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“I’m horny,” I whisper, biting my lip. “My cock aches, Daddy. Make it better, please?”

“Good boy, using your words.” He leans forward and pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose. “I will make it better. I promise.”

He turns the water off. I follow him out of the shower, and he wastes no time wrapping me up in a towel. I feel a little bit silly with my arms stuck at my sides.

I stand there quietly, my attention floating between bone-deep relaxation and the ever-present arousal like a heartbeat between my legs as he dries me from head to toe. Javier wears his nudity comfortably, and I let myself stare: at the dusky pink of his nipples, at his calves the size of softballs, and at the copious hair on his body starting to curl and fluff as it dries.

He tosses the towel up over the shower curtain rod. “Bed,” he says, pulling his damp hair back into a bun. “I have a promise to keep.”

I’m hot all over. The sheets are scratchy against my naked skin, sweat beading on my upper lip. I lick the sweat away before sucking my lower lip between my teeth.

Javier hovers above me, propped up on one arm while his other hand jacks me off. His fingers slide up and down my cock, slick with the lube he procured from his wallet.

It feels good, too good, but every time my body tightens on the edge of orgasm he eases off.

“Javi,” I groan when he stops again, fingers moving to trail through the sparse brown hairs I let grow around my crotch. Everything is hot, and I swear I can feel the air against my dick, like a cold breeze could easily trigger my orgasm.

Whiskers tickle my cheek as he kisses me. “You are doing so good,” he says against my skin. “Working so hard all day, you deserve to rest. To be taken care of.” One of his fingers brushes my cock and I buck up into the touch. A whine starts in the back of my throat, and I’m seconds away from taking things into my own hands. Edging is great and all, but I need, I fucking need—

Something slides into my mouth, and on instinct, I suck. It’s Javier’s thumb, the texture and taste of his skin familiar now. Familiar like the deep grooves in his forehead, like the ratio of dark brown to gray hairs in his beard.

Everything settles as my mouth finds a comfortable rhythm. It feels silly, and a part of me still isn’t sure about him, or me, or any of this, but there’s nothing but adoration in his eyes when he looks down at me.

He’s back to jacking me off, and it only takes a moment before I’m there again, hovering on the cusp. My warning is a whimper he somehow understands, because he chuckles as he diverts his touch to my crease. It’s nothing more than fingers caressing my skin, and I’m grateful, so fucking grateful to him for the way he has approached me and my body. For the way he asked, right from the beginning, about how and where and what I wanted to be touched. The way he has been determined to get it right.

“This time,” he says, his soft gaze fixed on me, “When you get close, you are going to come. You have been so patient, so good, and now Daddy is going to take care of it.” He paused as he gave a hard tug on my dick. “Daddy is going to make the ache go away.”

I nod around his thumb, and lose myself in him. In the way his touch winds me up, building to what feels like the kind of orgasm that might crack me completely open. It’s the kind of good that scares me, the kind of pleasure that, if it really does build to be as good as it feels in the lead up, will leave me ruined.

Sounds fall from my occupied mouth, muffled, thready gasps and whimpers and cries. I’m not in control, not of anything anymore, and for some reason it doesn’t scare me.

He shifts above me, even as his rhythm on my cock stays steady. His face fills my vision, leaning in close, and I’m filled with the stupid urge to grin and say hello even though he’s already giving me the world’s best handjob known to men.

The arches of my feet cramp as my thighs shake. “I’m close…” My words are muffled by his thumb.

He gives me an encouraging nod, eyes full of hunger. “Now come, sireno.”

I come.

Nothing, nothing, has ever felt like this. I crack apart, sharp pleasure blooming out from my core in waves. Javier hovers above me and catches my cries in his open mouth, and he’s here, he’s with me and I’m his—fuck, how did I let myself fall so hard?

But there’s no second guessing now, not when my body trembles, the echoes of orgasm shaking my thighs. I don’t know when his thumb slips from my lips, only that he’s kissing me now.

It’s tender and slow, and so fucking sweet I want to cry.

He’s got me. One hand cradles my cheek and the other holds my cock—not stroking, just firm, steady pressure even as I pulse and twitch in his grip. Drawing back, he looks down at me with a fond smile. “You need sleep, sireno,” he murmurs.

I nod. There’s no reason to argue, even if I love the idea of lying here with him and talking, asking him every question I can think of about his tastes and fears and what kind of cereal he likes. But I’m exhausted.

Javier settles down on the bed beside me and tugs me close. My eyes are already slipping shut, but I manage a soft, “Daddy?”

His beard tickles the short hair on my head. “Hm?”

“What kind of cereal do you like?”

It’s quiet for a moment. “The sweet one with the cinnamon.”

I smile, and, with my heart beating slow, steady in my chest, I fall asleep.