I added some vegetables, then made a plate for myself and sat down next to him. “Eat, petal.”
He took a bite.
“Do you drive a lot?”
He looked up. “What?”
“You don’t have a commute, right? I assume you record most of your videos at home? So how much do you actually have to drive each week?”
“Uh, yeah. I record some, do the editing and stuff at the apartment, but I mean, I do the workouts out on location because I can’t really… uh, you know, Paolo wouldn’t want me using the living room or whatever. And I go, you know, places. Other places. Errands or whatnot. Clubs. Hanging out with people. I drive.”
He also rambled when he was feeling uncertain. It was kind of adorable.
It could never be just sex with him, no matter how good that part of our relationship already was, because yes, he was hot. Yes, he had a mouth I was already addicted to and an ass I’d dreamed of for years. He was gorgeous, but he was so much more than that. Not just the adorable nervousness that he usually hid behind a cocky smirk, but talented in ways he didn’t seem to value, a needy mess in a way that called to me, fitting like a lock and key with my drive to provide, and vulnerable...
Jesus. I didn’t know where that came from, but someone had hurt him, and I wanted to be the one who fixed that hurt. I’d fallen for him before I even really knew him, and the only thing getting to know him now changed was to make me sure it was real.
“How much?” I repeated.
He glared at me, making my heart twist with the need to take care of him.
“What,” he said belligerently. “How much driving do I do? I don’t know, Andy. Some? What does it even matter?”
“It matters if you’re running out of gas. I don’t want you stranded.” And it killed me that he hadn’t called me if he was, but we’d get to that another time. “I want you to top up your tank every week,” I told him. “Every Saturday, since you just filled up tonight. Pull out your phone and set an alarm to remind yourself.”
His knee started bouncing under the table. “What?”
“Pull out your phone and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he interrupted, his voice getting panicky.
I wasn’t sure why he was so scared to trust me to be there for him, who’d let him down badly enough that he couldn’t, but I’d do whatever it took to show him he didn't have to worry about that anymore. Not with me. Not ever.
“Language,” I reminded him calmly. “And I'm talking about making sure you don't have to deal with running out of gas again. I told you, Jordan, I’m going to take care of you, so please pull out your phone so I can do that.”
He stared at me for a second, then... threw his fork.
Oh, sweet boy.
It skittered across the table and onto the floor, and Jordan shoved his chair back and shot to his feet. “You know what?Fuckyou being in charge. This isn’t… you’re not… I’m not looking for that kind of Daddy. The only thing I want you to take care of is making me come, which you‘ve been really fucking good at so far, but since you won’t even fuck me, I’mout.”
He glared at me, then spun on his heel and… didn’t move.
“Jordan,” I said, my own heart pounding as I got up. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his back against my chest. “It may not be the kind of Daddy you’re looking for, but it’s what you need, isn’t it? Not just sex, but someone you can count on the rest of the time, too?”
“No,” Jordan said, trembling a little as I held him tighter.
“It’s what I want to be for you.”
“The fuck you do,” he whispered. “That’s bullshit. No one fucking wants that.”
I smiled, “Language.”
“Fuck.That,” he said... still not trying to pull away. “Admit it, Andy. You don’t want that shit. High maintenance motherfuckingbullshitis what that sounds like. You’d be sick of it in a hot second. Do you know how many things I fuck up? Even if that’s your kink, you’re going to want it with someone else, not me.”
I let him go, keeping a hold of one hand, and walked him back toward the table. Pulled one of the chairs away from it and sat down. Patted my lap.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
