Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,57
fuck him… later. But I would never be okay with letting him think that was all I was interested in. “But we’re not playing, Jordan,” I said, finally getting myself under control. “I am in charge, and right now, we’re going to eat dinner, and you’re going to tell me more about what got you so upset tonight, and then, if I can help in any way, I’m going to do that, too.”
“Dinner?” he said, jerking away from me. “Fuck, Andy. I don’t want dinner. This isn’t a date. I’m just here for your cock.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, taking his hand again. “Have you eaten?”
“Did you hear me, dude?” Jordan asked, letting me lead him back to the kitchen despite his protests. “I’m only here for sex. This isn’t anything more than that. It’s not going to last.”
I turned him around and pushed him into the wall, face first, and gave him three hard swats. “It’s ‘Daddy,’ not ‘dude,’” I reminded him, not addressing the rest because he was too wound up to hear the truth right now. “Now answer me, have you eaten, petal?”
He clung to the wall like it was a life raft, breathing hard. Then, finally, “No, but—”
“Good,” I said before he could take it further than that, pulling him toward me and kissing him hard. “Then come on, sweetheart. First things first.”
I sat him down at the table. Someday, I’d get us a nicer house. One with an actual dining room. Take him out nice places. Treat him the way I dreamed of. But right now, I could only do the best with what I had. My little starter home with the refurbished table in the kitchen nook and a dairy-free meal I was hoping would settle him down a bit, since on top of everything else he was probably hangry, given that it was almost eight now.
“Do you like chicken?” I asked, serving him some.
“Sure,” he mumbled, staring at it. “I mean, it’s fucking chicken. Who doesn’t like chicken?”
“Language,” I said, adding some potatoes to his plate.
He picked up a fork, toying with it.
I added some vegetables, then made a plate for myself and sat down next to him. “Eat, petal.”
He took a bite.
“Do you drive a lot?”
He looked up. “What?”
“You don’t have a commute, right? I assume you record most of your videos at home? So how much do you actually have to drive each week?”
“Uh, yeah. I record some, do the editing and stuff at the apartment, but I mean, I do the workouts out on location because I can’t really… uh, you know, Paolo wouldn’t want me using the living room or whatever. And I go, you know, places. Other places. Errands or whatnot. Clubs. Hanging out with people. I drive.”
He also rambled when he was feeling uncertain. It was kind of adorable.
It could never be just sex with him, no matter how good that part of our relationship already was, because yes, he was hot. Yes, he had a mouth I was already addicted to and an ass I’d dreamed of for years. He was gorgeous, but he was so much more than that. Not just the adorable nervousness that he usually hid behind a cocky smirk, but talented in ways he didn’t seem to value, a needy mess in a way that called to me, fitting like a lock and key with my drive to provide, and vulnerable...
Jesus. I didn’t know where that came from, but someone had hurt him, and I wanted to be the one who fixed that hurt. I’d fallen for him before I even really knew him, and the only thing getting to know him now changed was to make me sure it was real.
“How much?” I repeated.
He glared at me, making my heart twist with the need to take care of him.
“What,” he said belligerently. “How much driving do I do? I don’t know, Andy. Some? What does it even matter?”
“It matters if you’re running out of gas. I don’t want you stranded.” And it killed me that he hadn’t called me if he was, but we’d get to that another time. “I want you to top up your tank every week,” I told him. “Every Saturday, since you just filled up tonight. Pull out your phone and set an alarm to remind yourself.”
His knee started bouncing under the table. “What?”
“Pull out your phone and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he interrupted, his voice getting panicky.
I wasn’t sure why he was so scared