“Yes, what?” I licked his skin. Chemical tasting. “You’ll need to take a shower.”
“Okay, Daddy,” he said, turning his head, our lips almost meeting. “I do think you’re attractive, and I—I—I do want to have sex with you.”
I leaned back to give our faces some space and to not breathe all my scotch breath on him. “This doesn’t have to be immediately intimate, it’s why I’ve given you a room here. A room you can stay in for as long as you want. Again, you can so no, and you can leave.”
Looking around, I knew this was better than that apartment building he was living in, mostly because that one wasn’t within my territory. The business was into protection too, and other businesses paid for Bianchi protection. We kept our side of the city clean. I didn’t allow drugs to be sold in my area, and I’d never touched the stuff either. I wanted him here for his protection too, because good assistants were hard to find, and good littles seemed an even rarer gem to come across.
“I like the view you’ve got over the park,” he said. “I don’t think I packed enough to move in, though.” He smiled at me, and it was so big and wholesome, I couldn’t believe he’d just told me he wanted to have sex with me.
We sat at the tea party setting, and he brought out his small panda plush, Pud, as I informed him nobody came in here, so we could play however he wanted. He was curious, quizzing me on my knowledge of Daddies and little space. I told him I’d get him whatever he wanted, all he had to do was ask. Applejuice—already in his cup. Shaped nuggets—they were in the freezer. And then he stopped me in my tracks.
“This is what I do for fun, but what do you do for fun?” he asked.
I’d never been the violent brother, I’d never been the loud one. I was the quiet one, the calculating one, the eldest. I always knew my role was to take over, and I couldn’t do that if I was painting a target on myself like my brothers did. “I—” Fuck. My throat clenched hard. “Drink,” I said, glancing across the wide open-plan lounge to my scotch glass on the coffee table. “And provide—the—”
Isaiah leaned over the teacup spread, not knocking any of them over, and reached for my face. With his sleeve pulled over the knuckle of his thumb, he wiped my cheek of the tear I hadn’t felt fall. “I think we’ve all got dad issues.”
“Yours didn’t threaten your life,” I whispered. “But I can imagine growing up without him or any father was tough.” His sleeve rolled back until he his hand was softly stroking the scruff on my cheek.
“One of the reasons I like to regress and play is because I don’t think I ever got a childhood,” he said, deflating almost, and as he tried to remove his hand from my cheek, I tugged it tight to my face.
“Guess that’s why I like to play Dominant, to play Daddy,” I said, keeping my grip on his wrist. Pulling his palm to my mouth, I kissed it. “I knew you wouldn’t say no to this. I’m giving you everything you want, right?”
He nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good, because you’ve earned your first star.”
Isaiah’s face turned red. “Star.” His hand recoiled back into his lap, sitting on the back of his heels now.
“Mhm. I saw the chart you had at home. Brushing teeth. Showering. Fresh underwear. Waking before seven—or was itsix?” I tried recalling from a photo of his apartment. “Anyway, I have a chart for you. I’m surprised you didn’t see it. It’s on the back of your bedroom door.”
“So, the guy... you—angry, stressing, demanding—that I’ve seen at work for the last week, who was that?”
“Stress testing,” I said. “I thought I already said that. Publicly, I’m decisive, hard, and—” Now I leaned in close to him. “I always get what I want.”
He nodded ever so slightly. “Okay. And you want me?”
His need for reassurance was adorable. “I want you, and I need you to stay. Plaything and employee. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy. Now, have you eaten?”
5. ISAIAH
We were playing by the traffic light system. Red was code for stop, getting out, and green was good—more, in fact. It was after he’d plated me a choice of fast food as a reward for agreeing to play with him, that we sat at the dining table in his grand penthouse apartment and he told me sincerely that he wanted me to have fun, as much as he was having fun.
Part of me didn’t think any of it could be real, not a single bit of it. I soaked in the views, and the teddies, which he’d asked me if they were soft enough every time I gave one a squeeze. He was attentive, different from the man I’d met that first day, the man who’d commanded me to get him his coffee and snapped his fingers.
After dinner, I took a shower under Daddy’s orders, and when I came out there was a new onesie on the bed. I put it on, and there was fur coating the insides of it, sticky but soft on my damp skin. The other one was in a hamper, alongside all the clothes I’d arrived in.
A knock came at the bedroom door. I fully saw the sticker chart. It was a dry eraser one with columns we hadn’t decided on, and hooked to a pin, a chiffon baggy filled with sticker sheets. “C-c-come in,” I said, rushing to sit on the end of the bed andact normal.
In a muscle tee and a pair of gray sweats, Santo stood in front of me. He held out a small navy-blue velvet box. “While you’re here, andmine, I need you to wear this,” he said.
“Yours,” I giggled.
His stern face told me he was being serious. “I’m your Daddy, sweet boy, of course you’re mine.” He got down on one knee and my stomach plunged. “Don’t worry,” he said with asmirk. He opened the box to reveal a gold bracelet. “My name is inscribed on the inside.”
