While Kyle had showered, Benson had slipped condoms and lube in the nightstand. Now he grabbed a condom and put it on, then lubed himself. He spread some lube at the entrance of Kyle’s hole. Benson licked the back of Kyle’s neck, playing and tickling his body. Then he licked his way down to Kyle’s ass.
“Oh, it feels so good, Daddy Benson.”
He dipped his finger inside Kyle. He added two more digits and finger-fucked him, gliding his fingers in and out as Kyle moaned with pleasure. When Benson grazed his special spot, he arched his back.
“Don’t stop,” Kyle begged.
“Never going to stop. Are you ready for me?”
“Yes, please. Please, I’m so ready now.”
Benson wrapped one arm around Kyle’s waist and moved his stiff cock inside. Kyle’s cock was oozing precum onto the sheets. Benson tilted him on his side so he could grab Kyle’s cock, slowly stroking while his cock thrust in and out of him.
“Damn, Kyle! You feel so good,” Benson panted.
Kyle didn’t answer; only faint whimpers left his lips. Benson blew his cum into his condom. The constant pounding on his prostate ignited Kyle to shoot spurt after spurt when he finally let himself go.
“Damn it. That was so good.” Kyle collapsed on his stomach, panting. Benson threw away his used condom, wiped himself clean, and then he wiped Kyle clean with tissues.
Afterward, Benson held him close, lips brushing Kyle’s temple as they both caught their breath. Kyle nuzzled into his chest, humming contentedly.
“Stay right here,” Kyle mumbled, already half-asleep again.
Benson smiled, tightening his arms around him. “Wasn’t going anywhere.”
And he meant it.
Chapter Nine
Kyle
Oklahoma
The next day, Kyle leaned back in the passenger seat of Daddy Benson’s truck, watching the blur of trees and highway signs roll past as they made their way toward Oklahoma City. The radio played a mix of old Christmas songs—some cheery, some corny. The heat was cranked just high enough to fightoff the crisp December air. They’d made two stops: breakfast at a roadside diner where the waitress called them “sweethearts,” and lunch from a gas station with surprisingly decent chicken tenders.
Daddy Benson drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally fishing around for his coffee cup. “We’re stopping shortly,” he’d said, just after lunch. “It’s a home for homeless gay boys. Some of ’em have been through hell and back. I want us to remind them that someone still gives a damn.”
Kyle had nodded, chewing a French fry slowly. “You know I’m in. What are we bringing them?”
“The presents are in the back with their names on them. I was given a list of what was needed.”
“That is really so kind of you,” Kyle said, thinking back to his days at various homes and shelters. If only someone had come to see him or wanted him, but no one wanted to adopt him. He was alone from the moment he was sent away. He couldn’t remember why or how he had gotten there, but as far as he was concerned, he was born there. No parents. No family.
Daddy Benson grinned. “We’re going to get our own Santa and elf outfits.”
Kyle snorted. “Yay!”
They hit a holiday store on the way, grabbed some decent outfits, and loaded them into the back of the truck with the wrapped presents. By the time they reached the shelter, the sky was streaked with gray and gold, and the building looked like any other brick community house—plain but sturdy, with a ramp leading up to the front room.
Inside, they were led to a long living room filled with boys, some barely in their teens, some older. Blankets over their laps, mismatched socks, tired eyes that lit up a little at the sight of Daddy Benson in full Santa gear and Kyle trailing behind ingreen tights and a pointy hat. He passed out candy canes while Daddy Benson had a few words with the group parents.
“Ho ho ho!” Daddy Benson bellowed, dramatically off-key.
Kyle rolled his eyes but waved at everyone with a grin.
“Kyle?”
The voice came from the middle of the room. A red-haired young man stood up from the couch. He was taller now, more filled out, but the face was familiar—Sam. With those striking gray eyes and a smattering of freckles across his face, Kyle would never forget. From New York. From freezing nights and crowded shelters.
