Henny
When he didn’t makea move, I knew I had his full attention. My boy wouldn’t do anything without my instruction.
"I want you clean before I put my mouth on you." I turned him toward the bathroom with a hand at the small of his back. "Unless that's something you'd like to give up."
He went, but he made sure I knew he wasn't happy about having to wait. Little sounds of protest, a dramatic slump of his shoulders. I watched him strip without helping, because I knew that was what he wanted—my eyes on him, my attention undivided—and I gave him that.
The shower was warm, loosening my muscles as I stepped in first. Pip made it approximately thirty seconds before he was pressed against my back, arms around my waist, chin hooked over my shoulder.
"You're supposed to be waiting your turn," I said.
"I am. But it’s cold back there. I'm letting the water hit me."
"I don’t think you understand what waiting means."
He pressed his mouth to the side of my neck."Daddy."
The word landed low in my gut, heat spreading outward. We'd been circling it for too long. Dropping it in moments that faded before we could hold onto them.
I'd been patient.
I had to be with all the other shit we had going on.
But standing here with Pip's mouth on my skin and his body warm and insistent against mine, patience felt like a choice I was actively making rather than something that came naturally.
I turned around.
He looked at me with that expression he wore when he was being deliberately provocative. Chin slightly tilted, eyes lit with challenge, mouth soft.
"Say it again," I said.
The teasing expression didn't leave, but it layered over a more genuine look. "Daddy."
I cupped his jaw in one hand, tilting his face up further. Water ran over both of us. "You've been using that word a lot lately. Do you think it’s a joke?"
"It's not a joke."
"No," I agreed. "It's not. I want to know what it means when you say it. What you're actually asking for."
Pip's throat worked. The brat in him wanted to deflect. I could see it, the flicker of a smirk starting to form. I ran my thumb along his jaw and the look faltered.
"I don't know how to explain it. When I say it and you respond with that growly tone. I like knowing you want to control me. To take over.” He stopped. Started again. "It feels like something slots into place. I don’t have to keep my guard up."
"And the word itself?"
His cheeks were flushed, and it wasn't from the steam. "It’s who you are to me. Like it's not just something that happens.It's something we are. You’re my Daddy. I’m your boy. Your delectable terror of a boyfriend."
I studied him for a long moment. He held my gaze, which took more courage than he probably had after such heavy conversation.
"Then that's what we are. But it comes with expectations. When I give you a direction, you follow it. When I tell you something, you trust it. And when you're testing me—which I know you will be, because that's who you are—there are consequences."
His breath caught. "What kind of consequences?"
"Ones you won't enjoy nearly as much as you think you will."
He swallowed. "And if I like them?"
"Then I'll find ones you don’t." I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now we need to get clean. Then we'll discuss the rest."
