Page 76 of Knox's Boy

His hands slid down, strong and steady, trapping me in place against the hard edge of the pool, while he went to the front of my trunks. “Maybe I’ll drag it out, make you squirm and beg a little before I give you what you really want. Or maybe I’ll let you choose. My hand, or my mouth. If you impress me by being the best boy.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice a low growl. “So what’s it going to be, little one? Are you going to be my good boy, or do I need to remind you who’s in charge right here, right now?”

I wish I could have said something smart, but my brain got fried, and all I could manage was a pathetic moan. He chuckled, mean. He kept me pinned, and when he finally let go, it was only to hoist me, easily, out of the pool. I landed on my butt on the warm tile, spitting water, ridiculous in my soggy black and white trunks. Knox hauled himself out next, his whole body flexing as he did, and just shook like a dog, spattering me with droplets.

“Hey!” I protested and he chuckled. “Who’s the brat now?”

“You tell me,” he said, shaking his wet hair again. I playfully glared at him.

"We drip-dry outside?" I asked, hoping he’d say yes. I liked the way my skin smelled after sun and chlorine. I wanted to lie on the ceramic like a lizard and watch the clouds.

He looked me over and then plucked a towel from a stack on a low table. "You can, but twenty minutes of direct sunlight and you’ll burn to a crisp. Towel off and put on a shirt and sunscreen. Please."

“Noooo, sunscreen is sticky and yucky!” I protested and stuck my tongue out at him but let him envelop me with the towel. He helped to my feet.

“No deal, then. Your safety is my priority, and I won't let you burn,” he said, rough terry cloth scraping hard and then gentle as he briskly worked my hair. I'd never been towel-dried like that, and I couldn't say I hated it. By the time he stopped, my skin tingled, and my hair stuck up in all directions. He turned me, hands on my shoulders, and pressed a kiss just behind my ear.

"Good boy," he said again, and my knees almost buckled.

I followed him inside, bare feet cold on the marble. I wanted to watch his ass, but he caught me ogling in the reflection of the glass doors and smirked. I pretended I wasn’t perving. I also pretended not to notice how he watched me move, like he was mapping where all the water ran off me. He put me in a dry t-shirt, his, of course, which nearly reached my knees.

True to his word, lunch appeared half an hour later on the shaded portion of the terrace. The table before us gradually filled with plates that looked like art. Fresh seafood glistening with olive oil and lemon, handmade pasta, and vegetables from the garden.

"The sea urchin," he insisted, offering me a small piece of toast topped with something that looked suspicious.

I wrinkled my nose, but I didn't want to sound rude.

"It tastes like the ocean," Knox countered. "Try it. For me."

Put that way, how could I refuse? I let him feed me the toast before I could reconsider. The flavor bloomed across my tongue, strange, savory, but also weirdly good.

"Oh," I said, surprised. "That's actually not too bad."

Knox smiled. "See? I told you. Trust Daddy."

I rolled my eyes, but I had this big, stupid smile on that I couldn't wipe.

As we ate, I realized he was doing the same thing with food that he'd done with swimming, guiding me out of my comfort zone with a firm hand, showing me pleasures I would never have discovered on my own. And just like in the pool, I found myself surrendering to his direction, trusting that wherever he led me would be worth the journey.

Chapter 33. Knox

I found him curled into himself in the window seat of the library, knees drawn to his chest, staring out at the gardens with red-rimmed eyes. After a week in Italy, just having fun and resting, we were back home and, of course, I had loads of work to catch up on, even though I knew leaving him alone with his thoughts wasn't the best idea.

Florian didn't turn when I entered, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders told me he knew I was there. This wasn't our first dance with that particular look of hollow misery. The boy was drowning in guilt again, suffocating under the weight of privilege he didn't believe he deserved.

"Want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle as I approached.

"D-Daddy…” he hesitated, and it made my heart hurt. I didn't want him to go through this.

“What's wrong, little boy?” I asked, touching his forehead with two fingers. “Is this anxious mind of yours acting out again?”

“Y-yes,” he said and stayed quiet for at least thirty seconds after.

I settled beside him on the cushioned window seat, leaving enough space that he wouldn't feel crowded.

“I don't want to sound ungrateful. We just had the most amazing vacation, and I loved every bit of it. I love everything here and that you do for me. But today I saw a homeless kid when I was coming home from college, just like I was that week, and…”

"And you feel guilty about that," I said. Not a question.

"How can I not?" He finally looked at me, blue eyes swimming. "What makes me so special? Why do I get to live here, wear these clothes, eat whatever I want, while he's out there?"