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“You’re right. I don’t.”

“You’re dying for it though, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

When he reaches for me again, I pull back, moving around to stand by the foot of the bed. He’s too tall, so his feet hang off the end. His daughter sleeps on a queen mattress with her favorite princess blanket down the hall. In the primary bedroom.

Dean will sacrifice anything for her.

“Hands and knees,” I tell him.

Long legs tangle in the mismatched sheets in his rush to comply. He slides to the floor, balls his hands into fists, bracing. Head bowed. Waiting.

He’s not an athlete anymore the way he used to be, but he still keeps in shape. So it takes a while before his arms shake with the effort of holding himself up. Until the muscles in his back and shoulders bunch. Until he’s whining for a reason that has nothing to do with his nightmare.

“Mike, please.” He whines again.

But you know what he’s not doing? He’s not thinking about the dream. He’s not thinking about her.

Neither of us is.

He tries to hide his arousal, I think, but it’s there in the flush of heat on his skin and the tremors in his arms. When he flexes his fingers, a subtle sign the discomfort in his hands is getting to him, I let him off the hook.

“Good boy,” I say. “Now crawl.”

I ignore the swelling in my groin. It’s heady as fuck having him making his way toward me like this, all long, tanned and freckled limbs. Taut muscles. He may not be in the same shape he was when he was playing basketball, but damn, he’s nicely built.

And submissive as fuck. Not that I’m ever going to actually fuck him. That ship sailed a long time ago.

What can I say? Torturing him makes us both hard.

Right there in front of him, I step out of my shoes and pull off my socks.

“Come here. Worship me.”

He licks a wet, hot stripe across the top of my foot before pressing himself to the floor so he can suck my big toe like it’s a dick.

So eager to please, my Dean.

My tongue darts out to lick my lower lip as I grab the door to Dean’s closet to steady myself. “Look at you, down there on the floor licking my gross feet. You know, Senator Latchley shot his load all over those feet earlier this evening.”

There’s a pause. In the dim light, one blue eye glints at me when he looks up, questioning. Am I being serious?

I’m not, but he doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t actually open his mouth and ask. He also doesn’t stop sucking my toe for all he’s worth.

I pull my foot away.

“You know, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t know if you deserve to put that slutty, filthy tongue of yours on my feet. Maybe I should go.”

“Don’t go.” He whimpers, high-pitched and needy. Those two words cost him.

“No? What do you want, Dean? What do you need? You need me to hurt you?”

He likes the humiliation. He craves the pain.

“Maybe I shouldn’t. You’ve been kind of a dick to me this week, haven’t you?”

He gasps and shakes his head. “She’s my daughter, Mike. I’m always going to do my best for her, even if that means pissing you off.”