fidget as the two men looked him over.

Donovan and Maurice exchanged glances. There were bruises in various stages of healing covering Loren's slender torso, as well as some swollen red welts. Donovan hissed angrily.

"Pete's always played rough, Donovan," Maurice said. "He's not the only one." He returned his attention to Loren.

Donovan scowled. Marks from legitimate BDSM play didn't follow this pattern. Loren had been abused.

"Don't dignify what Pete does by calling it play, Maurice," Donovan said shortly. "It's brutality, pure and simple."

"Believe me, Donovan, I've seen a lot worse," Maurice said placatingly. "Up on the table, please, Loren."

What was the doctor going to do to him? Loren was scared. Being looked at was one thing; being examined physically was quite another. Loren wanted to follow the doctor's instructions, but he was unable to make his shaking body obey.

"Loren, Dr. Napier knows what he's doing," Donovan said. He slid his hands under Loren's arms and lifted him carefully, seating him on the table. "He'll be gentle."

Dr. Napier studied Loren's bloodshot eyes. Used his otoscope to check Loren's ears and nostrils. Had him open his mouth; listened to his chest and back. Loren cooperated silently.

"All right, Loren, lie down and bring your knees up, please."

Loren shook his head mutely. Oh no, no, no...

"Now please, Loren," Dr. Napier said. "Donovan, help him."

Donovan's hands were firm and sure. He guided Loren down on his side. Loren resisted bending his legs.

"Relax, Loren, this isn't going to be so bad." Donovan placed a restraining hand on his hip, pinning him in place.

Loren struggled ineffectually to get up, unwilling tears welling in his gray eyes and escaping down his cheeks. Donovan considered quickly whether Loren was truly distressed or merely being difficult. Loren's fear seemed genuine to him.

"Shh, little one," Donovan said with a sigh. "What's the matter? Shh, there's nothing to be scared of, shh..." He stroked Loren's wet cheek gently with his free hand, trying to calm and ground him.

Loren cringed as the doctor slipped his gloved and lubricated finger into his anus and explored him carefully. Despite the fact that he was unsure what to make of Donovan, he leaned into his caress, seeking comfort.

Please, let that be all, Loren prayed miserably, sighing with relief as the doctor withdrew. He sniffled abjectly.

"Easy, Loren," Donovan said softly. It was rapidly becoming clear to him that this young man was not a sophisticated player, but rather a frightened brat, whom Pete had used as he had used so many other people.

"How old are you, Loren?" Donovan asked. "The truth, please."

"Twenty-two, sir," Loren whispered, hoping that was not too old.

A very young twenty-two, Donovan thought to himself.

"Loren, do you have family? Someplace to go?"

Loren shook his head. There was no place. There was no one.

"Sir? I can do anything you want. Fuck me, beat me, I do everything," Loren begged softly. "Keep me."

Donovan caught his breath sharply, trying to conceal his shock at Loren's desperate plea. He shuddered at the thought of how easy it would be for the wrong sort of person to abuse Loren's trust. The last thing this young man needed was another self-styled "Master" to take him in hand, Donovan thought bitterly.

What to do? Donovan rubbed soothing circles on Loren's back, wanting to ease Loren's distress. Absentmindedly, he took a wad of tissues from the box on top of the windowsill and held them to Loren's nose.

"Blow," he said firmly. Loren did his best to comply. Donovan pressed the foot pedal of the garbage can and deposited the soiled tissues. Taking another handful, he carefully dried Loren's eyes and mopped his sodden face.

"That's better," Donovan said with some satisfaction. "Now, what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Loren sighed unhappily. For a moment or two he had hoped that Donovan might want to keep him after all.

Donovan took Loren's chin gently in his hand.

"How about I take you home, little one? I don't know what the hell Pete told you, but you're not ready for a BDSM lifestyle. You don't know what the hell it is you want."

"I want whatever you want, sir," Loren said ingratiatingly.

"My name's Donovan, Loren. Don't call me "sir." Donovan's voice was harsher than he'd intended. Loren's subservient attitude worried him.

"Yes, sir, I mean, Donovan." Loren cringed. Pete would have slapped him for taking that kind of liberty. He hoped Donovan would be patient with him while he learned his new rules.

Donovan patted Loren's arm reassuringly.

"Breathe, Loren. Get dressed. I'll be back in a moment."

Quickly stepping back into his boxers and jeans, and tugging on his tee shirt, Loren watched nervously through the doorway as Donovan and the doctor held a quick conference, then reentered the room.

"I need a blood sample before you go," the doctor said. Loren paled and backed away.

"Come here now," Donovan said firmly. He caught Loren in a tight hug and seating himself, drew Loren onto his lap.

"Give Dr. Napier your arm, Loren."

Loren extended his arm reluctantly, his breathing shallow and uneven.

"You don't have to look," Donovan added, seeing Loren blanching.

Loren buried his head in Donovan's chest, and Donovan stroked his back gently.

Loren whimpered as the needle bit into his arm, then stiffened, expecting to be chastised for his unwitting protest. Donovan merely continued his soothing massage.

"Call in a week for the results, Donovan," Maurice said, withdrawing the needle. He scribbled on his prescription pad; handed two sheets to Donovan. "I'm giving him an antibiotic ointment for those welts. Some of them are infected. Also vitamins; I don't need the results of the blood work to know he's anemic."

"Thanks, Doc," said Donovan, studying the prescriptions.

"You're welcome. You're in good hands, Loren. Donovan, call me anytime."

"Thank you, Maurice," Donovan said sincerely.

Loren opened his eyes, relieved the ordeal was over.

"You did good, Loren," Donovan said.

Loren brightened at the unexpected praise. Pete hadn't believed in praise.

Donovan shepherded Loren down to the garage and into his car.

Loren was disappointed in the nondescript sedan Donovan drove. Pete had always driven sports cars. Donovan's modest house was also a disappointment. Pete had rented an apartment in a full service building. By the time they got inside, Loren was having serious second thoughts.

Donovan noted Loren's sullen expression ruefully. He had known Pete a long time; he knew the credit-supported lifestyle Pete had indulged in. By a credulous young man like Loren's standards, being with Donovan was certainly coming down in the world. Donovan chuckled inwardly. The brat would just have to adjust if he wanted to stay.

Another less savory aspect of Pete's lifestyle occurred to Donovan.

"Loren, are you carrying any drugs? Coke, poppers, anything else?"

Loren started. Pete had always let him have a little something to while away the evenings with if he was good.

"Loren, I asked you a question. Answer me please," Donovan said sternly.

"Just a little good shit, Donovan," Loren said defensively.

"Give it here. Now." Donovan extended his hand, clearly expecting to be obeyed. Loren dug reluctantly in his pocket, handed Donovan a small packet of powder. Without hesitation, Donovan walked into the bathroom, emptied it into the toilet, and flushed. Loren listened to the swirling water in stunned disbelief.

"You can't do that, you can't fucking do that!" he wailed.

"I just did," Donovan said placidly.

Loren threw himself facedown on the rug. Kicked. Screamed. Cursed.

The very childishness of Loren's gesture clued Donovan in to just how distraught the young man was. Donovan made no attempt to restrain Loren, realizing that the tantrum was the culmination of a day of stress and change and fear. It was just as well that the meltdown was taking place here, in the privacy of these four walls. Better to get this over with, now, and start fresh tomorrow.

"Let it out, Loren," Donovan said gently. "I'm right here, you're safe. Let it out." Donovan was not frightened by the intensity of Loren's reaction. He merely watched without further comment, his face inscrutable.

As the tantrum faded, Loren became keenly aware of how sore his throat was, and of how unimpressed Donovan seemed.

"Are you quite finished, young man?" Donovan asked quietly.

Loren began to shake. What had he done? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

Seeing the sheer terror in Loren's eyes, Donovan knelt next to him, making himself appear smaller and less threatening. Extending his hand slowly, Donovan rubbed Loren's back sympathetically, reassuring him that he understood. That Loren would feel better, that he was safe.

"It's OK, Loren, it's OK," he said, deliberately softening his voice. "It's all right, little one. I think you needed that. I'm not angry. Come here now, that's good."

Nervously, Loren allowed Donovan to draw him into a sitting position. For a big man, Donovan was amazingly graceful. He rose to his feet, bringing Loren along with him. Loren's face was chalk white. He cringed as Donovan pulled him into his lap, seating them both in an oversized armchair.

"Please, don't hurt me," Loren begged.

Donovan rubbed slow, firm circles over Loren's shoulders and back, trying to settle him. Gradually, Loren's breathing steadied.

"Loren, I would think you know that possessing illicit drugs is both illegal and unacceptable," Donovan said, when he judged Loren was calm enough to listen.

Loren shivered. What would Donovan do to him?

To Loren's surprise, Donovan made no move to punish him, either for the drugs or the tantrum. Donovan merely held on to him.

"Don't panic, Loren. Listen to me. I'm not going to punish you unless we discuss it first and agree that it's fair." Donovan continued to rub Loren's back soothingly. "We're going to have a little chat about the rules here tomorrow. But right now I'm just going to hold you."

Ever so slowly, Loren began to relax into Donovan's comforting embrace. Safe, he felt safe. It was a novel sensation.

"Come on, Loren, it's bedtime," Donovan said gently. He rose, drawing Loren up with him. Propelled him down the hallway to the bedroom with a gentle hand at his back.

Loren swallowed hard at the sight of the king-sized bed, then resigned himself to the inevitable. Undid his jeans and stepped out of them.

Donovan turned back the covers in a smooth, one-handed movement.

"Lie down, Loren," Donovan said softly, deliberately ignoring Loren's reluctance.

Loren obeyed hesitantly. His nervousness confirmed what Donovan had already surmised: Loren expected to be used. Loren expected to be hurt.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Loren. I'm going to take good care of you," Donovan said reassuringly.

Loren knew better than to believe him. You didn't get something for nothing.

"Just keep me, " Loren begged. "I'm not scared, Donovan. I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want. Just keep me, please. Keep me." He sniffled.

"I've got you, Loren," Donovan soothed, saddened by Loren's scared promises. "Shh now, I've got you." He smudged the moisture from Loren's eyes with a gentle thumb. Drew the covers over him.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Donovan," Loren said numbly. Clearly, Donovan didn't want him.

I need to make him want me, Loren thought desperately.

Loren licked his lips enticingly. Kicked off the blankets. Arched his back, spread his legs. Grasped the hem of his tee shirt and tugged it over his head. Lay back submissively, hoping Donovan would like what he saw.

Loren was at a loss to interpret Donovan's expression. Donovan cupped Loren's jaw in his hand, ran his fingers over the fine haze of stubble on Loren's cheek, stroked his thumb over Loren's lips. Studied the network of bruises that decorated Loren's ribs and belly. Shit. They looked even worse against the snowy, well-washed sheets than they had in the fluorescent light of the doctor's office.

"This hurt, Loren?" Donovan asked, fingering a weal at Loren's waist. He knew what had caused the mark. Someone had whipped Loren's back carelessly, let the lash curve around to strike the tender skin below his ribs.

Loren closed his eyes. He remembered the night Pete had given him that whipping. He had been standing, his wrists cuffed, arms stretched overhead. Pete had cracked the vial of amyl nitrate under Loren's nostrils, watched as Loren's face flushed and his breathing quickened. Arousal had displaced fear.

Almost.

The first cut of the whip had hurt and Loren had twisted sharply. The resultant welt had been his own fault. Pete had told him so in no uncertain terms.

Loren wanted to impress Donovan, not admit how inept he was. He left Donovan's question unanswered.

Donovan read Loren's nervous, ashamed expression correctly. Cursed to himself. Pete had done some job on this kid's head. Bastard.

Loren held his breath. Make him want me, please make him want me. He trailed his finger over Donovan's belt buckle, watching Donovan's expression carefully. Traced the outline of his fly, licked his lips again.

Donovan gently shoved Loren's hand away.

"What do you really want, Loren?" Donovan asked. "Talk to me."

Loren shook his head miserably. Shit.

"I'm sorry, Donovan. So, so sorry." Somehow he had screwed it up. Loren felt tears starting again. Shit. So much for his hopes that Donovan might keep him.

Donovan watched with concerned eyes. He wasn't taken in by Loren's determined attempt at seduction. Older and vastly more experienced, he recognized the young man's frantic attempts to initiate sex for the desperate plea they were.

Loren was ripe for being taken advantage of, thought Donovan. He would have to be very careful. Loren's neediness was as attractive as a drug.

"It's all right, little one. I'm not angry with you. It's too soon for us to do this, Loren. You don't know what you need," Donovan said.

"I need you! I need you to fuck me! Please, Donovan, give me another chance. I'll do better. Please!" Loren wailed, seeing his chances of a new home evaporating before his eyes. "Sorry sorry sorry--"

Donovan stroked Loren's hair gently back from his forehead.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Lie quietly, Loren, that's all I need you to do. Will you do that for me?" Donovan continued to stroke Loren's hair until his gray eyes closed and his breathing deepened.

"Good, Loren, very good. We'll straighten things out in the morning. Just sleep now." Donovan sat beside Loren for a very long time, studying his pale face, listening to his frequent whimpers. Clearly Loren's dreams were not pleasant.

I like this kid, Donovan thought to himself. There's more to him than he himself even knows. I'd like to see what kind of man he really is. Donovan stood up, careful not to jostle the bed.

At Donovan's withdrawal, Loren roused, his breath coming in quick, frightened pants.

"Wait, Donovan, wait," he whispered. "Please, it was a mistake. I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm sorry. I'm getting down." To Donovan's shock, Loren rolled out of the bed, huddled at his feet.

"Shit!" Donovan was livid. Fuck Pete! That motherfucking bastard had expected Loren to sleep on the floor. Fucking asshole!

Loren cowered back from the fury in Donovan's eyes. Donovan forced himself to breathe deeply. Willed his muscles to relax. Softened his gaze.

"I'm not angry at you, Loren. Don't be afraid. Come here." Drawing Loren back up onto the bed, Donovan stretched out alongside the younger man and spooned him close.

"You sleep in the bed, Loren. With me. I've got you now," Donovan said gruffly. "You're safe."

Loren closed his eyes.

Safe. What a strange and unfamiliar concept.

Safe. It felt good.

The next thing Loren knew, it was morning. The smell of coffee wafted temptingly from the two mugs on the nightstand. Donovan stuffed his pillows against the headboard, sat back and drew Loren up alongside him. Handed him his coffee. Loren sipped it appreciatively.

"What happens now, Donovan?" Loren asked softly.

"That's up to you," Donovan replied. "I want to take care of you, I want to keep you safe, I want to help you grow. A discipline relationship is the best way I know to accomplish those goals." He rubbed Loren's back gently.

"You don't have to agree to this, Loren. You can stay here in any case, at least until you find somewhere you'd rather be. But I don't think I can be much help to you if you don't agree to letting me take charge."

"Will you beat me when I'm bad?" Loren asked worriedly.

Donovan noted wryly that Loren said when, not if.

"A beating is about pain, Loren. Discipline is about learning. You are going to learn to behave in a reasonable manner. No cursing at me. No drugs. I'm sure we can agree on some other rules as we go along. Rules that will help you learn. I will punish you if you don't follow our rules. I won't ever beat you," Donovan said.

"Donovan?" Loren asked tentatively. "How would you punish me?"

Donovan took Loren's slender hand in his large, competent one. Laced their fingers together.

"I would take your pants and underwear down, turn you over my knee and spank your butt."

Loren studied the warm hand that held his own. He didn't imagine it would feel like much across his bottom. Donovan seemed like a pretty soft touch. He began to relax.

"It's your decision, Loren," Donovan said.

"Will you throw me out if I say no?" Loren asked.

"I'm not quite that mean. You can stay here until you're ready to leave." Donovan said reassuringly.

"What about fucking? " Loren asked, feeling cockier and cockier.

Donovan rolled his eyes at Loren's bluntness.

"We'll see, Loren. We'll see."

"All right," Loren said. This seemed like a pretty good deal. "I'm all yours. You can, um, discipline me. If I fuck up. But I'll be good, I promise. You won't need to spank me."

Donovan chuckled inwardly at Loren's smugness.

"I'm sure you are good, Loren, even if you sometimes do things that aren't so good," Donovan said softly. "We'll see if you can't learn to be well-behaved as well."

The two men sat quietly together for another few minutes, each with his own thoughts. Finally, Donovan spoke.

"I'm going to get breakfast started, Loren. Please make the bed and come down to the kitchen." Taking both coffee mugs in hand, Donovan headed down the hall.

Loren straightened the covers in a desultory fashion. Pete had always had a woman come in to do these mundane chores.

Pulling on his jeans, Loren followed Donovan to the kitchen. Sprawled in the nearest chair.

"What would you like, Loren?" Donovan asked, handing him a second cup of coffee.

"Coffee's plenty, Donovan. I'm not really hungry," Loren shrugged.

"Loren, you have to eat something for breakfast," Donovan said reasonably. He had put out hard-boiled eggs, dry cereal, milk, rolls and fruit. "There must be something on this table that appeals to you. Have a few bites."

Loren was not a morning person. Pete had seldom risen before eleven.

"I can't eat this early, Donovan," Loren whined.

"Just a little something, Loren. It's not healthy to start the day on an empty stomach."

"Get off my back, Donovan!" Impulsively, Loren swept his silverware from table to floor.

"Please pick those up, Loren," Donovan said mildly.

"Fuck you, Donovan. Why the fuck do you care if I eat or not? No! Let me go! No!" Loren tried to pull away, but Donovan caught his arm firmly.

"You. Do. Not. Curse. At. Me," Donovan said evenly, propelling Loren into the living room despite his increasingly frantic struggles. "You. Do. Not. Throw. Things."

"No, Donovan, no! I hate you! Fuck you, you bastard, let me go!"

"What part of 'do not curse at me, do not throw things' do you not understand, Loren?" Donovan asked, as the torrent of abuse continued.

Donovan seated himself on the couch and with a skill born of long experience, effortlessly flipped Loren across his lap.

"Over my knee, Loren. Want to take your pants down yourself or shall I do it for you?"

"No--"

"Wasn't one of your choices, Loren." Donovan undid Loren's jeans and tugged them and his boxers down to his knees. "Stop squirming, young man, or you'll be sorry." He brought his hand down, hard, across the moving target. Loren yelped and froze.

"All right, Loren, tell me. What is this spanking for?"

"Because you're mean! I hate you!" Loren screeched.

Donovan clenched his teeth.

"Loren," he warned. "How hard I spank you depends partly on your attitude."

"No! No, Donovan, no, I'm sorry, don't spank me, please, let me up," Loren begged, trying to loosen Donovan's grip on his waist.

Donovan decided that although spank first, talk later, might be a refreshing approach, no brat was going to change the way he handled punishments. He sharpened his voice.

"Loren. Answer me now. Why am I going to spank you?" He swatted Loren sharply.

"I was rude! I cursed at you! I threw the fucking silverware!" Loren howled. Those swats hurt. How much worse could a real spanking be?

He found out.

Donovan brought his hand down in a series of hard, fast smacks, rapidly coloring Loren's buttocks a deep, dark rose. Loren struggled to get loose, but Donovan had no intention of allowing his escape.

"Loren," Donovan warned. "Keep still and take what you have coming."

Loren struggled for a few more seconds and then, realizing the futility, gave up, already regretting the flying cutlery, his rousing screams. Resigned himself to enduring the hard smacks from the implacable hand that continued its circuit over his buttocks, deepening rose to red.

Loren began to cry.

Almost instantly, Donovan paused. Drew Loren into his lap, mindful of his tender rear. Cuddled him against him.

"There, Loren, there. It's all over now. Shh, all done, all forgiven. Shh, it's all over. You're OK."

Loren clung to Donovan, all bravado gone, shaking and soggy and very, very scared. Donovan continued to stroke and comfort him, assuring him that he was OK, that he was wanted, that he was safe. Gradually Loren's tears subsided into miserable sniffles.

"Are you going to spank me again?" Loren asked pitifully.

"What do you think, little one?" Donovan asked gently.

"It depends on me?" Loren hazarded, wincing.

"I knew you were smart, Loren," Donovan said, trying not to laugh at Loren's aggrieved tone. "You're absolutely right. Behave, and we won't have to do this again."

Loren sighed.

"You won't beat me? No matter what?"

"No matter what," Donovan reassured him. "I'm going to take good care of you."

Loren snuggled into Donovan, trailed exploratory fingers over his crotch. Donovan caught his wrist firmly.

"Stop that now," Donovan said. "Don't give me any ideas."

Loren slid to his knees, pressed his lips to the crotch of Donovan's jeans, and blew. Donovan stiffened instantly at the feel of his soft mouth and hot breath.

"I like your ideas," Loren said.

"No, Loren," Donovan said, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He took Loren's chin in his hand and gently, but firmly, tilted Loren's face upwards so that their eyes met. Loren shivered nervously.

"You're very attractive and I want you, very much. But I just spanked you. That's a big enough step for one day." Donovan ruffled Loren's light brown hair gently.

"Slow down, Loren. We've got plenty of time."

Donovan stood up, drawing Loren along with him. He ran his hand over Loren's lips, leaned in and kissed him soundly. Loren returned his kiss enthusiastically.

"Kitchen, Loren. Now. Your breakfast is waiting."

"Yes, Donovan."

THANK you, Lorelei, my beta and my friend. EM