Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,77
someone to be cruel to me. And I thought that’s what a Daddy’s like. I didn’t think I could be a boyfriend and… a boy, you know?” He stuttered a bit, like he wasn’t quite sure how to convey his meaning.
But I understood perfectly.
“Thank you for telling me,” I murmured, covering his hand with my own. It was warm and rough, and my fingertips danced over the wrinkles of his knuckles. “And trusting me.”
Being his Daddy was a responsibility I’d never take lightly. And that started by being honest about what I’d done.
“I have to tell you something,” I said softly.
Slate went still, listening closely behind me. “Mmhmm?”
“Isaac stopped by the front desk at my old workplace. I think he’s trying to blackmail me, hoping I’m closeted and ashamed or something. Letting me know that he could go to them and out me as a…” I trailed off. Kinkster? Dom? Freak? Same difference, to the Three Fucketeers.
Slate was suddenly stiff as a board. “What?”
I pressed my hand firmly against his. “I don’t have proof that it’s Isaac since they wouldn’t give me CCTV, but there’s no other reason for anyone to do that. So I went to Brighton and told him that Isaac’s threatening to out me. They take their members’ privacy seriously. Someone outing anyone in the scene to their family and coworkers is taken as seriously as outing them as gay.”
“Is it?” Slate’s voice was faint. The cellophane around the roses crunched gently.
I tried to turn in his arms and see him, but Slate’s arm was too tight. He clung to me like a teddy bear, suddenly vulnerable. So I stroked his arm lightly, soothing him.
“You’re going to be safe,” I promised. “When you talk to Brighton, you just have to tell him what Isaac did to you. It’s enough to get him banned from Dom Nation.”
“But what if he gets angry…?” Slate gulped loudly.
“That’s not your problem,” I told him, boldly confident. “It’s Brighton’s.” I had no idea how I could keep him safe when we weren’t together, except… well… But I’d find a way. Anything for him. “But I’ll be there for you when you’re ready.”
A few moments passed before Slate took a deep breath, his chest swelling against my back. Then he let it out and relaxed, his arm loosening. “Okay. When I’m ready?”
“Of course,” I repeated myself. After all, I didn’t have secrets anymore. Isaac had missed his chance to fuck up my life. I’d done that all on my own. But I was going to make sure he paid for what he’d done for Slate.
“You make me feel precious,” Slate said, soft and wondering. “Is that crazy?”
I chuckled softly, squirming in his hold until I could turn my head sideways. Shit, he was tall when we stood like this. I craned my neck up. It was the worst angle ever for a kiss, but he grinned and indulged me in a peck on the lips.
“You are precious,” I told him, turning ahead again. At last, I could focus on the tops of the buildings that stretched into the distance, lit in shimmering squares of light. “Having you in my life gives me a… purpose I didn’t realize I was missing.”
How the fuck had I coped before him? Suddenly, it didn’t seem like such a crazy risk to put everything—my heart and soul—into one man. One boy. My chest ached with bittersweet joy. I’d gone around my whole life not knowing what this was like? And if I’d passed by Slate one night and never looked twice… I would have missed this?
Thank God. I hadn’t believed in the universe aligning, and fate, and all that shit. But now? How could I believe anything else? Slate had been meant to walk in that night—my very first customer.
I could barely breathe, even though his arm was loose around my side.
“Take me home, Daddy,” Slate begged me in a whisper. “Do anything you want. With you, I feel safe. I want to go further than ever before. I want you to erase every memory of him. I want my body to know only you.”
I drained my glass, called a cab, and took the chance to rub the wetness from my eyes.
This. This is all I need for things to be perfect.
The moment I pushed open the door of my apartment, Slate darted ahead of me. He paused only long enough to kick off his stiff, formal shoes before striding for the kitchen, roses clutched to his chest.