Hearing that shout, Liam sucks in a breath through his teeth like he's inhaling the sound itself. He mutters something barely audible, the utter pleasure of it easier to pick out than the words. God, he wanted to keep Mike right there, like this, for as long as possible. Every last person he'd dug his claws into crumpled. They dried up and became as entertaining as dust. Usually in a matter of days. He'd had one last nearly a month. But none had been like Mike. He wanted to keep Mike, not throw him away.

They had all the time in the world, until Liam decided it was time to go fetch the little boyfriend. How long could he keep Mike there? Keep him wanting and burning? Keep him screaming?

Firm hands pushed Mike over, shoved and manhandled him onto his back. Dragging him so his ass slid on the sheets. He seemed to know just the right ways to move the bound man to emphasize those red, angry welts across his ass.

"You did it, Mike," he said, softly. Practically glowing with praise. "You made it to fifteen." As he spoke, he climbed onto the bed, knees straddling Mike's hips. "I knew you could do it." His hand slid over the straight jacket, arms and chest. Caressing his neck through the collar. "You finally learned, you finally know how to be good, Mike." He caught the other's hair in a tight fist.

He leaned close. Close enough for his breath to fall over Mike's lips. "My good boy..." he said, barely a whisper. He leaned closer still, giving Mike that one thing he'd been wanting, craving, for so long. A kiss. A slow, gentle, lover's kiss.