Skip, the man who makes me blush and laugh and panic all at once.
Skip, the man who told me earlier that I was special, like he meant it.
My heart trips over itself.
Could Skip be my dream man?
Or am I just reaching?
Am I just lonely… exhausted… wildly attracted to him in ways I shouldn’t be?
Or…Or did my body recognize something my brain is too scared to admit?
Skip shifts closer, and when he speaks, his voice wraps around me like warm hands.
“There he is,” he murmurs. “Come on, sweetheart. You gotta drink a little for me.”
Sweetheart.
Baby.
Pretty boy.
The man could read me the dictionary, and I’d probably pass out again.
He holds out a cup, one big hand sliding behind my neck to help me sit up. His touch is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll crumble if he presses too hard.
“Just a few sips,” he coaxes. “Be a good boy.”
My brain short-circuits.
Be awhat?
I take the cup mostly so I don’t die right there.
My hands are shaking, and Skip notices. Of course he does. He takes the cup from me and brings it to my lips himself. The rim brushes my mouth, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of how close he is.
I drink because he asked me to.
Because hewantsme to.
“There you go,” he whispers, approving, and something in my chest melts. “Good boy.”
I nearly choke.
He pats my back lightly. “Easy. Don’t drown on me.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, even though I’mnot. Not even a little.
Skip smirks like he knows exactly why.
“Do you have a Daddy or a Dom kink?” I ask. “You’re always calling meboy.”
“Nope,” he smiles. “But, I do have a praise kink. Not so much about receiving it as I am about dishing it out. Plus, calling you a good boy makes you blush so prettily. Now, be mygood boyand drink the rest of this water.”
With wide…and confused…eyes, I do as I’m told.
When I finish, he sets the cup down and stays right there.
