Walker couldn’t fight the chuckle that escaped. The sound felt strange coming out of him, rusty from disuse. Kota’s expression grew indignant. “Are you—Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not,” Walker said, still grinning like an idiot. “I’m really not. You’re just so…” He struggled to find a word that fit what this feeling was digging in just under his ribs.
“Needy? Crazy? Unwell? Annoying?”
“Cute,” Walker finished, realizing he meant it. “Pretty.”
The words settled over the room differently than the dirty things they’d said earlier. Softer. More dangerous somehow.
“You think I’m…pretty?”
Walker nodded. Anyone who had eyes would think Kota was pretty. He had a nice bone structure, a small frame, a toned body. Beautiful eyes. He was little compared to Walker, and Walker would be lying if he said that didn’t turn him on. Kota looked like something delicate enough to cup in both hands. Something easily broken. Having a creature so small and fragile depend on him for their needs just did it for him.
Like Cake.
Walker liked that Cake was fully dependent on him. That she relied on him for her food, her comfort. There was something about it that made his lizard brain tingle. He was her god and a benevolent one at that. And in exchange, she helped fill the silence and offered company without expectation.
He huffed out a breath through his nose as the fuzzy image in his head sharpened into focus. He wanted Kota. He wanted to be that for Kota. He wanted Kota depending solely on him for everything. It was sick. Twisted, even. But just thinking about it had all the blood in his head rushing south. The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, it felt disturbingly natural.
Walker wouldn’t hurt the boy. That wasn’t something that turned him on. It wasn’t the pain, it was the power. He wanted to be the one who made him happy, who made him laugh, who made him orgasm so hard he cried.
Fuck.
He should get rid of him. Drop him somewhere safe—for Kota’s sake. But where was someone like Kota safe? He already said he was too gullible, that people took advantage of him. Walker would never let anyone take advantage of him again.
The thought rooted itself in his brain with alarming speed, settling there like it belonged.
What the hell was he saying?
“You think I’m pretty…” Kota said again, as if that didn’t make sense.
Somehow, that made Walker want to smile more. Kota’s red nose, his damp lashes, the way his mouth was still red and swollen from the last hour or so they’d spent kissing. Yeah, he was pretty. Pretty in a messy, human way Walker found increasingly difficult to look away from.
“Yeah,” Walker said. “Can you try to tell me what’s wrong?”
Kota studied him like he was a difficult crossword puzzle, eyes narrowed. Like he was trying to determine whether Walker was making fun of him or being sincere. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Okay,” Walker said carefully.
He laid back down, sharing Kota’s pillow, sliding his arm underneath, then pulling him closer. The boy didn’t resist, just rolled to bury his face against Walker’s bare chest. Something clenched deep inside him. This sense of…ownership. Possessiveness. Protectiveness? He didn’t want anyone touching Kota because his brain had decided he was his.
Christ.
Walker had never understood why people enjoyed cuddling. Now, he found himself irrationally pleased by the weight of Kota draped across him, the way he kept burrowing closer like he wanted to hide in his arms from the world.
“I’m fine. I promise,” Kota assured him, words muffled. “I don’t mean to be so high maintenance.”
High maintenance? Kota had been doing his best to take up as little space as possible since Walker had—technically—kidnapped him. Walker was willing to bet he’d spent most of his life trying to be as small as possible for those around him.
The realization irritated him more than it should have.
“How are you high maintenance, exactly?” Walker asked.
“I’m just…needy.”
Walker could feel his brows knitting together. “Can you explain what your definition of needy is?”
Kota peeked out from his hiding spot to glare at him. “Are you fucking with me?”
