I pull it out, swipe open the notification, and?—
“Fuck.”
My throat goes dry instantly.
Theo is on all fours, wearing black stockings and crotchless panties that frame his ass. He’s looking back at the camera, his face flushed, eyes heavy with desire. His cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, and his ass is spread wide, waiting. Ready.
The caption beneath it reads.
missing Daddy’s dick
My body responds immediately, blood rushing south so fast I feel lightheaded. I glance around the empty warehouse, suddenly aware of how exposed I am standing in the middle of the ring, getting hard over a man’s photo.
I should delete it. Block his number. End whatever this is.
Instead, I save the photo.
I open a new message, my fingers hovering over the screen. Every instinct tells me to walk away, but my body has other ideas.
“You’re a lunatic.”
The response is almost immediate.
“Your lunatic, though.”
I grip the phone tighter, jaw clenched.
“This isn’t fucking cute, Theo.”
“No? Your dick seemed to think differently last time.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that I’m already calculating the fastest route to his place.
“Not tonight. I’ve got work.”
“The fights are over. Your boys won. Come celebrate properly.”
A second message pings through with an address in the arts district.
“I’ll be waiting, Daddy.”
I slam my phone down on the corner post, pressing my palms against my eyes. The quiet of the warehouse amplifies my ragged breathing. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready for a fight—or something else entirely.
Ten minutes. That’s how long I stand there in the darkness, listening to the battle in my head. The voice telling me I’m not this guy, that everything I’ve built could crumble if anyone knew. The other voice—the one growing louder every day—saying maybe I am this guy after all.
My phone screen glows in the darkness. That address burns into my retinas.
“Fuck it.”
I snatch my keys from the hook in my office, lock up the warehouse, and slide into my Charger. The engine roars to life, vibrating through the leather seat.
As I pull onto the empty streets, I tell myself this is the last time. That after tonight, I’m done with whatever this is.
I know I’m lying.
I don’t text him. I don’t want a record of this weakness.
The drive to Theo’s place passes in a blur of streetlights and self-loathing. Each mile closer, my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. This is the last time—I’ve said that before, but tonight it has to stick.
