Tyler had made a promise.
“I’m going to be good this year,” he declared with champagne in one hand and his other resting a little too casually on Logan’s thigh. “No more bratting. No more teasing. Just good, obedient, freshly spanked behavior.”
Logan had raised an eyebrow. “Spanked and obedient?”
Tyler grinned. “Well... let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
It was New Year’s Eve, and they were back at the cabin. Snow piled against the windows, a fire roaring, and Logan had just hung a leather strap over the hearth—just in case. Tyler had noticed. And winked.
By 10 p.m., Logan was impressed. Tyler was polite. Sweet. He helped clean up dinner, even fetched more wood for the fire without a single smart remark. He called Logan sir three separate times and kissed his cheek each time he did it. Logan was almost proud.
Almost.
At 11:48, it fell apart.
Logan stepped away to set the clock on the mantle, and when he turned back around—there it was. Tyler, standing in nothing but gold glitter briefs, a sparkly party hat crooked on his head, holding the leather strap in both hands like it was a prize.
“Couldn’t make it to midnight, huh?” Logan said, slowly crossing the room.
Tyler bit his lip. “I tried. I really did.”
“Then why are you holding that?”
“I figured you’d want to start the new year off right.”
Logan plucked the strap from his hands and folded it once, letting it dangle. “I do.”
“Also,” Tyler added quickly, “I may have texted my ex a picture of my ass and told him I have a new Daddy who hits harder.”
Logan stopped. Blinked.
Tyler grinned like the devil. “So technically I broke two resolutions. No bratting and no ex drama.”
Logan shook his head slowly. “Get over the back of the couch.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Tyler scrambled into place, party hat bobbing. Logan pulled the briefs down—pure gold and now totally useless—and began the first strapping of the new year with the clock ticking down.
Twelve swats before midnight. One for each month to come.
The countdown started on the TV.
Ten!
CRACK.
Nine!
CRACK.
By five, Tyler was moaning into the couch cushions.
Three. Two. One—Happy New Year!
CRACK.
The final stroke landed as fireworks exploded on screen. Logan paused to admire his handiwork—red stripes against golden cheeks, a party hat now askew and dangling from one ear, and a thoroughly punished brat panting beneath him.
“Happy New Year,” Tyler murmured, voice thick with pleasure. “I really do want to be good…”
“I know,” Logan said, bending down to kiss the back of his neck. “But you make such a better bad boy.”
They didn’t need confetti or a midnight kiss. They had something better: a tradition.
And Tyler?
He’d already broken every resolution—but Logan made damn sure he’d feel it into February.
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