Page 4 of Don’t Call Me Son

Shit. I fumble the towel and quickly wrap it around my waist, covering my crotch. Colt meets my eyes, crosses his thick arms over his chest, and raises one brow. The look says everything; I didn’t stay put like he ordered.

I clear my throat and try to act normal, but my heart is hammering. I have to walk right past him to get to my bedroom; so, I basically hug the opposite side of the hallway, trying to be subtle about it.

Of course it doesn’t work. His hand shoots out as soon as I’m close enough, and grabs my upper arm, pulling me in close with zero effort. His breath is hot against my ear as he whispers, “Chose not to behave then, huh?”

His voice sounds different like this, raspy and way too intimate. I never noticed how deep it gets until now.

I yank my arm out of his grip and whisper back sharply, eyes darting away from him. “Fuck that, Colt. I’m not laying there in that mess just because you said so. Get over it.”

The second the words leave my mouth I wince. Stupid, Archie.

Colt lets out another quiet, amused laugh. Then, without warning, he steps in closer, one big hand sliding up to grip the back of my neck; firm, possessive, and controlling. Strong enough that I feel completely held in place. He doesn’t say anything at first; he just holds me, thumb pressing lightly into the side of my neck, forcing me to look up at him. The casual dominance of it makes my knees feel weak. My mouth goes dry; all the bratty comebacks I had dies in my throat.

He leans in until his forehead almost touches mine, voice barely a breath. “You can mouth off all you want, Archie… but we both know who’s in charge here. Don’t we?”

Colt’s grip on the back of my neck stays firm as he glances over his shoulder toward their bedroom door. He listens for a second, then gives a satisfied little hum when he hears mom still snoring lightly.

Before I can say anything, he starts walking me backwards down the hallway, steering me with that controlling hold, like I’m some disobedient puppy. My bare feet shuffle on the carpet, towel barely hanging on around my waist.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’ve been the one driving your ass to college every morning for the last two years. Dropping you off on my way to the garage. Would be real easy for that to stop… wouldn’t it?”

My stomach flips and I whimper before I can stop myself; the sound is pathetic and small, and I hate how much I react to it. Fuck… this is so hot. Why is this so fucking hot? I’m supposed to be pissed off at him, not getting weak in the knees because my stepdad’s threatening to take away my ride like I’m a grounded teenager.

I mentally kick myself. Get it together, you pathetic idiot. You just got railed by your mom’s husband and now you’re creaming yourself over a little neck grab and a threat?

Colt stops right outside my bedroom door, still holding me in place. His thumb strokes slowly over the side of my neck, almost soothing, which somehow makes it worse.

“Ask nicely, Archie,” he says, eyes dark and amused. “Ask Daddy to let you back in your room. Use your manners and maybe I’ll be nice and help you change those sheets before your mom wakes up.”

I swallow hard, face burning. My voice comes out smaller than I want it to. “Can I… go back in my room?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not impressed.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, then try again, voice barely a whisper. “Please… let me go back in my room, Colt.”

He clicks his tongue, like he has all the time in the world. “Try again.”

I want to punch him. Instead, I mumble, “Please let me back in my room… Daddy.”

A satisfied smirk pulls at his mouth. He finally releases my neck and steps back just enough for me to slip into my room. I move quickly, but he follows right behind me, closing the door softly behind us with a quiet click.

The second we’re inside, the smell of what we did earlier hits me again. My ruined sheets are still crumpled, spilling out of the laundry basket, the mattress stained dark. I feel exposed all over again, standing here in nothing but a towel while Colt towers behind me.

I feel him watching my every single move, that heavy stare burning into my skin as I cross the room to my dresser. My hands are a little unsteady when I open the top drawer and pull out a pair of my usual tight black boxers.

Colt lets out a deep, low grumble from behind me. “Not those ones. Something looser.”

I glance over at him quickly, frowning, then look back down at the boxers in my hand. Why the hell can’t I wear these?

Colt must read the question all over my face because he answers anyway, voice thick and filthy. “The loose ones will be easier to rip off that tight little ass when I want it.”

I go bright red instantly, heat flooding my face and neck. I look away fast, exhaling shakily. I’ve never seen this side of Colt before. He’s always been the patient, thoughtful stepdad; the guy who’s firm when I fuck up or when Mom’s stressed, but never like this. Dominant, possessive, and straight up dirty. I wonder if he’s like this with her too… the thought makes my stomach twist in a weird way.

I reach back into the drawer and dig out a pair of looser grey boxers I rarely wear. Not too loose though, I’ve got track today and I don’t need my dick swinging around like a free show. I drop the towel to the floor and step into them, then reach into the drawer below for my shorts. The grey ones with the university logo on the leg. I pull them on next, followed by the matching vest, tugging it over my head. I feel a little less exposed now that I’m in my kit, but it doesn’t really help.

Colt walks over to the mattress without a word and flips it like it weighs nothing, muscles flexing under the light. He didn’t ask, didn’t need my help, just did it.

“Thanks,” I mumble, eyes still down.