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Whipped cream smears across Cory’s cheeks. "Uh oh." He tries to lick it without much success. "I made a mess."
Chuckling, I reach across the table, then swipe the whipped cream off his face with my thumb. I dab his mouth with my napkin next for good measure.
Crap. Why didn’t I bring him a bib? What an oversight. Cory’s clearly the type of boy to enjoy himself while he munches on grub—he’s not one of those prissy boys who insists on never acting out of order.
No, Cory’s a genuine Little. By genuine, I mean sweet, cute, and authentic. He acts from the heart—doesn’t let social convention get in the way of his enjoyment of life.
Cory lifts his knife. "I’m never using 'regular' utensils again."
I fork a bite of my waffle into my mouth. "You’re wise to say that. They’re not becoming of you."
"I mean it." He clears his throat. "Even when I’m Big. I’ll break out the colorful fork and knife—and spoon for when I eat my cereal in the morning. I’ll be damned if I don't let my inner light shine."
"If you use those at all times, they won’t be special anymore when you’re feeling Little." You can always count on a good Daddy to provide sage, unsolicited advice.
Cory snorts. "Wanna know a secret? I always feel Little—even when I’m not supposed to. Something in my brain is broken. I’m perpetually three seconds away from slipping into my headspace and asking for toys."
Leaning in, I massage his hand. "There’s nothing wrong with that. It's the hallmark of a boy who’s confident in who he is to know himself like that."
Cory’s gaze falls. "That’s the thing. My ex-Daddy didn’t like that I was that way. He wanted me to be Big more often… it made me sad. Upset."
A growl claws out of my lips. "He doesn’t sound nice."
"He wasn’t."
Cory sniffles as he stares at his lap. "I’m still ticked off at him, in a way. Yeah—I believe in forgiveness. One should never hold grudges this long. Still, in this case, he made me feel like such a pathetic loser that I wish him nothing but the worst in life. This—this wonderful weekend we’re sharing—is the first time I’ve felt like myself in so long."
Rising to my feet, I walk to Cory’s side. Then, I drop to my knees, rest my head on his shoulder, and take his sticky, syrupy hand in mine.
"You can be as Little as you want this weekend. I won’t judge you, won’t hurt you like your ex-Daddy. Listen to me, Cory—" I drag in a breath. "—your ex never should’ve sought to change you. You’re a wonderful, amazing boy. Perfect the way you are. Hell—any Daddy would be lucky to have you."
Cory slumps forward so that his forehead rests on the table. "You make me feel so good inside. Like I can’t control the warm fuzzies washing over me."
I massage his palm. "That’s because you’re a fantastic person. You light up every room you walk into—all you need to do is step inside and you brighten everyone’s mood."
"Do you really think so?" Cory lifts his forehead off the table and turns to me. "Or are you saying that to make me feel better about myself? Like I’m not such a hopeless loser?"
This time, the growl that springs forth from my lips is uncontrollable. I try to claw it back—I'd hate to scare my angel.
No. Can. Do.
"Never say that," I grunt, digging my fingers into his. "I swear to God—if you ever doubt me again, we’ll have a problem. I’m crazy about you—and I genuinely feel this way. I'd never lie to you."
Doesn’t this top-notch boy know how perfect he is? Damn. I wish Cory could see himself the way I see him. Remove my pupils, put them on a pair of glasses, and slide them over his pretty eyes.
I kiss his hand. "Let’s get you cleaned up."
Cory grins. "I apologize for fishing for compliments."
"You’re insecure because of your last relationship. Believe me, boy—I want to teach your ex-Daddy a lesson he won’t forget. A deadly lesson."
I ball my fist and wave it in Cory’s face—to show him that I mean business. I’ve beaten up my fair share of men. Not because I’m an aggressive asshole or anything, no. But sometimes, men are such pricks that they need another man to put them in their place.
Cory licks his lips. "Now, you’re turning me on."
"Would you grant me the honor of running you a bubble bath, boy?" Every fiber of my being hinges on these words. I pray Cory says yes—pray. I want to remove his clothes, kiss his neck and shoulders, and then guide him into a steaming, soapy bubble bath, one that’s filled with rubber duckies, a tub that’ll melt his worries away.
Cory thrusts his sticky hands around my neck. "I'd love nothing more."
