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I fight a smile. "Why don't you try to get some rest? Today was hard for you and I need to get to my party."
"Yes, Master. Um." Casey fidgets with the towel, peeking at me through his lashes. "You're sure you don't want me to… pleasure you, Master? I'd - I'd be very happy to."
"No. But thank you."
"Will you - will others be…" he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head away. "Will you let other slaves pleasure you tonight, Master? Are - are they better than me?"
Fuck.
"No, little one. No. That's not it. I'm just too busy, okay? Tonight isn't about sex for me."
Casey frowns. Probably because he can't remember the last time his own life wasn't about sex.
I gently guide him off my lap, wanting to put as much distance between us as I can before the boy can ask me anything else that will fuck with my head. I leave him sitting on the edge of the mattress and retreat to my closet.
By the time I come back out, dressed in my best tux and ready for one of the biggest nights in the operation, Casey is passed out, lying on his side with the towel still around him, his legs straight off the bed. My heart clenches at the sight of him.
He'd make such a beautiful boy.
If only we’d met under different circumstances, if we were able to be our true selves, maybe we could have been something. Maybe I wouldn't be tucking him in because he crashed after a panic attack, but because it's the sleepy boy's bedtime. Maybe I wouldn't be turning down his offer to pleasure me, instead notching my chin and telling him to make Daddy feel good. Maybe I wouldn't be feeding him because he's half-starved and unable to feed himself, but because Casey likes to be taken care of and I like taking care of him.
I shake all the maybes off as I exit the room, not even allowing myself a final peek over my shoulder at the boy now perfectly tucked into my bed. There is no room for maybes in my life right now.
And there's certainly no room for them in the operation.
I can admit that I’m well on my way to being drunk when I finally stumble to my room, my ears ringing with the sound of sobs from the slave who’s being gangbanged for the party’s entertainment. I should still be there, and I should probably be sober while I’m at it, but the minute Vasco left the premises after we successfully got him on our side, I decided to leave the security to the men I’ve spent way too much time training. They may be idiots, but all that’s left of the party are close allies and bottom feeders who would never have the guts to pull anything anyway.
I’ve earned getting drunk. It's been a long fucking time since I've let loose, always needing to be the one with a level head protecting Travis's back. But not tonight. Tonight, Travis disappeared with Carter, and I had half a bottle of tequila and three slices of chocolate cake to myself. Suffice to say, I’m feeling pretty fucking great.
A body pops up on the bed when I walk into the room, Casey nothing but shadows from the glow of the floor lights. He makes a mumbling sort of sound before going quiet and inching toward the edge of the bed. I lurch forward, grabbing his arm just before he can slide to the floor. “Don’t. Please don’t fucking kneel for me.”
“O-okay,” he whispers. Then, “Are you alright, Master?”
“No.” I laugh. Then laugh louder. I kick my shoes off before yanking at my tux, not caring where the pieces land. Not caring about much of anything. Because I am so far from alright, it’s not even funny, but I don’t get to be not alright. It’s not in my fucking job description. Still, I find myself admitting the dangerous truth to him. Blame it on the tequila and the chocolate. Blame it on the soul-deep exhaustion. “I’m not alright at all. Is that okay, do you think?”
He shifts a little before nodding. “Yeah, Master. That’s okay.”
“Jake,” I whisper. “Just this once, call me Jake.”
“Jake,” he whispers, his voice cracking around the edges with an emotion I'm too drunk to place. “It’s okay to not be alright, Jake.”
“Yeah?” I rest a knee on the mattress, my heart thundering so loud I can’t hear the cries from that slave anymore. I also can’t hear that little voice in my head that tells me what’s right and wrong. He tilts his chin to look at me, his eyes probably adjusting in the dark like mine. God, he’s beautiful.
I curve my hand around the nape of his neck, thumb stroking the messy hair back there. His breath smells like my toothpaste. I want to taste it. Taste him.
"You're such a good boy," I whisper, needing him to hear it. Needing to say it after the night I've had. "So, so good."
He shivers, a small whimper catching in his throat.
And then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
I don't know if it's the tequila or the chocolate or the lingering echoes of that slave's sobs. I don't know if it's because I'm telling him the truth tomorrow, or because he's let me be the closest thing to a daddy I've ever been, or because he just might be the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. All I know is that I kiss him back.
For one agonizing, beautiful, horrifying moment - I fucking kiss him back.
And then I force myself to pull away, nearly falling off the bed. My heart pounds hard enough to make my chest ache.
Fuck.
