It’s mine.
And I want it.
The car drive home is a little subdued. The spell has been broken and we seem unsure how to deal with the fall-out. Neither of us speaks very much. Elliot opens his window for Sadie every time I stop at a red light, and her buoyant yapping is the soundtrack for most of the trip. I glance over at Elliot every chance I get. He looks different. Serious, almost somber. By the time we pull up the drive, there’s tension around his lips that isn’t usually there. That mood continues and worsens once we’re inside. He stands in the middle of the living room, looking around aimlessly. He looks lost. His face changes from somber to sad.
Oh no.
What have I done?
It’s my job to take care of this boy. Not mess with him. What the hell was I thinking kissing him like that. The neat lines around our arrangement have been blurred completely, and I have only myself to blame. I need to make this right. I won’t be able to live with myself if I’ve done something to hurt him.
“Are you okay, Elliot?”
“No, Daddy. I’m sad.”
My gut clenches. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
He cuts me off with his eyes, tilting his jaw up at me, giving me a heady cocktail of innocence laced with simmering boldness. “I want to be a good boy, Daddy.”
My heart lurches. “Youarea good boy. You’re a wonderful boy, you’ve been perf—”
“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “I’m not.”
“How can you say that?”
Innocence evaporates, replaced with open flames. “‘Cause everyone knows that good boys suck their Daddy’s cock. Everyone knows that. All good boys do it.”
His eyes are so shiny they almost look tearful. I stand frozen as he sinks to his knees before me. He looks up at me, blinking big brown puppy-dog eyes. My chest tightens and my breathing grows erratic.
Shit. I have a serious weakness for this kind of thing.
To drive his point home, he clutches his hands together at his sternum as he whispers, “Please, Daddy.”
The words roll off his tongue sweetly, bouncing around at the back of his throat before he releases them in my direction. They travel through the space between us and twist themselves around my dick and balls.
My hands fall to my belt. The second I touch leather and metal, my brain clicks from Daddy to Dom. When I speak, my voice is little more than a growl. “Open your mouth, boy.”
He does.
He keeps his eyes on me and drops his jaw, forming a perfectOof lips, teeth, and tongue. His chest heaves unsteadily, but the rest of him doesn’t move, not even to blink.
17
Elliot
Nohumanalivehasever watched a man unbuckling his belt with more focus than I’m watching Stuart right now. Big, steady hands tug at thick leather. A prog comes undone. Then a button. Then a zipper. His boxers are…Well, I think formerly white is the best way to describe them. They strain to contain the heft they conceal. He pushes them down, and a terrible, scratchy wheeze escapes me. His dick is beautiful. Rugged and hard, nestled in a thick mat of dark-blond hair. He strokes it absently as he takes the two steps needed to get to me. He places one hand on the back of my head, holding me securely, steadying me as he studies my face. I know he can see hunger, longing, and desperation written all over my features. I’m ashamed of how badly I want him, and I’m ashamed of the fact I can’t hide it. I don’t move though. I don’t try to hide because it’s him. I keep my eyes and mouth open.
He reaches out with his free hand and traces his fingertips gently across my bottom lip, inflaming sensitive skin. Then he dips his fingers into my open mouth, pressing my tongue down, stroking it lightly before tracing my lips again, wetting them this time. My knees ache and my core trembles, but I don’t move except to moan and breathe. At last, he takes the base of his cock in his hand and tilts it down to my mouth. I lean forward and swallow it gratefully, taking only what he gives me, shuddering when the salty burst of him hits my tastebuds.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, dipping himself a few inches in and then back out again, filling my mouth completely with the silky thickness of him each time.
My insides smolder, and I feel the familiar, intoxicating reaction to his praise. My balance falters, and everything that isn’t Stuart’s dick goes hazy. The hand on the back of my head curls into a fist, pulling my hair until my scalp stings. He holds firmly enough that I don’t even think about bobbing without his guidance. Maybe I’d fight it. God knows I want to. I want to so much that it feels scary. Maybe I’d lean forward, or suck harder, or faster, but I don’t because he issues instructions the whole time, and I want to please him more than I want for me.
“That’s right, baby, just a taste.” “That’s good, do that with your tongue again.” “Open wider. I’m going to give you some more.”
I groan at the sound of his voice, reaching down and pressing the heel of my hand against my painful erection, seeking the relief I need badly.
“Uh-uh.” He pulls all the way out. I whine and almost topple over from the loss of him. “Shirt off,” he barks. “Pants down.” I do as he says with hands that shake violently. I don’t need to look down to know what my dick looks like. Angry. Red. Shining at the tip, drenched in slippery streams of precum. “Hands on your knees.”
