I could call him … but I know I won't.
You awake? The second I send the text, I wonder what in the fuck I'm doing.
Yeah. Miss me already? Derek replies.
In bed. Too much coffee, I lie.
And you thought of me, of course. Want me to come wear you out?
I smile. Jesus, he's nothing if not determined. Just wanted to check on you. I know today was … different.
You're gonna have to stop checking on me like this, Daddy.
He was right. I like it when he calls me that more than I should. I have to make sure you're a good boy. I'm playing with fire and I fucking know it, but right now, my head is so messed up I welcome the burn.
Oh fuck. Goddamn, that's hot. If I'm bad will you come over? Teach me a lesson? Fill my hole?
It's getting harder to deny you.
Then why are you? Derek asks.
I don't have a real answer for that. Because I worry he doesn't see himself as more than a hole to fuck. Because I worry he hasn't had enough people in the world who want to enjoy his body, yeah, but who want more than that from him too. I shouldn't make it my job to show him those things. I could just give him what we both want. I can get dirty with him in the way I've always craved. I've never been real vanilla in my tastes and I have a feeling Derek will be my match in that.
But that's not it. As I lie here, holding my phone and texting with him like a goddamned kid, I realize I want to know more about him. About his life. About that uncle he loves so fucking much, and the family he left behind, and why he makes everything about sex.
Ain't that some shit?
I know I didn't scare you away. Have you had a guy yet? I'm good. You'll love being in my hole.
Blood rushes south. My cock fills, aches. Jesus, I want in him. You're fucking killing me.
Good, he replies, and then, Are you okay?
No, but I will be. And I wonder how he could tell. I'm good.
You're not being yourself. You only said I'm killing you. No lectures. I'm worried.
I chuckle at him. He's really something else … and he's caught on to who I am pretty quickly. You work tomorrow morning?
No, but I'm not going to coffee with you again.
I think you would if I told you to. The thought makes my dick get harder and my skin heat up.
Yes, Daddy.
I tremble. Fucking tremble reading the text from him. Goddamn, he gets me going something good.
Text me your address. I'll pick you up at eight. We're going rock climbing.
Because I need to be out there. I need to clear my head after today. I could do it alone, but I won't. I'll put it off unless I make a commitment to someone else-spend extra time with Mom or see about another extra shift at work, or hang around Steph and Zane like a lost fucking puppy.
Eight?? Are you fucking insane???
A laugh slips from my lips. Okay, seven thirty. Be ready.
Yes. I think I am going crazy.
Then, even though I'm tired as hell and should get my ass to bed, I look up daddy porn, and yeah, I think I'd like being Derek's daddy a lot more than I should.
8
Derek
What did I get myself into?
I don't rock climb.
Although the idea of spending more time with Daddy Jackson excites me.
When I see his Jeep pull into the porte-cochere in the back of Metropolis, my vague memory of it returns from the night when I stumbled into the back seat. I slide into the passenger's seat and set my nylon sport bag on the floorboard before me.
"I was expecting it to be pink," Jackson says as he eyes the bag, black with a fire print across it.
"Nope, just flaming."
He smirks. Although, even smiling, between his tense jaw and the way he's gripping the steering wheel like he's worried it'll get away from him, I can tell he's stressed about something.
"Where's this harness you can't wait to get me into?" I ask, hoping to lighten his mood. I glance over my shoulder, peeking at the back seat. There's a hunter-green duffle bag on the floorboard behind him and a much larger black bag lies across the seat.
"It's a real cute number," he says as he drives down the exit ramp.
He rotates a knob on the radio console, turning the music up.
"Bowie," I say. "Now why is it I wasn't thinking you were a Bowie fan?"
"How did you know who it was?"
"You think I don't recognize good music?"
"I just assumed you were only familiar with Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift." His lips curl upward, obviously delighting in his dig.
"Ooh, isn't Daddy just full of jokes this morning? You seem to know a lot of pop stars from my generation for an old guy."
"Careful or you'll be biking your way to Panola Mountain."
He's relaxed his grip on the wheel, but I can tell by his tensed jaw that there's something on his mind-something he can't let go of.
"Where is this place?" I ask.
"About thirty minutes southeast of the city. You've never heard of Panola Mountain?"