Learning Curve - Disciplinary Action #2 - ch. 5 (Patreon)

I wasn't finished with the Ranger chapters yet so I thought you could read this in the meantime. Unbeta'd/Unedited/Unhinged. And a cameo or two.

Matteo sat in the center of the luxury king–sized bed, sateen sheets pooled around him and a mattress so soft it might as well have been stitched by gods, the kind of bed he’d taken for granted for years.

The first night here he’d been afraid to touch anything. He’d showered, wrapped himself in the fluffy robe, and paced the space like a caged animal. He hadn’t even had clothes to change into. He’d slept naked, starfished under the white comforter, drooling on pillows that probably cost more than his old car. Room service had delivered a breakfast he hadn’t ordered, and two hours later a man showed up with an entire wardrobe, complete with a five-thousand-dollar suitcase.

Something twisted dark inside him at the sight. It wasn’t a gift. It was a warning. A trap. See, Matteo? I have enough money to throw at you until you forget you had choices. The clothes weren’t charity; they were shackles disguised as silk and LV monograms. Where the hell was he supposed to go if he didn’t take Evander’s deal? A homeless shelter? He didn’t know much about shelters, but he knew he’d get jumped and robbed within minutes.

He’d been seething for hours, glaring at the designer sweatpants he now wore like they’d personally insulted his mother. But the real enemy sat on the dresser. The contract. A stack of papers that mocked him every time he looked away. He’d tried once that morning. Three paragraphs in, the words blurred into hieroglyphics.

He didn’t know an attorney. Didn’t even know someone who knew an attorney.

But he did know a law student.

A law student who hated his guts.

Cal… Callum Whyte. Was that still his last name? He’d heard through the grapevine that Cal and their former headmaster were engaged. Was that true? Probably. Matteo couldn’t even be mad about it. Jealous, definitely, but not mad. When had his life stopped surprising him? Now it just hurt him in new ways.

Even someone as selfish as Matteo could admit that Cal had only ever been a friend to him. Matteo was the one who’d sold him out to appease his grandfather. Would Cal tell him to fuck off? Probably. Would he laugh? Absolutely. Maybe that was reason enough to text him. Maybe Cal would pick up just to revel in Matteo’s downfall?

Matteo chewed on a cold french fry, thumb hovering over his phone. This was the worst kind of self-centered move, but he didn’t exactly have other options. If Cal hadn’t blocked him, he’d let him decide whether Matteo was worth the two seconds it took to ignore him.

He pulled up the number. Still there. Still unblocked. He typed.

Matteo: Hey. Remember that time I nearly ruined your life? Consider this karma. I need your brain. It’s legal, it’s ugly, and I’m out of my depth. Call me if you want to see me squirm.

He stared at the screen for a full minute before hitting send, afraid he’d lose his nerve. No way Cal would answer. No way he even had the same number. Matteo flopped back, grabbed the remote, and tried to drown himself in bad reality TV.

But then his phone rang.

Matteo nearly launched it across the room. The name lit the screen: Cal–Lacrosse. He’d never bothered to update the contact.

His pulse went nuclear. He let it ring three times before fumbling the answer. “Hello?”

“I’m only calling because I hope your life sucks,” Cal said flatly.

Matteo laughed, shaky. “Then prepare to be fucking thrilled, homie, because my life is in the toilet.”

There was a slight pause and the sound of Cal settling in. “I’m listening.”

Matteo leaned back against the pillows. “Good. Because you’re the only guy I know who might be able to read this without having a seizure. It’s like… it’s written in wingding font.”

Cal snorted. “So you want me to do your homework again? Pass.”

Matteo shook his head, though Cal couldn’t see it. “Not homework. A contract. Evander’s contract. And I know you hate me, but it’s you or one of those TikTok lawyers who advertise during true-crime podcasts.”

“…Evander? Why does that name sound familiar?”

Matteo’s face went hot as Evander’s image flashed through his mind. “He was our housekeeper’s son.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cal said, like it had just clicked. “You were such a douche to that kid. What could you possibly have to offer him? A job? There’s no way he’d agree to work for you… and why don’t you just ask one of your dad’s attorneys for help? Doesn’t he have a fleet on standby?”

“Remember how I said my life sucked?” Matteo asked. “I’m sure you saw the pics in the tabloids of me and that guy… My dad cut me off. I… don’t have anywhere to go.”

He braced for Cal to laugh.

Instead, he said, “Your dad’s a douche. Always has been. You’re better off without him.”

Matteo’s heart backflipped behind his ribs. “Morally… sure. Financially… I’m fucked.”

“What’s Evander got to do with this? What could he possibly want with you if you don’t have the funds to pay him?”

Matteo gave a humorless laugh. “Apparently, everything. Can I screenshot these pages and show you?”

There was a pause, then, “Yeah. But I’m not a lawyer, Matteo. Not yet. This isn’t legal advice. I’m just… translating.”

Matteo nodded, relief flooding him. “That’s all I need.” 

For the first time in days, the knot in his chest loosened, just a fraction.

He scrambled off the bed, snapping photo after photo before hitting send. A minute later, Cal’s sharp inhale came through the line.

“What the hell is this?”

Matteo frowned. “Uh… a contract?”

Matteo sat in silence, listening to pages rustle. Then a deep voice said, “I’m gonna take the dogs for a walk, baby.”

Gideon.

“Okay. Love you,” Cal replied, distracted. “I won’t be long.”

Matteo’s jealousy flared hot and bright, then died just as quickly. Cal had taken his call. Matteo couldn’t honestly say he’d have done the same in Cal’s shoes.

“Okay,” Cal said finally. “Uh, first and foremost, you need to understand that this isn’t a legally binding contract. It’s not even pretending to be. Dude, you get that this is a sex contract, right? A sexual slavery contract, to be exact. A pretty fucking strict one.”

Matteo blinked. “What does that mean?”

Cal gave an exasperated sigh. “It means your childhood crush grew up to be the Marquis de Sade.”

“I didn’t have a crush on him. He had a crush on me.” After a beat he added, “Who’s the Marquis de Sade?”

“An extremely famous sadist. Like, the most famous. He’s the reason the word sadism even exists. He liked hurting people to the extreme.”

Matteo blinked, trying to process this new information. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” More pages shuffled on the other end, then Cal sucked in a sharp breath. “No fucking way. Your Evander–the housekeeper’s son–is Evander fucking Frost? The hot dude all over the news? Shit, Leo just bought shares in his company. He’s the one who wants to play with you like this?”

A strange thrum of anticipation shot through him. “Like what?”

Cal gave another long-suffering sigh. “Evander’s laid out a full dom–sub arrangement where you’re not just his sub, you’re his property. Given your response, I’m guessing you’ve never done that kind of play before, have you?”

His stomach soured as fast as his mood. “My experience with men starts and ends with you after prom, and that one drunken hookup that got me into my current situation in the first place.”

Cal muttered something that sounded like figures. Then, said dryly, “This contract is extreme. I know seasoned submissives who’d laugh in a dom’s face if handed this. If you sign, you’re giving him complete and total control over your life. He decides when you eat, when you sleep, if you orgasm, what clothes you wear. You’ll be punished for anything he deems unsatisfactory.”

Matteo’s throat worked. “Punished… how?”

More pages rustling. “Financial penalties. Or physical ones.”

Matteo made a strangled noise. “Physical meaning…”

“According to this? Spanking. Bondage. Corner time. Writing lines… He’s got domestic discipline written in here, too, man. That usually means daily punishments. Maintenance spankings, they call them.”

Matteo tried for outrage and landed somewhere between horrified and turned on. “He wants to…spank me…daily?”

Cal snorted. “You don’t sound too upset about it.”

“Shut up,” Matteo muttered, looking down at the outline of his half-hard dick straining against the unforgiving fabric of his sweats. Heat punched at him in a way that made his head swim, shame braided with something dangerous and electric.

Cal chuckled, low and sharp. “You should know those punishments don’t just end when the spanking does. You’d be expected to thank him… verbally and sexually.”

Matteo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “So basically, he wants me to be a housekeeper who he spanks and fucks whenever he wants?”

“Correct. And you should also know you’re not permitted to say no to sex or punishments. Not unless you safeword.”

“Safeword? Jesus Christ.”

This suddenly felt far too real.

“This isn’t a game,” Cal said, like he was reading his mind. “This seems less about wanting a submissive and more about wanting revenge. He wants to take everything from you.”

Matteo went quiet. His chest heaved. He tried to picture it, Evander choosing his meals, Evander punishing him, Evander bending him over. His body reacted before his brain could tell it not to, twitching at the thought.

He wants to take everything from you.

But Matteo didn’t have anything. Not anymore. Not even his dignity.

“…but if I stick it out for the year, he has to marry me, right?”

“Not according to this paper. He could move the goal posts forever if he wanted.” Cal hesitated. “If it were me, I’d demand a second contract. A real one. Something enforceable. If he doesn’t propose after a year, you walk away with compensation. And you might need it. I’m not sure what you’ll be like on the other side of this. Mentally… physically. You might never be the same.”

Matteo stopped listening after compensation. “You can do that? I can, I mean? I can ask for a real contract?”

“You can negotiate whatever you want. But, dude, don’t fucking kid yourself. This is serious. Even I haven’t done some of the shit in this contract.”

Matteo’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, even you?” He was met with a silence so long he checked to make sure they hadn’t been disconnected. “Hello?”

Cal sighed. “Leo and I…we’re… active in the community. I’m a sub. He’s my dom. We play hard. But some of this? Knife play, sounding, total sensory deprivation? This is advanced-level stuff. This is like final-boss levels of kink and you haven’t even made it past the training level. Fuck… you haven’t even entered the game.”

Matteo choked. “You’re into this shit?”

“Yeah. Which is why I know how dangerous it can be if you’re not ready.”

Matteo stared at the papers like they might start hissing. Dangerous. Hardcore. But also… his stomach flipped. His skin flushed. His cock twitched.

Cal’s sigh crackled down the line. “Jesus, you’re turned on, aren’t you?”

Matteo slammed back against the pillows, heat crawling up his throat. “Shut up.”

Cal laughed, sharp and merciless. “Yeah, you’re fucked. And not just in the contract.”

“You don’t know that. I can handle pain. I was a lacrosse player, for fuck’s sake.”

Cal’s cackle had teeth. “I said the same thing the first night I played with Leo. I was wrong and so out of my depth. Just like you are right now. You’re not ready for this, dude. Trust me.”

“I–I appreciate the advice. Seriously. But I’m… out of options. It’s only a year. I can do this.”

Matteo wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince Cal or himself.

Cal huffed into the phone. “You’d be surprised how long a year can feel when you’re miserable.”

He didn't have to imagine the months stretching out–empty, humiliating, and long–because it already felt endless.

Would he be miserable with Evander? Would the pain be worth it if it meant a roof over his head?

“I should go,” Matteo said. “But…Thanks for the advice. I know you didn’t have to do it.”

When Cal spoke again, the concern in his voice cut deep enough to sting. “Matteo… be careful.”

“I–I got this. I’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine.”

Matteo hung up before Cal could say anything else. He stared at the phone like it had betrayed him, heart thudding, skin prickling with leftover shame. He wanted to throw it across the room. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Instead, he shoved the phone under the pillow, as if that would smother the echo of Cal’s voice. For a second he imagined the pillow as a lid, something to clamp down on the noise inside his head.

Maybe Cal was right. Maybe Matteo wasn’t ready. But the alternative was what? Couch-surfing until he rotted? Selling the stuff Evander gave him on Facebook Marketplace? He’d rather choke. If Evander wanted to play games, fine. Matteo could play. He’d sign the contract, but he’d do it on his terms. 

Or at least make it look like he had some.

###

Matteo’s heart hammered against his chest, hands trembling as he pressed the green call button. Evander answered on the third ring.

“That was quick,” Evander said, his voice low and soft. “Calling to reject me already? I thought you’d wait until the last possible moment.”

Matteo ignored him. “Can we meet?”

He hated how badly his voice shook.

“Of course,” Evander said, not sounding nearly as smug as Matteo expected. “Do you want me to come to you, or would you rather meet at my place?”

“No!” Matteo barked. “No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I–I want to meet somewhere neutral, somewhere public.”

Somewhere safe.

“That sounds ominous,” Evander said, voice wrapping around him like silk. “Are you that afraid of me?”

“Will you meet me or not?” Matteo snapped.

Evander’s silence filled the line.

Matteo frowned. “Hello?”

“Try. Again.”

He didn’t sound angry, but the stern tone ripped through Matteo’s bloodstream like a match to gasoline. His breaths came faster as adrenaline pumped through him.

Matteo’s teeth clenched so hard he worried for his veneers. Still, he forced out, “Please, can we meet?”

“Of course,” Evander said benevolently. “There’s a restaurant across from my office. Shall we meet for lunch?”

Shall… He sounded so proper now.

“Yeah, okay,” Matteo muttered. “What time?”

“Let’s meet at one,” Evander said. “Oh, and Matteo?”

His pulse tripped at his name on Evander’s tongue. “Yes?”

“Wear something pretty.”

He was gone before Matteo could tell him to fuck off. Still, the moment he hung up, he went to the closet, rifling carefully through the items provided for him. Had Evander chosen these himself? Surely not.

After a minute, he froze. What was he doing? Evander didn’t own him.

Not yet. Not unless he was prepared to put it in writing. If Matteo was about to become a pet, then he planned to be compensated for his pedigree. Evander needed to see he wouldn’t take orders. Not unless there were assurances.

He looked past designer brands–Gucci, Prada, Balenciaga–before settling on a pair of white linen pants.

He stripped down and pulled them on. They clung low on his hips, pooling slightly at the ankles, but they’d be fine with shoes. He chose a silky white top patterned with red flowers. He was almost positive it was from the women’s line, given the buttons. Not that Matteo cared. Fashion didn’t have a gender.

He slipped the shirt on, fastening only two buttons before tying it loosely beneath his chest, leaving miles of skin exposed. If Evander wanted 'pretty,' he’d give him something pretty…and dangerous enough to remind him Matteo still had claws.

Matteo smirked. Was this pretty enough? Would Evander be embarrassed to be seen with him looking so flamboyant and soft? Good. He turned this way and that, eyeing himself in the mirror. He never would’ve had the balls to wear something like this at home. His father would have beat him into a coma. But he had to admit, he liked it. He liked the way the pants emphasized the curve of his lower back and the swell of his ass. He liked that anyone could see how toned his stomach was, how golden his skin looked.

He ran a hand down his abdomen, letting his eyes fall shut. What would it be like to have Evander’s hands on him? His mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Was he a biter? Would he drag his nails across Matteo’s skin? Leave marks when he spanked him? Matteo bit his lip at the thought.

Fuck.

He slipped the outfit off and hung it back up, then collapsed onto the bed in only his underwear. He set an alarm for eleven-thirty. Maybe he could sleep through the worst of his anxiety?

He drifed off with Evander on his mind and woke up the same way. By the time he made it to the restaurant, he was vibrating enough to power the whole city.

The place Evander chose had high ceilings and booths with tall walls, great for privacy, not so great for finding your lunch date.

A woman in all black approached, gray hair piled neatly on top of her head, her smile stiff. “May I help you?”

“I’m meeting someone. Evander Frost.”

“Oh, Mr. Cruz?” she asked, surprise flickering as she tried to discreetly look him over. “Mr. Frost is running a few minutes late, but he asked that we seat you while you wait. Follow me.”

When she turned her back, Matteo rolled his eyes. Of course Evander was late. A total power move.

At the table, the hostess handed him a menu. “Breanna is your server. She’ll be with you momentarily.”

Matteo didn’t trust himself to speak, so he gave a stiff nod. Once alone, he flounced back against the supple leather. So much for showing off his outfit.

Breanna arrived, a pretty blonde with a crisp white shirt and a black apron. She set waters down for both of them, then smiled. “Would you like anything from the bar while you wait?”

He wanted to drown himself in tequila, but he needed his wits about him. “Can I just get a Diet Coke, please?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back with that.”

Matteo pulled out his phone, toe tapping. A new text. For a second, he thought Evander had finally sent word about being late. But no. 

His brows rose. 

It was from Cal. 

Just two words:

Good luck.

His chest tightened. Somehow, that felt more like a warning than encouragement.

He was so busy staring at the words that he missed Evander standing beside him. When he noticed, he jerked to his feet without thought. “You’re here.”

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t Evander pulling him in, his large hand warm on Matteo’s lower back, lips hot against his ear. “You look beautiful. Already so well-behaved.”

Matteo felt as if he’d swallowed molten lava; heat detonated in his belly at Evander’s low purr. Why did he smell so fucking good? Like something a little spicy, a little sweet, highly addictive.

Before he could answer, Evander brushed a kiss across his cheek, then gestured for him to return to his seat. Matteo was so shaken he almost forgot why he was there. Everything in him contracted around that single small touch, like a muscle remembering a scar.

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours. Should I assume you’re here to accept my offer?” Evander asked, voice businesslike now.

“You know what they say about assuming things," Matteo said, sullenly.

Evander's lips twitched in a there and gone smile. “Then why are we here? What can I do for you now, my pretty little liar?”

Matteo’s stomach clenched at the possessiveness. My. Mine.

Pull it together, Matteo.

 Jesus. You’re pathetic.

Before he could answer, Breanna reappeared. “Welcome back, Mr. Frost. Are you two ready to order?”

Matteo dropped his gaze to the unopened menu, panic flaring. 

“We’ll start with the oysters,” Evander said smoothly, his tone the kind of authority that dared anyone to contradict him. “A dozen, on the half shell. And bring the charcuterie board, chef’s selection. For the main course, he’ll have the lobster risotto, finished with shaved black truffle. Make sure the lobster is fresh, not frozen.”

Matteo opened his mouth to protest, but Evander’s sharp look shrank him back into the seat, a subtle warning, a reminder of who was in charge.

“I’ll take the duck,” Evander continued as though uninterrupted, “with the wild mushrooms. The chef knows how I like it.” He closed the wine list without glancing at it, tapping the cover once. “Bring the Bordeaux. The ’09. Decant it.”

The server nodded briskly, jotting everything down. “And for dessert?”

Evander’s smile was small, eyes flicking to Matteo before returning to the server. “The tiramisu. Just one. We’ll share.”

The words landed like a claim, sharp and deliberate. By the time the server retreated, Matteo realized he hadn’t had a single say in what he was eating, drinking, or even when dessert would arrive. Just like Cal had warned. Still, there wasn’t a thing on the list he didn’t like. In fact, they were all his favorites. Especially the tiramisu. Was it coincidence, or had Evander always paid this much attention to him?

Evander turned back toward him. “Now, where were we?”

Matteo’s chest hurt with the strength of his breathing. He forced the words out. “I’ll do it. But I have some conditions of my own.”

Evander’s single brow arched, and the motion sent a shiver through him. “Is that so?”

Matteo pushed forward before he could lose his nerve. “Yes. One: if I last the year, you will marry me. I want it in writing, not in that BS dom–sub contract, but in a real, legally binding agreement. After twelve months, you either marry me or pay me compensation for…” He floundered before mumbling, “...services rendered.”

Evander’s mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. “Interesting.”

“Two: some of the shit in here is insane.” Matteo dropped his voice, fully aware of their surroundings. “Knife play? Sensory deprivation? I’m not agreeing to anything extreme without talking about it first.”

Evander’s eyes warmed, like Matteo had just said something endearing. He reached across the table, taking Matteo’s hand. Matteo’s brain went soft as his thumb stroked along the inside of his wrist, goosebumps erupting along his skin, making Evander smirk. “You want veto power.”

“Yeah,” Matteo said, breathless.

“That’s why safewords exist,” Evander replied gently.

“It’s hard to safeword if you have me in a position where I can’t speak or move,” Matteo countered.

“Very well.” Evander’s tone didn’t shift, still calm, still certain. “You’ll make a list of hard limits–things you absolutely refuse to do. And soft limits–things you aren’t sure you want to do but that aren’t completely off the table. Those we will negotiate on a case-by-case basis.”

Something loosened in Matteo’s gut. Evander wasn’t dismissing him or mocking him. 

“But remember,” Evander went on, thumb still tracing lazy circles over Matteo’s wrist, like he was hypnotizing him. “Every concession I give you has a cost. And if you walk away, there are no second chances. If you break our agreement before the year is up, you get nothing. And if you come back, the clock starts all over again.”

Matteo swallowed hard. He should have felt relief. Instead, the ground tilted, the air thickening around him like Evander had already closed a hand around his throat. And god help him, part of him liked it.

“Is that all?” Evander asked.

Matteo squared his shoulders. “I’m not signing anything until you give me a real contract. With real numbers.”

His cheeks flushed when Evander simply said, “Cute.”

Matteo thrust his jaw forward, defiant. “I’m serious.”

Evander smiled at him like he was a baby kitten. “I know. That’s what makes this so cute. You’re what my mother used to call all hiss and no venom. A hatchling who thinks he’s a cobra.”

Matteo seethed, jaw so tense he was starting to get a headache. Still, he bit his tongue.

Evander continued, still soothing circles on his inner wrist as if calming him down from his own anger. “So give me a number, hatchling.”

“Wh-what?” Fuck. Why did he keep tripping over his tongue around him?

“You wanted a real number. Give me one. What’s a year of your life worth?”

Blood rushed in Matteo’s ears, drowning out everything but the heavy beat of his own heart. There was no way Evander couldn’t feel his pulse hammering under his thumb.

What was a year of his life worth?

Depends on who you asked. The thought had teeth. His family would say he wasn’t worth a nickel. Most people probably would. But what would Evander agree to? He’d already dropped nearly twenty grand on clothes without a single guarantee. The hotel suite alone had to be worth another forty.

“Five hundred thousand. Cash. That’s my price,” he blurted.

Evander’s head tipped, slow and incredulous, before a low laugh escaped him. “Five hundred thousand? That’s the number you settled on?”

Matteo bristled. “I know it’s a lot of money, but it’s a whole year of my life.”

Evander’s brows shot up. “A lot of money? For somebody else, maybe.” He leaned forward, the other hand joining the first to trap Matteo’s in a firm grip. “But me? I burn through that on a single quarter’s overhead. Where’s your guarantee then? You’re making it too easy for me to walk away. And you, Matteo, are many things, but you’re never easy.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Are you saying you think I should ask for more?”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself. Again.” Evander’s voice softened but the bite remained. “Your submission, your obedience, your body… all for a year? Half a million is pocket change. It tells me you don’t actually value what you’re offering.”

Heat crawled up Matteo’s neck. “Then what do you want me to say?”

Evander sat back, expression smug. “Name a number that makes you sweat when you say it. Something that scares you to lose if you walk away before the year is over. Try again.”

Matteo hesitated, throat dry. “…One million.”

Evander shrugged. “Better. But still not enough.”

Matteo’s palms went slick. “Two million, then.”

A slow smile spread across Evander’s face. “There he is.” He leaned closer, voice silk with an edge. “Now that’s a number that would sting. That’s a number that would make you think twice before running and make me think twice before reneging on my end of the deal. If you’re going to sell me your pride, Matteo, at least set a price worthy of the wreckage.”

He said it like a promise and a warning braided together.

Matteo swallowed hard, pulse pounding. For the first time, this felt less like a trap and more like a gamble…and he’d just doubled the stakes.

“And I get to keep whatever I buy with my allowance,” he blurted.

Evander’s smile became a grin. “Ah, yes. Your allowance. We might as well get this out of the way now so we can get to the fun stuff.”

Fun stuff for whom?

Matteo leaned back, needing distance from the magnetic heat of Evander’s touch. He couldn’t think when he was being touched. “I want… twenty-five grand a month.”

Evander’s mouth curved, slow and sharp. “Twenty-five grand? You forget I know you. You could burn through that in a weekend if you were trying. Stop low-balling yourself.”

Heat crawled up Matteo’s neck. “I’m just… trying to be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? That’s not the Matteo I’m looking for.” Evander’s laugh was soft, amused. “You’re negotiating the price of your freedom, hatchling. I don’t want reasonable. I want honesty.”

When Matteo couldn’t bring himself to speak, Evander’s expression softened. “Okay, I’ll let you off the hook. I’ll give you fifty thousand a month, but it comes with stipulations.”

Fifty thousand. Not even his grandfather had ever been that generous. Matteo’s pulse hammered; the number felt obscene and obscene in a way that made his throat go dry. His lips parted before he could stop them. “You’re serious?”

“Always.” Evander’s tone shifted, smooth as silk, cutting as glass. “But understand this. Your allowance is not for escape or to get out of your obligations. You will not hire housekeepers or chefs. You will not buy cars. You will not rent apartments. You will not book flights or hotels or hire lawyers. That money is for keeping you pretty, comfortable…and pliant. Clothes, toys, dinners, indulgences. If you need something beyond that, you come to me and we’ll… negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” Matteo echoed without thought.

“Mm,” Evander said. “You can’t have something for nothing. Everything comes at a price.”

Matteo bristled. “So you’re my boss now?”

“No, hatchling,” Evander said softly, almost fond. “I’m your owner. There’s a difference.”

The room went still. Matteo hated the way his cock twitched at the word; he hated the heat pooling low in his belly when Evander added, “And if you misbehave, I decide how you pay. Maybe I dock your allowance. Maybe I put you over my knee. Maybe both. Sometimes you’ll choose. Sometimes you won’t.”

Matteo swallowed hard. Two million dollars. A leash disguised as luxury. He hated it. He wanted it. He hated that he wanted it. For a ridiculous second he pictured himself in a gilded cage–polished, visible, safe–and felt a pulse of relief he couldn’t explain.

If he was a hatchling, Evander was a viper. Sleek. Coiled. Venomous. But Matteo wasn’t harmless either. Even baby snakes could be lethal given time. And Evander had just given him a year. Plenty of time for him to learn to bite back.