Of course I know. I’ve watched my fair share of porn—more than, probably. I’ve tagged along with Chloe to the kink club she frequents for newbie night and I’ve done a lot of research into the Daddy/boy lifestyle. It’s something I’ve thought about exploring.
Not with Lance, though. Not even once. Which probably says almost as much about why our relationship failed as him cheating on me.
Because it’s something that I’ve been thinking about more and more lately. Having a Daddy. Being a boy to a strong, firm Daddy who will take care of me the way no one ever has. I don’t know for sure whether Logan’s into the scene, but a few things Lance has said about his dad makes me think it’s a possibility.
More than a possibility, if Logan’s hand around my throat is any indication. He tightens his fingers just a little more, but not so much that I can’t take in enough breath to say, “I want you to fuck me. Daddy.”
Two
Logan
Jesus fucking Christ. This boy in front of me. Writhing under my hands, staring up at me with those indecently long lashes, those come hither eyes, and that fuckable mouth.
My son’s boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend, a part of me helpfully reminds me. The part of me that wants to push him to his knees and feed him my cock. The cock that’s hard enough to pound nails and is begging for something firmer than the soft, glancing touches the back of his hand had given it moments ago.
I can’t believe Lance cheated on him. I mean, I can believe it. He’s my kid, but he can be a selfish, inconsiderate bastard sometimes. He’s a lot like his mother, who I accidentally knocked up in a drunken, last-ditch experiment with heterosexuality during my senior year of college. She refused to consider an abortion, but then dropped Lance on my doorstep when he was six months old and took off for the backpacking trip around Europe that the pregnancy had delayed. She lives in Paris, works as one of the lead designers in the fashion house she’d briefly modeled for.
Lance thinks I didn’t know about the ever-changing parade of boys he fooled around with in high school while “studying” or “watching movies” or “playing video games.” Playing with as many joysticks as he could get his hands on, more like. Also a lot like his mother.
Silas was the first guy Lance brought home as his boyfriend, and I admit that I found Silas attractive from the moment he walked into my house. He’s exactly the type I go for in my hookups. But they seemed to really like each other and I’d hoped that Lance was finally settling down.
So, I ignored my inappropriate attraction to my son’s boyfriend and made him feel welcome in as fatherly a way as I could muster. They’ve been dating for a couple of years and moved in together when they graduated from college. Shit, it’s Lance’s trust fund that bought the apartment they live in. Obviously, it’s Silas who will have to move out now.
But that’s a problem for later. Right now, Silas is here, in my house, with my hand around his throat and my fingers plucking at his nipple ring. He gives a low moan when I tug gently on the bead threaded through the ring. The contrast between the cool metal of the hoop and the heat of his skin pushes all thoughts of Silas’s living situation out of my head.
Lance is a damned fool to let this boy go.
But if he really has let Silas go…
“Are you sure?” I let go of him too, at least to give him a chance to rethink this. “You don’t have to do this just to get back at Lance. In fact…” I take a small step back, to give him some space, but I can’t resist running my fingers through his hair. I brush the blond strands back from his forehead and tuck them behind his ear. “You shouldn’t do this just to get back at him.”
“It’s not only that,” Silas says. He ducks his head and glances up at me under the fall of his hair, which has drifted down over his face. Again. “I mean, yeah, I want to get back at him. But I’ve wanted you for ages.” He takes a deep breath. “Even when I was with him. You want me too, don’t you?”
He blinks those sinfully long lashes at me, and for Christ’s sake, this is deeply fucked up. What the hell was he doing with Lance if all along he wanted me? I feel a twinge of guilt at the idea of my son’s boyfriend fantasizing about me when he was supposed to be in love with Lance.
But no more than a twinge. Fuck it. Lance had his chance with Silas and he fucked it up. Now I get my turn.
And I will not fuck it up.
One more thing, though. “You don’t have to call me Daddy.” I can’t deny how much I want him to, but he doesn’t need to know that. It’s fucked up enough that he wants to take revenge against Lance like this, and even more fucked up that I’m letting him. Because I’m not sure I can take it if he only does it for revenge and not for real.
Silas looks uncertain for the first time since he arrived. He bites his lower lip and Jesus fuck, I want to be the one who bites it. But I hold back and wait for him to decide whether we’re really doing this.
“Okay,” he says. “Now will you fuck me?”
I lunge for him. I wrap one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders. He lets out a little squeal when I pull him flush against my body and our erections rub against each other. “Not so fast, b…” I clamp my lips shut.
Christ, not ten seconds after telling him he doesn’t have to call me Daddy, I almost call him boy. This is going to be harder than I thought.
His lips curve up but before he says anything, I dip my head and kiss him. I’d planned to start slow and gentle, but Silas doesn’t seem to want slow and gentle. His mouth opens immediately and his tongue is tangling with mine and it’s all wet, hot, gasping lips and tongues and breath. He’s got a tongue ring, and oh fuck, I wonder how many other piercings he has. I revel in his sheer enthusiasm and bend him backward, pressing my hips against his and plundering his mouth.
I pull back after a few minutes of scorching kisses and try to calm myself. Because if we’re really going to do this, it won’t be a quick hand job standing up in the foyer. Silas sways toward me, his lips still parted, and I put one hand on the middle of his chest to keep him from reaching for me. The mesh of his shirt is cool and silky under my palm, but his skin is hot underneath.
“That’s enough for now,” I tell him. He nods and his throat works as he swallows. The rush of him listening to me—obeying me—even in this tiny instance makes my head light.
I move into the open living room space, close the lid on my laptop and move it from the coffee table to the kitchen island, along with the draft contract I was reviewing before Silas knocked on my door. I fold my reading glasses and set them on my laptop and Silas makes a small noise, still standing in the foyer, waiting for my instructions.
