He walks over to a couch pressed up against the left wall.
“Come here and we can figure some stuff out before anything else happens.”
Going with my instinct, I straddle his lap, and my heart fucking flutters when he lets out a guttural groan and grips my hips tight.
“We can talk like this, right Daddy?”
My head stops swimming with endless questions. There’s nothing to second-guess anymore. Here, I’m safe.
Here, I can be and ask and say whatever I need to.
“Yes,” he says in a gravelly voice. I lean in to kiss down his throat. His answering moan is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. “Wait, we need to, we have to... talk?” I giggle, not willing to swallow down the fucking glee at being the reason he’s distracted, at the evidence that I have a strong effect on him.
“You wanted us to figure some stuff out?” I ask, my voice small but full of happiness. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this free.
Maybe it’s because I know he knows what he’s doing, maybe it’s because he obviously cares about rules and consent, or maybe it’s just my attraction to him.
“Ah yes, right, I wanted to...” I kiss below his ear and his hands start drifting back to my ass.
I moan when he squeezes a bit.
“Safe...” Then he clears his throat. “Safe word. What’s your safe word?”
That’s easy to answer, even while his hands keep exploring my ass—it’s a great ass, I know it, by normal standards, but it’s still pretty good for hockey standards too.
“I like ‘stop’ for a full stop, but red, yellow, and green also work,” I tell him, and his silence tells me he maybe didn’t expect me to be so familiar with the stoplight system.
“What else do you need to know, Daddy?” I whisper so we can move this along.
“I uh, I’ll take care of you, that’s non-negotiable.”
I stop and have to lean back.
“What do you mean?”
His eyes clear a bit, and I can see him swell with a confidence that’s somehow not cocky—it’s natural, innate. His steel eyes are steady as he looks up at me, his mouth curved in a soft smile even while his hands keep patting my ass gently.
“I mean, I don’tneedyou to be a good boy. The point of a dynamic like this one is to focus on whatyouneed, and whatever you need, I’ll do. Whatever’s best for you, I’ll make sure that’s what you get.”
I mull it over for a second but it still doesn’t quite fit into what I thought this was... even with all the research I did.
“I thought...” I trail off. What did I think?
I can actually feel my mind leave that happy place as I try to string a logical thought together. Thankfully, he keeps explaining before I can blunder this any more.
“Being a boy doesn’t mean you have to be perfect, Timmy. That’s not what I want. What I want is a boy to spoil and to please and to help. Is that not what you want?” he asks gently.
The sudden knot of emotion in my throat comes out of nowhere. I can even feel my eyes dampen.
That’s what I want, some voice in the back of my brain whispers. The only word that I can use to describe it is innate—again.
That’s truly what I want and what I never thought I needed.
I thought that I had to be good to be taken care of. The idea that I can get what I need without having to worry constantly that I’m not good enough is too much to process right now.
I don’t have the patience for words anymore.
I fall into him, and kiss him deeper than I’ve ever kissed anyone. It’s the only way I know how to show him what he’s given me. What it means to me to have him explain what I didn’t know was my deepest wish.