“—because we’re both agreed, you’re my boy now.Mine. And Iamyour Daddy.”
Rene sucked in a sharp breath, his pupils expanding until they almost obliterated the blue, and gave me one last short, jerky nod. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.Please, Daddy. Do all of that please.”
“Anything, baby,” I promised, even though I really meant “everything.” I slid my hand around to the back of his neck, using the grip to tilt his head back while I traced his lips with my finger. “And you’re going to let Daddy taste these tonight, too, isn’t that right, beautiful boy? And then, after you go clean up in the shower, you’re going to trust me with the rest of you? Help me learn all the ways I can make you feel good?”
Because there was nothing,nothingI wanted more than that. To take care of him in the most intimate of ways. To be done with all the talking and start communicating on a primal, physical level that would leave no doubt about my intentions, my control, my priorities.
I wanted to make my boy fall apart for me, then be the one he trusted to put all the pieces back together again, and I wanted to do it over, and over, and fuckingover, all night long.
No, if I had my way, I wanted to do italways.
“Rene?” I prompted, my lips a hairsbreadth from his, but wanting to hear it again before I took my taste. To have him say yes. To get the green light one last time, even though he’d already begged me to take the reins, just so I could affirm once and for all that my instincts were correct.
Rene made the most beautiful, needy little sound, pliant in my arms with his pupils blown wide and his chest heaving with every breath. He was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
I still needed to hear him say it, though.
“Rene?” I prompted again. “Sweetheart?”
He licked his lips, his tongue tracing the path my finger had taken a moment before, and those sweet, panting breaths of his became my air, shuddering out from between the lips I was dying to finally taste.
And then he swallowed, his eyes dropping to the floor, and with the tiniest shake of his head, whispered—
“Yellow.”
14
Rene
Oh Godoh God oh God, I’d messed up. But Edward—Edward, who’d let me call himDaddyand had already acted like a better one, right from the beginning, than anything I’d ever hoped for—had said I had to use the stoplight colors if I needed to, that Ihadto, and I needed…
Well, I neededhim.
So, so badly.
I wanted every single thing he’d just promised me, with a desperation that made me feel selfish and greedy and almost scared to believe. Because if somethingseemedtoo good to be true, it usually was.
But that didn’t apply to Edward.
Iknewit didn’t.
He was true, and good, and kind, and real… and for some reason, he wantedme. He’d come for me when I needed him today, even though I’d never in a million years expected him to, and he’d been there for meeverytime I’d needed him, right from the moment we’d first met.
He’d never once let me down, and now… now, I couldn’t lethimdown.
Which I would have, if I hadn’t used the stoplight colors like he’d told me to, even though it would have been so, so much easier to just let him keep going. And then—
Well, and then I would have disappointed him, if I hadn’t spoken up. And what I needed even more than I needed him, was not to disappoint him. I couldn’t bear it. Because he’d been talking about sex, hadn’t he? That was what he meant about making me feel good. And if I didn’t… if I didn’t tell him that it didn’t always work that great for me before we started, then hewouldbe disappointed.
Or, worse, he’d think it was about him, when it was all—always—my fault that I couldn’t do sex right.
“Sweetheart?” he asked carefully, not touching me at all anymore, even though I wanted him to so desperately. “Yellow means you need to slow down. Thank you for telling me.”
I ducked my head, blinking fast when my eyes started stinging. He was too nice to me, and the thought of him deciding he didn’t want me anymore, or that I was too much work, or that it would just be a disappointing experience altogether and so he shouldn’t even bother—
Well, any or all of those would be horrible, so maybe I could just tell him not to worry about the part where he tried to make me feel good, too. And then, if I didn’t have to worry about disappointing him that way, I could just go back to the lovely, easy, floaty feeling I’d only ever felt when he took charge of things. He did it so perfectly and completely and totally that I knew for sure I could leave everything to him, and I wanted to rewind and not say what I’d said and go back to that, but I couldn’t.
Could I?
