Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,63
last time anyone had said that to me. Noticed, even. Tried to look after me.
Who the fuck was being the Daddy right now, anyway? I needed to step up and play my part.
So I walked toward him and offered an arm, grinning at the picture of the two of us: me in my bright red corset and black zipped briefs, him in his faded pajamas. “Are you giving the orders, boy?”
“No, Daddy.” Slate slid his arm around mine and leaned in to peck my cheek, placating. “I would never.”
“Good.”
There were no words for the way I glowed with the firm pressure of his hand, his arm brushing mine as I led him to the bedroom like it was a cocktail party and all eyes were on us.
It felt right. Holy God, help me, it felt right.
When we reached the bedroom, Slate let go of my arm and moved for my side of the bed again. He made a show of pulling back the covers and arranging them, making it clear that he wasn’t looking at me. Respecting my limits.
I wriggled out of my corset quickly anyway, tugging on a fresh pair of underwear. Maybe he was right that I needed to be more vulnerable. But Daddies weren’t vulnerable. They were strong and unyielding and generally had their shit in order.
Somehow, Slate was getting the messiest possible version of me and he wanted more? Jesus, it seemed just as improbable as suddenly starring in a Broadway musical about filthy darkrooms and perverted desires.
I shook my head and climbed into the other side of the bed. I turned the lights out, but as I turned to face my boy, I nearly banged my nose into his. He was facing me this time.
“Oof,” I whispered in surprise.
“Come here,” Slate murmured. “Your turn for a hug.”
I frowned, wishing I could see his expression in the darkness.
Was he trying to be the Daddy now? Discovering some latent top deep inside, bursting free just because I was a tiny little twinky thing? He wouldn’t be the first so-called sub to try that.
“But you need aftercare,” I reminded him. It had been my foot on his throat not that long ago.
“And I want to make my Daddy feel good,” Slate murmured back through the darkness, utterly disarming every argument I had. He shifted against the bed, a small and eager movement. “Please?”
Despite myself, I smiled slightly. “A lot of people would think you were trying to Daddy me right now.”
“I’m not a lot of people,” Slate said, and I felt his shrug against the sheets. His breath was warm, ghosting across my cheek. “I just want to give you what you need, sir.”
Did I need his comfort? In a way, yes. Okay, not just in a way. Totally. But I also didn’t want his pity-cuddles. The bond between us wouldn’t last long on that foundation.
I cleared my throat. It was a lot easier to speak truth to the darkness, without the weight of his expression and his every movement. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“You promised me earlier that I was safe with you,” Slate murmured. “It’s only fair I promise you the same thing, whether you believe it or not. I’ll never hurt you or judge you for what you need. Sensing what you need, serving you… that’s what makes me a boy.”
Funny he should say that. I was just thinking that that was what made me a Daddy. But now that he said that, something else altogether occurred to me.
I needed a man to break into pieces before I could feel whole. And holy shit, that was far more shameful to admit, even to myself.
I pushed it aside. Slate was right. I needed this, and if I tried to deny it, to make him force comfort on me… then I was the one placing myself in submission, wasn’t I?
I rolled onto my side. I faced the right way, but on the wrong side of the bed—like this was meant to be.
But Slate didn’t put his arm over me, and indignation flared in me for a few hot seconds.
Is he going to make me beg? Because that really would be my last straw.
Then I realized it was just me being a dumbass. Slate was waiting for permission.
So I granted it. “Come here,” I murmured.
“Yes, sir.” Slate slid toward me as fast as lightning, his body so eager that the arm that circled my rib cage was almost trembling.