“I’m sure your dick will meet the fresh air more than once,” Jack said softly, his voice taking on a gruff, demanding tone.
“Like in a movie theater?”
“More public than that, I bet.”
“God,” Callum breathed out.
“Not God,” Jack chuckled. “Just your Daddy.”
“Can I come tonight?” Callum asked, his cock thick against his leg with thoughts of snowflakes and hot skin.
“You can go to sleep tonight. It’s after four there.”
Callum groaned. “Are you sure, Daddy?”
“Time for bed, kitten. Tuck in.”
Callum whined and kicked his feet under the blankets then rolled onto his side. He moved his phone to the empty pillow beside his head and stared at it.
“You ready?” Jack asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. You’re the best, Callum,” Jack praised.
“Good night, Daddy.”
“Good night, kitten. Rest well.”
The screen on his phone lit up when the call ended and he let it illuminate his room until the display went black. Callum continued to stare at it, dreaming about how much he wished he could will Jack into existence on the other side of his bed.
IV
July
8
Jack
The monthof June had ticked by painfully slowly with Callum always questioning—August? August?—every time they talked. His urgency was rubbing off on Jack and he was finally starting to have hope that even in person he could be the man Callum needed him to be.
They talked nightly, daily—every free second they had, they spent it with each other. Callum had truly turned out to be an unexpected gift and Jack couldn’t wait for August so he could lavish on him all the praise and affection he deserved.
It was the first Friday in July and he was at work, his cell phone locked in his desk so he wasn’t distracted by the increasingly filthy pictures Callum had taken to sending him. He’d chatted briefly with him in the morning before Callum had ended his day and Jack had started his own. He’d woken up feeling cruddy, a sharp stomachache he assumed was from something he’d eaten the night before. He hoped the cramping in his stomach would ease up but, if anything, it was getting worse.
By his lunch break, he was doubled over in pain, his boss insisting that they call him an ambulance. Jack grumbled and fought him on it, in the end giving in only because the pain was too great for him to form words.
Being wheeled into the emergency room was the last thing he remembered before he blacked out.
He awoke hours later in a hospital bed, the nurse informing him his now removed and formerly ruptured appendix was the source of his pain. He’d developed an infection—septicemia—and he was very lucky to be alive. Jack hoped that last part had been for dramatic emphasis, but he couldn’t tell from the nurse’s inflection. In the meantime, he appreciated the pain meds and let himself fall back asleep.
Saturday morning, a much nicer nurse brought him some ice chips and orange jello for breakfast. He stabbed away at the jello with his spoon while he watched TV, well aware of what time it was, and well aware he didn’t have his cell phone to call Callum. He didn’t even know where his clothes were, let alone the keys to his desk. The idea of not being able to get in touch with Callum until he was released poked at him painfully.
He cursed his reliance on technology, remembering when he was younger and had to know phone numbers by heart and was currently now hardly able to remember Callum’s fucking area code.
“They don’t even give you the red flavor?”
A familiar voice from the hallway drew his attention and he looked toward the door to find a tired looking Landon in his room.
