He sat up just enough to press himself against me and the couch so his head was resting on my stomach…low on my stomach. “A better Daddy does bubble bathtime and puts on his boy’s jammies.”
Chipmunk clearly needed some hands-on time with Daddy to feel important.
Pushing back questions about how much he’d dated lately, I nodded. “Yes, if that’s what the boy likes, that’s what the Daddy would do.”
Hearing my agreement laid out clearly seemed to let his brain shift gears again. “What else does a good Daddy do? What does a good boy do?”
Was he asking what was important to me?
“A good boy asks for what he wants because his Daddy can’t read minds.” Even if we weren’t strangers to each other. “He also…gives kisses and hugs?”
That got a giggle out of him as he got permission to wiggle closer. I got a smacky kiss on the cheek and somehow his hands ended up resting high enough on my thighs that his fingers were on my dick.
Good fucking god.
How was I supposed to be a good Daddy with temptation literally on my lap?
“Does a good Daddy help get toys out and have playtime?” His eager nod made me chuckle, but he wasn’t ready to move yet.
“Good Daddies give cuddles and hugs and kisses and pats.” His giggle said he thought he was being devious.
The only choice was to play along so I cocked my head. “Where does he pat?”
Yep.
His wicked grin was accompanied by an adorably naughty giggle. “Daddies give head pats and butt pats and back pats. They just pat.”
Butt pats, huh?
Taking the not-so-subtle clue, I frowned again and patted randomly over him, starting with his head and eventually giving his bottom a pat before working my way up again. “Like that?”
Playing dumb had more giggles spilling out of him but he nodded. “Yes, pats.”
Cuddles seemed necessary too, so with his current headspace, I opened my arms. “Come here. Sit with me.”
“Yay.” He scrambled up, planting his upper body on my lap and curling his lower body around me as much as he could. “That’s better. Good boy, Daddy.”
My scoff and glare got another round of giggles out of him. “Good Daddy.”
He thought that was hilarious, but his wiggles resumed my torture, just in a fun new way. “Good Daddy.”
Repeating it between rounds of laughter, he got it out a few more times before he settled back on my lap. He looked content and much more relaxed as he reached up and started petting my chest, still in his little headspace. “Do good Daddies give lots of Daddy time or tiny Daddy time?”
What exactly was he asking?
Slightly frustrated I hadn’t just chased the waiter off so we could’ve had our conversation when he was big, I shrugged. “I like lots of Daddy time, but you get a say too. I’ll remember that most of the time.”
His snicker had me rolling my eyes. “Lots of Daddy time, lots of control time.”
And?
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” I shrugged again, not worried about it given how funny he thought it was. “If I want to see my boy every day, that’s fine. If I want to give him a bath every night, that’s fine. If I want to tuck him into bed every night, that’s fine.”
“That’s fine.” Bobbing his head from side to side, he pretended to be me. “If I want to kiss my boy every day, that’s fine.”
“Yep.” And since he gave me a good opening, I went back to our previous topic. “Which is why I need my boy’s limits. So I know how much kisses he wants every day and if he wants spankings or bottles or naughty bubble time.”
Was there a polite way to ask about orgasms?
