Page 31 of Ruined

I take a step forward, and he looks up at me with a mix of uncertainty and hope. I put a hand on his head, stroking his hair.

“Stay. Let’s watch a movie. But no more massages tonight. Okay?”

He shrugs, not meeting my gaze. “Okay.”

I’m not doing this to prove to myself I can keep my hands off him. I’m doing it because this is what our relationship is; what it should be. Dinner, a movie, hanging out on the couch. No lines are blurred, and no hands are where they shouldn’t be.

During the movie, Oliver leans into me. I wrap an arm around him, and after a while, his breathing grows deeper until he falls asleep against my shoulder.

The stirring of want in the pit of my stomach isn’t gone, but it can be there without me acting on it.

See? I tell the voice in my head. This is what he needs. A father, not a partner.

The voice replies with an amused, mocking tone. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.

12. DADDY

When I stir awake, the movie isn’t on anymore, and Logan is pulling a blanket over me, tucking me in for the night. I reach out for him sleepily, barely aware of what I’m doing.

“Daddy?”

He pauses, letting me grab his arm. “Yes?”

“I like you,” I mumble.

“I like you too, Ollie.” His voice is light and casual, making it obvious that he doesn’t understand.

“No, I mean…” I let go of his arm. “Never mind.”

Later on, when I’ve slept through the night, I wake up mortified. Why did I say that? I don’t know what I was thinking, disoriented and drowsy from napping on his shoulder the better part of the movie. I just said what I was thinking in the moment, and now, in the light of day, it feels more embarrassing than endearing.

Logan’s alarm rings, and he emerges from the bedroom a few minutes later, dressed and smelling of masculine cologne. I drift toward him in the kitchen and sit on the bar stool as he makes us cereal and egg sandwiches for breakfast.

“Morning, Daddy.”

“Morning.” He clears his throat, back turned to me as he puts on the coffee machine. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty good.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his jaw working. When he speaks, his voice is tight with discomfort. “You know… maybe you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” I wait for him to make the table and sit down beside me.

“‘Daddy,’” he says. “Maybe you shouldn’t call me ‘Daddy.’”

I take a bite of my egg sandwich. “Why not? I used to call you that all the time.”

He frowns, forehead creasing. “I know, but you were younger then. It’s different now.”

“Different how?”

“You’re older.”

“And?” I’m just playing dumb; I know what he means, but I can’t help teasing him a bit.

“Daddy can mean father or Dad, yes, but it’s also a word that is sometimes used in roleplay. For kink. It’s called daddy kink.”

My cheeks flush, and I look down at my plate, anywhere but at him. I can’t show him that I’ve known all along. It feels so natural to call him by that word, though. It feels so good. I thought it felt good for him, too.