“Some people like verbal humiliation and some people don’t, Silas. It’s not my preference, either, though if you really wanted it, I could probably find something that would work for both of us. But I much prefer treating you like the precious boy you are and not like a hole to use.”
“But you will fuck my hole, won’t you, Daddy? I mean, I want you to do that, I just don’t want you to call me a dirty whore or whatever.”
“Trust me, baby. I’ll fuck your hole and call you my sweet boy the whole time.”
He keeps saying that. Trust me.
I know I can. Trust him, I mean. I’ve known him for two years. Okay, so mostly as Lance’s dad and not in the ways that we’re getting to know each other this weekend. For instance, I didn’t know he was a Daddy before this weekend. Or that he likes a boy to take care of.
Except… Didn’t I?
There’s a reason I picked Logan as my rebound fuck. I mean, other than as revenge because he’s Lance’s dad and because I’ve been attracted to him almost as long as I’ve known him.
He makes me feel safe. Safer than a random dude from a club, for sure, but also safe, like, I don’t know, emotionally or whatever. Like I could tell him anything, including the freaky shit I think I might want in bed, and he wouldn’t judge me.
Even more, he’d do his best to give it to me. I think I knew this even before I risked showing up on his doorstep.
Logan’s always taken care of things. He’s not controlling or anything, but when I’ve been here with Lance, Logan always makes sure that we eat healthy meals and drink enough water and put sunscreen on if we’re going to spend the day hanging out by the pool.
He set up Lance’s trust fund so that it paid for college and bought his apartment and all the bills are paid through it. I offered to pay rent when Lance asked me to move in with him, but Logan swooped in when he overheard that and insisted that I save my money. I don’t even pay for my own cell phone plan anymore—Logan put me on his family data plan when Lance and I moved in together.
I suppose it’s a good thing now that I did as he insisted, because I’m going to need that money to get my own place. At least I’ve got a little bit of a safety net. Not enough to get a place anywhere near as nice as Lance’s condo, but probably enough for first and last month’s rent and a security deposit on something that’s smaller and in a cheaper neighborhood.
Logan comes up behind me and puts a hand on my back. “Where did you go, baby?”
I realize that I’m still standing in front of the dish rack, a damp dish towel in my hand, and I shake thoughts about what I’m going to do after this weekend away.
“Just thinking of you fucking my hole, Daddy.” I drape the towel over the oven door handle. Then I back up and shimmy my ass against his groin. “Today, I hope.”
“We’ll see,” Logan says, infuriatingly noncommittal.
The doorbell rings and I honest to god jump at the sound. Oh, shit. Is it one of Logan’s neighbors? Or Lance? There’s no reason for him to be here, except that this is his dad’s house and his childhood home and it’s nearly Christmas and why shouldn’t he come see his dad?
He has more right to be here than I do.
My heart starts to pound and I realize I’m gripping the oven door handle like I’m going to tear it off. I’m standing in his dad’s kitchen on a Saturday morning, barefoot, and with the last vestiges of our breakfast in the sink.
I’m dressed, at least, and I’m wearing my own jeans, but also a shirt that belongs to his dad. And while Logan’s fully dressed, too, and doesn’t look like he spent last night getting me off half a dozen ways, we both know what we did.
I cast a panicked look around the kitchen. I could turn the corner and go down the hall, but that leads to Lance’s bedroom. There’s a guest room next to his—I could hide there, I suppose? Or maybe I should go downstairs? But that’s another open space with a huge flat-screen TV bolted to the wall, a big comfy sectional, a piano that I’ve never heard either Lance or Logan play, and some gym equipment.
Hiding upstairs in Logan’s bedroom is probably the safest bet, but oh my god, how fucked up is that?
Logan puts a hand on my back. “Silas. It’s a delivery. Relax.”
He kisses the side of my head like no big deal and crosses to answer the door. I can’t see who it is from where I’m standing when he swings the door open, but I hear a murmured “thanks” from Logan and the rustle of a paper bag changing hands.
Logan closes the door and turns around. He crosses the living room and sets the paper bag on the coffee table, then looks toward where I’m still standing frozen in the kitchen. “Silas, come here.”
Holy shit, how have I never noticed how many windows Logan’s house has? The back wall of the living room is basically entirely windows with a sliding glass door that leads out to the back deck. The opposite wall is windowed, too, and the front door also has a big window in the middle of it. The dining room on the other side of the fireplace divider is freaking three walls of floor to ceiling transparent glass.
Anyone could have looked in and seen what we were doing last night. I was sprawled out naked on the couch. Logan fucked my face and I sucked him off. And his neighbors could have seen everything. That delivery person could have seen us, too, if they’d arrived while Logan was fucking me. Which I’d just asked him to do.
“Silas,” Logan says again. “Don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”
I force my leaden legs to leave the relative safety of the kitchen and join him in the living room. He reaches out a long arm and draws me to him. “What’s the matter, baby?”
I tuck my burning face into his chest and let him put his arms around me. “I just…what if your neighbors see us this weekend?” I’ve met some of Logan’s neighbors. Mrs. White lives next door. She’s in her seventies, at least, and Logan shovels snow from her driveway and does other odd jobs for her when her grown children aren’t available. She and I talk about the arts a lot—she was a dancer when she was young and I majored in theater at NYU. She knows I’m Lance’s boyfriend.
