“Good. Take me to bed, Daddy, or lose me forever,” he says as he places sucking kisses on my neck.
I laugh. “Top Gun? Really? How the fuck do ye come up with this shit, boy? That’s at least twenty years before yer time.”
“Tom Cruise was hot back in the day, Daddy.”
I drop him on the bed. “That he was. Ye ken who’s hot now?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Oh, yeah. Who?”
“You. My daddy is the hottest daddy of all the daddies.”
The little rears his head and I have to keep from melting at the schmoopy goodness his antics trigger in me. I shove down my pants and crawl between his thighs. My shoulders force them open to make room for me between them.
I pause, waiting until he’s looking at me before asking, “Ye remember yer safe words?”
He nods, and I arch a brow at him. He kens the rules.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy, lilla du.”
His pretty cock bounces and drips before my gaze. I swallow it without warning, burying my nose in the patch o’ hair at the base. His back arches off the bed, forcing his dick into my throat. The taste o' him, salty and sweet all at once, bursts across my tongue. Hollowing my cheeks out, I suck and slurp at him until he’s screaming for release. True to my word, everytime he gets close, I stop or slow down until his orgasm backs off, leaving him a needy, wanty, begging mess.
“Please! Daddy, please,” he begs.
His flushed face was so pretty and innocent. He’s the perfect conundrum. Sweet and innocent in how he looks, yet debauched and slutty in the demands that pass through his plump lips.
I slide a finger into my mouth beside his cock, tickling the underside o' his dick as I wet the digit good. Pulling away again just before he blows, I rub my finger over his taint. Close, but nae close enough. He’s twisting and writhing on the bed under me, unable to keep himself still.
His litany o' pleas is music to my ears, and I thank God I started carrying packets o' lube in my wallet after the first time he kissed me. Even though I didn’t fuck him that night; even though I denied the things he made me feel, my subconscious kenned I was a goner for the boy. I’d nae carried condoms or lube on me since before Simon died, but as I ran from him and the thing he made me feel, I stopped at a petrol station to buy supplies while telling myself I dinnae need them.
Aye, I was an eejit.
I blame the boy.
He’s the cause o’ all my stupidity lately.
At least since I stumbled across him.
That last thought has the ring o' Simon’s voice in my head. I’d love if it were him but, I ken it cannae be. Just my subconscious playing with me. Simon was always my voice o’ reason and iffn he’s going to continue that role subconsciously, I’m good with that. I’ll keep him alive however I can.
I snatch a packet o' lube out o' the wallet laying amid my discarded pants and coat my fingers. Sliding them between those luscious ass cheeks, I play with his hole, tapping and pressing and circling until tears gather in his eyes. I ken I’m pressing my luck, but I want him a fucking mess. I want his facered and splotchy and covered in tears as he begs and sobs for release.
The next time I circle his rim, I press inside but instead o’ stopping to stretch his hole the way I have been; I bury my fingers in his arse, hitting that bundle o’ nerves dead on.
His body bows until he’s resting on the back o’ his neck. As I strum my fingers over that spot, his eyes squeeze shut, and his mouth falls open in a silent scream. My eyes bounce from his face to his cock, watching for the moment…
There it is.
Precum pours from his tip, and I pull my fingers out o’ his hole.
“No! Please, daddy! Please, please, please, please…”
What starts as a scream ends in soft sobs and the tears I’ve been waiting for.
“Look how pretty ye cry and beg for me, pojke.”
