Those bright blue eyes of his roll again, before another smile curves his lips. This one almost mocking before his entire countenance seems to change and he bats his lashes at me. “You want me to be a good boy,Daddy?”
I’m momentarily struck speechless by how sweet he looks and sounds, by how much I like the epithet on his lips.
Then he laughs and steps into my space completely, closing off the gap that had separated our bodies. I can feel the damp of his pants soaking into my own, can feel his cock twitching where it lines up against mine, and my breath catches as he nuzzles my stubbled jaw and whispers into my ear, “I don’t think you do. I think you like naughty boys.”
There’s no way to disguise how much I like that. My cock twitches, even as I fight off the shiver of arousal.
Benji laughs, his breath warm against my cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
I want to give in to temptation. I want to give in so badly that I ache and my body trembles. But I know better. I can’t give in when he’s bratting. I can’t reward this behavior.
Wasn’t it just yesterday when I said I’m not looking to hook up? It feels like forever ago. And that version of me? Yeah, he was an idiot. Because Idowant to hook up. I want to hook up badly. Right now.
He steps back again, just far enough so I can watch him cock his head and smirk expectantly. “You gonna come…” he pauses, hanging on the word ‘come’ just a touch too long, “wash me? Get me all cleaned up? Or dirtier first, andthencleaned up?”
The space between us is enough to get myself back under control. I don’t care if he’s discovered my weaknesses so quickly and easily: I will not be giving in to them. Or to him.
“You’re going to wash, yes. But I told you; only good boys get to come.”
There’s a flash of surprise across his features, as though he truly did expect me to break, before delight and a hint of respect seem to come chasing on the heels of his shock. He takes a shaky breath, then nods. “Then I guess I need to be a good boy so we’re allowed to come.”
“That will be a start, Benji,” I agree, before it’s suddenly my turn to step into his personal space, reclaiming authority (even if we both know he’s got all the power here). I look him up and down, my gaze lingering on the dark, wet patch over his crotch and down the inside of his thighs. “But I didn’t sayIwasn’t going to come even if you’re not allowed.”
His jaw drops and his blue eyes widen almost comically. I can see him battling with his instinct to push my limits again; to whine or complain about me being unfair. But he wrestles the words back and stays silent, biting his lip while his cheeks go pink again.
He’s so damn pretty.
His Adam’s apple bobs and he nods jerkily. “Okay,” he eventually responds in a tone that tells me he’s not used to bending so quickly. It’s vulnerable and a bit soft. Uncertain, even. Then he licks his lips and asks, “Can you still clean me up?”
“Of course, honey.” The pet-name isn’t a tease this time as it rolls off my tongue, and his blush seems to get darker. I wonder about this reaction, whether he’s not used to sweet nicknames, or just genuine affection at all, and either way I feel a bit sad for him. But, instead of acknowledging any of that, I keep going, hoping that maybe being gentle with him might make it easier for him to come down from his bratty spiral. “Have you unpacked, or are all your clean clothes still in your suitcase?”
“In my suitcase,” he gestures to the purple hardshell case lying on its side at the foot of the bed. Inside, I find a mess of clothes, all hastily jumbled together. Picking through them, I grab clean cargo shorts, underwear, and a t-shirt. I also grab the toiletries bag I found under a pile of rumpled t-shirts and turn around to find him standing exactly as I’d left him.
“Good boy,” I praise, fighting the urge to frown when he seems genuinely unsure how to react to the words. Smiling, I use the toiletries bag to point towards the bathroom. “In we go.”
Inside the tiled room, which barely has enough space for the single-stall shower, toilet, and basin between them, Benji lifts his hands silently when I move to pull his shirt over his head. His breath hitches when my fingers move to the button above his fly, so I check in, “Color?”
He hesitates. “Yellow.”
I stop and pull back, giving him space. Removing my hands from his body. “Want to talk about it?”
His cheeks are bright red now. “I’mreallyclose to coming again. I…the embarrassment…it, um, it gets me going, you know?”
Relieved that he’s not safe wording because I’ve crossed a line, my shoulders sag and I breathe easily again. “Thank you for being honest. For telling me. For respecting my rules.”
Because that’s what he’s doing. He’s telling me so he doesn’t accidentally come without permission. And, fuck, that’s hot, too.
“Would you prefer to take your pants off yourself?” I ask. “Will that make it easier to keep control?”
Benji takes a moment to consider the question, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
He looks down, then back up at me from underneath his lashes, batting them coyly. “I’ve been ready for you all afternoon.”
I smother a snort, choosing to arch an eyebrow at him. “Benji…”
He sighs, but there’s still a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s a little rueful. “Can’t blame a Boy for trying,” he mutters, more to himself than for my benefit, before loudly adding, “Sorry, Daddy.”
