“I’m thirty-eight, you fucking brat.” I nibbled at his skin, and he burst into a puddle of laughter that sliced me straight down the middle. “I’ve not been in a relationship because there’s never been a man or woman to steal my attention and hold it. Until you.”
His breath caught.
“Maybe it was the glitter you had on your nose the first day I saw you, or maybe it was months later when I saw how pretty you looked covered in my blood. Either way, you’re the only man I’ve ever looked twice for.”
“You… you remember the first day you saw me?”
“There were wings strapped to your back and a hoard of small humans surrounding you. You were laughing and slapping stickers on their chubby, germ-infested hands. One of the little roaches whacked you in the side of the head and a sticker got stuck in your hair. It hung from your curls in a way that pissed me off. It was my job to watch Toby, but after that day, I always looked for you first.”
His neck tipped back, gaze fixed on mine and unwilling to blink. Pushing his fingers in my beard, he tugged at the short hairs until we were nose to nose. “Kiss me,” he begged.
Hand on his jaw, I held him still as I brought our lips together. It was tentative for only a moment, and then he was whimpering into my mouth, tracing the curve of my lip with the tip of his tongue. All his muscles seemed to melt, and he rolled his body against mine.
“Lift your chin for me, baby,” I muttered against his mouth. “I need to mark you.”
My lips made a trail across his skin, over the ridge of his jaw and down the column of his neck. I bit and tugged at the supple skin with my teeth, leaving behind bruises and sharp marks. His back arched against every possessive pull.
“Mine,” I growled. “My lips. My skin. My needy little whimpers.Mine.”
“I need you to touch me.”
“Oh, but, baby, I am touching you.” Dragging my knuckles over his inner thigh, I listened to the sweet way he moaned for me. The pads of my fingers grazed his thickening cock, and he started to beg.
“I was a good boy today, wasn’t I, Papa?”
Jesus.
Fucking.
Christ.
The goddamn earth moved.
“I ate breakfast like you said. And lunch. Did you see me? Were you watching?”
He groaned like it was all he wanted, eyes wide and wet as he looked up at me, waiting for me to confirm I’d never taken my eyes off him.
“I was watching, baby. You were such a good boy.”
“Good boys get prizes, right? I want a prize, Papa.Please.”
My blood hammered beneath my skin like a bomb just waiting to blow. “Eat your dinner first, and then I’ll take you to bed.”
“Okay,” he gasped, and oh, I liked when he was compliant like this. “But don’t stop touching me. Please. I like your hands on me. Keeps my brain quiet.”
“I won't,” I promised, and took his lips in another kiss.
Hands settling on his hips, I tapped my finger against his skin and waited until he readjusted. His fingers turned white when he reached for the edges of the counter. I played with his hair while he caught his breath and mumbled “good boy” when he lifted his spoon.
“What is this?”
“Pelmeni. Russian dumplings.”
Lips pursing, he blew before taking a bite. A sound left his throat. “Holy shit. That’s so good.”
He shoved another spoonful in his mouth, and I laughed.
Looking over his shoulder, his brows dipped a little. “Aren’t you going to have some? Can you reach your bowl like this?”
