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Mid-forties, fifties, does it matter? I’m cresting middle age no matter which side of the hill you’re looking from.
“I’ve never seen you this…twitchy. What’s got you all riled up? Didn’t you say you didn’t even want to participate tonight?” Arty tilts his head, familiar grandfatherly patience aimed right at me.
“I didn’t,” I answer automatically.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “So why you wanderin’ back ‘n’ forth over there like a caged tiger?”
With a sigh, I sink my weight onto the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “Man, you should have seen this boy, Arty. He drew me in from across the room.” I tell Arty all about the gorgeous boy with exhaustion seeping from his pores, how he stuttered awake thanks to Mickey’s yelling, and then boldly outbid Andy.
“Sounds like a special boy.” Arty grins. “Still doesn’t tell me why you’re all wound up like a coil. All week you’ve been whining and pouting about being adopted, claiming, ‘I don’t need a boy,’” he says in a horrendous imitation of my baritone.
“I don’t pout.”
He wags a finger at me. “Seems like you are right now. Answer the question.”
“I don’tneeda boy. Hell, I don’t even know who this boy is. Yet, something inside me demanded he neededme.” Shit, between falling asleep in the middle of a damn BDSM club and the fact he was on his own, he called out to every protective instinct I have.
I still don’t understand how anyone could let this boy wander around like that. It isn’t safe. Even if I’m not in the market for a permanent boy, it doesn’t stop the Daddy Dom inside me from wanting to protect a vulnerable boy in need.
Arty eyes me for a long minute, then leans back with that damn smirk. “Uh-huh.”
Blindly, I reach for a pillow on the bed and whip it in Arty’s direction. He laughs when the soft leather connects with his stomach. “You’re an ass.”
“Yeah, but an ass who got you to chill the fuck out for a few minutes.” As I’m about to deny his wildly inaccurate description, muffled voices filter through the door. I’d recognize Aspen’s voice anywhere.
Arty shuffles back to the chair in the corner, visible but not in the way. He’s merely here to oversee introductions and provide assistance with the subs until both the adopter and adoptee, namely me, agree to the rest of the evening together.
I stand and brush nonexistent lint from my pants, watching the door with a strange intensity.
Fucking finally.
The door opens. Aspen steps inside first, pushing the door wider to reveal the boy. Clearly, the dim lighting on the main floor and the hot-as-shit spotlights from the stage were fucking with my vision. Because he’s not merely beautiful.
The word is far too modest to describe the boy standing before me, gripping a ball of fluff in one hand and digging the toe of his sneaker into the carpet. Even with his eyes pointed to the floor, he is the most stunning human I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
Up close, his cropped shirt is even brighter than I remember. His gray skinny jeans lead down a short pair of legs, the ends rolled up to show off a set of brightly striped rainbow socks tucked into a pair of sneakers the same color as his shirt.
His dark-brown hair is short and almost as fuzzy as the thing in his hand. I wait to see the color of his eyes while trying not to growl at the purple bruises beneath them. His pointy nose sits above the most adorable cupid’s bow and the softest-looking lips I’ve ever seen.
Fuck, he’s so damn cute.
“Hi, Dean,” Aspen says, walking farther into the room. “This is Tanner Morgan. Tanner, come meet Dean Nash.”
The adorable boy blushes and, after a couple of breaths, peers up at me from beneath his lashes. My heart stutters in my chest, then takes off like a hummingbird’s wings when he says, “Hi.”
The word is spoken so softly that you’d have to strain to hear it if there were other noises around us. It’s shy and laced with his visible fatigue. But nothing can compare to the onslaught of emotion hammering in my chest as his baby blues connect with my stare.
One stare, and I’m running off the train tracks. How have I gone this many years without needing a permanent boy in my life, only to rethink it all when faced with Tanner’s soft smile?
I extend my arm. “Hello, Tanner. It’s nice to meet you.”
Tanner lifts the hand not holding his stuffie and places his gentle fingers against my palm. “H-hi.”
I let a small chuckle loose. “Come on in.”
“You good, sweetie?” Aspen asks.
He nods.
