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He was quiet long enough to make me curious, enough to make me lift my head up off my arms and look back over my shoulder to see what was up.
He was just staring at my ass and when he looked up at me, he smiled a little. “You look pretty. All roasted like that.”
I snorted, but inside there was some warm, fluttery shit going on. “Pervert.”
He rolled his eyes and shrugged, but didn’t deny it, and fuck, he was kind of pretty too when you took the time to notice.
“Sure are freaky under those sweaters, Beast,” I said, instead of a compliment— except it really was a compliment, and I could tell by the way he looked at me he knew it. “You’re like the last guy I’d think would be into this kind of shit.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, you’re like… a pacifist or whatever. You never would fight me when we were kids, no matter what I did.”
“Yeah, there’s a difference between being a pacifist and not trying to fight a guy twice your size who has anger issues,” he said, pushing my shirt up in the back, and that made me feel way more naked even though it really hadn’t been covering anything interesting.
But I guess the words made me feel more naked too.
It wasn’t like I never felt guilty for shit I did as a kid, but I never felt dizzy and sick over it like I did now, hot and embarrassed that he was so blunt and chill, practically laughing about it when I was such a shit fucking person. Why the hell would he like me? Why the hell would anyone?
“I’m not twice your size anymore.”
“You haven’t been for awhile,” he pointed out, and that was true and felt a little insulting, but also a little… comforting? I wasn’t sure. “And I’m still not going to fight you, no matter what you do. I don’t like to fight. I don’t need to.” He stroked his hand across my ass, and I shivered. “Does this feel like violence to you?” he asked after a minute, sounding curious.
I shook my head. “No.” I shook it a little harder, not wanting there to be any doubt I could tell the difference. I knew fucking violence. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What does it feel like?”
I put my head back down in my arms, squirming a little as he dragged his fingers over me.
“Like…” There were a lot of words happening in my brain, swirling around half-cooked and confusing, and fully-cooked and more confusing, and chemistry was cake compared to this. His curiosity put me at a disadvantage. I was bad at on-the-spot explanations. I was just bad at talking in general, but when it came to this shit it seemed like there was so much to say. “Feels like you… took weight off me,” I finally said. “Smoothed me out and… shook me up and… settled me down, I don’t know. Feels better.”
“That’s exactly how I want you to feel,” he told me, and I lit up inside like maybe I was doing this shit right after all. “I don’t want things to be so rough for you anymore, baby. You deserve better. You just need a chance to calm down and be good.” I jolted when his hand was suddenly cold and wet, rubbing lotion into my ass without me realizing there was any lotion. “Shh… it’s okay. Let Daddy take care of you.”
My brain clenched and I groaned into my fist as he spread both hands wide across my cheeks, working over my skin, gentle but not too gentle. Yeah, that Daddy shit was not a fluke, not a one-time, lonely, desperate, my-brain-cracking-up thing. It still worked. Really worked. Made me feel wanted times a million.
“Daddy,” I repeated, mostly to myself, but a little for him too. It was just a fucking word, but I felt it all through me, like spiders crawling over my insides. Itdidsomething, that word. Broke me in half like a goddamn pinata, and there was all this fucking sweet stuff inside I hadn’t even known was there.
Plus, Jesus, it was fucking hot.
His fingertips dug in a little harder. “Fuck, I love the way you say that,” he said quietly.
I loved the way I said it too, no lie. It slid off my tongue in a voice I didn’t use for anything else, like I’d been saving it just for this. A soft, greedy whine that wanted more, more, more. Not me at all. But maybe who I could have been.
“You like when Daddy takes care of you? Reminds you to be a good boy?”
I swallowed hard. Ducking out with Caleb was one kind of fucked up. Ducking out to play this kind of house seemed a lot crazier. But fuck, it was making my nipples hard and my biceps all goose-pimply with hot, sweaty embarrassment I could taste in my throat. It wasn’t just a sex thing, I knew that much. It was a lot bigger than that.
“Yes, Daddy.” I wished I could agree harder, but those felt like the biggest, strongest words I knew.
“Daddy’s gonna keep you safe here. Right where you belong. When I spank this little bottom, it’s to teach you a lesson that’ll stick with you a while. Not to hurt you, not to scare you, not ever. I’ll always take good care of you after, make sure you’re not too sore. Let you know you’re still my good boy. But you can make any of it stop any time, and if it feels too rough or if you feel scared, I want you to do that. Right away. I’ll always stop, and I’ll never be upset. I’ll be proud of you for telling me how you feel. Understand?”
I nodded, drifting in the heat of the embarrassing talk and embarrassing touching as he worked his hands down my thighs, pulling them apart, getting thorough all over without any of it actually feeling like a turn on— more like the way he’d cleaned my forehead, careful and clinical. Still good, but something different. Something I hadn’t cracked yet.
“How do you make it stop, baby? Tell Daddy you remember.”
“Red,” I managed to say somehow. “Red means stop.”
“Good boy,” he murmured, and I didn’t know how he could sound so genuinely proud of me managing to remember a fucking primary color like this was kindergarten, but whatever, I’d take it. “What color are you now?” he asked me.
