Silas looks at me and his green eyes are serious under his blond brows. “I have a dad, you know. He’s an accountant in Maryland. He’s boring as fuck—spends all his free time going on bird-watching trips—but he’s a nice guy. Never spanked me when I was growing up, didn’t make me feel bad about myself when I screwed up. He doesn’t really get me, you know? He doesn’t understand why I want to live in New York City, much less wait tables and write weird plays that may never get produced, when I could do something practical like accounting or whatever.”
He blinks and smiles a little. “But he loves me, you know? And I love him. Like a real dad, okay? I don’t want to fuck him.” He shudders and makes a grimace that conveys his disgust at the idea. “So I don’t have ‘daddy issues,’ all right? I just like calling you Daddy. It’s hot and I know it’s kind of dirty and wrong because you were almost kind of my father-in-law, but it’s the good kind of dirty and wrong.”
He slips off his stool and I swivel sideways on mine so he can slide in between my legs. He slides his hands up my thighs toward my groin and we both watch my cock slowly tent the fly of my slacks.
“Isn’t it?” He looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Yeah, baby,” I say. “It is.”
Silas sighs and his eyes dip closed. “I like that, too. When you call me ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ or…”
“My boy?” I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs and he nods, his head heavy in my hands.
“Yeah, that.” His eyes are still closed and a faint pink blush stains his cheeks. “It makes me feel safe. And taken care of. And…” He squirms a little and shuffles closer to me.
“Hot because it’s the good kind of dirty and wrong?” I supply.
He opens his eyes and looks up at me again. “Yeah.”
Nine
Logan
“We should talk about rules and limits, then,” I say.
Silas makes a face. “Won’t that just take all the fun out of it?”
“Consent is critical, Silas. And in order to consent to something, you have to know what you’re consenting to. So far, you’ve agreed to stay the weekend and we’ve already talked about how you like it when you call me Daddy and I call you my boy.”
“Don’t you like it, too?” He takes a sip of his coffee and peers at me over the rim of his mug.
“I do, baby. Very much.” More than I’m ready to tell him yet. “But my question is—do you want that only in relation to sex? Or do you want that outside of the bedroom as well?”
“So far, we’ve had more sex outside your bedroom than in it,” Silas points out.
I shake my head with a smile. “Fair point. But my question stands.”
I gather our breakfast dishes up and take them to the sink to give him a minute to think about it. I’m trying not to think too much about what I want. Because I could be happy with it just as a bedroom dynamic, but what I really want is Silas as my boy all the time.
Either way, I don’t know how I’ll be able to give him up after the weekend ends.
When I turn back to the island, Silas is dragging his coffee mug in a figure eight pattern on the marble countertop. “I dunno. I think…maybe…more than just during sex?”
It’s more of a question than an answer, like he’s afraid I’ll think less of him if he confesses to what he really wants.
“Good,” I say and Silas’s face lights up like a beacon. “That’s what I want, too. But there’s still a lot we need to talk about, in terms of how that will work.”
Silas makes another face, but I ignore it this time. I can’t tell if he wants to be a brat sometimes, or if he’s just doing it because he thinks I expect it. I’m going to let that unfold naturally, though, rather than force him to classify himself like that now.
“What’s your exposure to the Daddy/boy lifestyle?” I ask him. “Have you had a Daddy before?”
A sudden, deeply disturbing thought occurs to me. Could he have done this with Lance? Called Lance Daddy? Or the reverse?
I glance up from washing the skillet and Silas’s cheeks are a little pink. Definitely not the reverse. Silas is a boy through and through, not a Daddy. And not because of how he looks. I’ve seen twinks more feminine than him with serious Daddy energy.
But there’s something about Silas’s demeanor that begs someone to take care of him. If Silas asked Lance to take care of him like that…well, that’s a thought I’m not interested in following to its logical conclusion.
Silas is playing with his coffee mug again. “I’ve never had a Daddy before, no.”
