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"Yes, Daddy."
Chapter 7
Leaf
"Eat up, boy." I pick up my fork.
Cory taps the tablecloth. "I’m waiting on my syrup."
Right on cue, my servants push open the kitchen door and wheel out a silver serving tray. It brims with syrup, berries, whipped cream, and jam.
I issue him a stern look. "Now, are you ready?"
Cory rubs his belly. "Oh, am I ever."
As the servants adorn his pancakes with every topping known to man, I can’t help but treasure a look at him. My angel’s floppy brown hair sticks up in every direction, a result of the bedhead from his snuggly slumber. His onesie, that cute thing, complements his irises, making them pop.
But it’s the smile on his face—all-consuming, ecstatic, and unreserved—that warms my soul the most.
Cory enjoyed the exercise we performed in bed this morning. The way we held back.
With Damien, I would’ve already crossed every physical line, and left nothing else to discover. Cory needs me to go slow—to take my time. It’s what I need, too.
Face it—Cory would jump your bones in a heartbeat. You’re holding back because you’re insecure.
I grimace as I try to push this thought down. Try as I might, I can’t.
What Damien did was horrific—his false allegations of me being mean to him haunt my dreams.
In good conscience, I can’t leap headfirst into another physical relationship again.
Cory lifts his knife and fork. "I ready."
I issue him a heartfelt smile—but then I freeze. Wait—that’s not right.
My boy, my sweetheart, cannot eat his breakfast with sterling silver utensils. First, they’re too big for his precious hands—they’re jumbo-sized.
Second, Littles like him deserve to eat with colorful forks, knives, and spoons. Even their napkins need to be baby-colored, beautiful pastel—if not, why even bother eating?
"Don’t eat."
My firm voice must trigger something in Cory, because he flinches back. "Poison?"
This gives me pause. Why his mind goes to poison, I have no clue. Almost, it makes me want to laugh.
Actually—it does make me laugh. "Why are you worried about poison?"
His cheeks turn pink. "I was thinking about our playtime with the toy knights, kings, and queens last night. One of my tasks was to ensure that the knights didn’t poison the king—my mind must still be in play mode."
I rise from my seat, then snort. "No, you don't need to fear poison. Unless you’re allergic to yummy food—then, you’re in danger."
Cory dips his finger in the whipped cream. "I only eat yummy food."
"Wait here, boy." Setting my napkin down, I briskly stroll into my kitchen. I’m determined to have a stern word with the servant who thought it was proper to give Cory big boy utensils instead of plastic ones.
How dare they. Honest to God—this is a fireable offense.
Not that I’ve ever fired a servant in my life.
