Page 31 of A Daddy to Love

“Can I take care of you, too?”

“You already are by being you. Being here with me. Calling me Daddy.”

Kairo still held onto his pout. “It’s not the same.”

“Same as what?”

“You, um, doing what you did last night.”

I smiled, caressing his hair back from his forehead. “Oh, baby. You don’t know yet. But it can be very much the same. Even better. You’re the whole package, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means you entice me in ways I haven't felt for a long time.”

He snuggled closer. “For reals?”

“For reals,” I replied.

He breathed the word “wow” hotly against my neck.

The quiet peace of my house and the dawn surrounded us. The most I’d done to undress last night was to kick off my shoes. Now, beneath the top sheet, I curled my toes in my socks and basked in being alive.

Finally, I dozed off and woke to find the space beside me empty. I sat up, pressing my palm to the wrinkled sheets. Splashing water noises came from my bathroom. I got up to investigate.

The door was slightly ajar but I knocked anyway. “Kairo?”

“Yes.” The door swung open and a bright, smiling face greeted me. “Hi, Daddy.”

He stood before me wearing only his colorful balloon underwear, which he must’ve hunted for since I’d thrown them willy-nilly across the room when I’d peeled them away from his sweet, hard cock.

Daddy instinct took over. “Do you need anything? I have spare toothbrushes in the drawer left of the sink.”

“Thank you.”

His phone was on the counter, lit up as if he’d been on it. I couldn’t stop myself from peeking at it while opening the drawer to get out a spare toothbrush. He had a text window up. The header on the screen said Sorel. He’d never mentioned that name. It was none of my business, really, but I couldn’t help wondering.

Kairo bowed his head, kicking his bare foot on the tile.

I took a step into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s sorta late. Have I overstayed my welcome?”

“Don’t even think it. I can make you breakfast.”

His eyes widened. “I am hungry.”

“Do you like your eggs scrambled?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

As I walked through the room, I bent down and handed him his pants. The label stood out. A famous designer not found anywhere but in expensive boutiques. Setting that aside in my mind, I left him to dress.

When he came into the kitchen, pants and shirt on and looking less like a little and more like a businessman, I was halfway through cooking breakfast.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes. Lots of cream and sugar.” He paused. “If you have it.”