look up.
Slate stopped once or twice, gathering his breath and his wits, his head turning toward me like he wanted to reassure himself that I was there. But he didn’t peer up at me.
Good. He’s learning fast. I allowed myself a moment of tenderness in the privacy of my own head. He’s going to be so much fun. I hadn’t looked forward to anything so much since…
Well, ever.
I slid the bedroom door closed behind us.
“You can get up for this part,” I told him. I didn’t want him tumbling down the steps, even if it was only a foot or so down to the level of my bed.
Gingerly, Slate gathered all of his limbs and pushed himself to his feet, quivering as he walked down the steps and then stood there, perfectly still.
You could hear a pin drop between us. I had his focus, utterly and completely, and it made the circuits in my brain slide into place like he was the missing spark plug in my life.
Fuck. Fuck, he was.
“Look at me,” I whispered, hoarse with desire and raw emotion I couldn’t possibly stop to process right now.
Slate’s gaze flicked eagerly up my body, lingering for a moment at the bulge in my pants, all the way to my face. I waited until our gazes were locked before I let myself grin, wide and wolfish. Slate gulped hard, his nostrils flaring.
I licked my lips, looking him up and down in return—but not the same way. No, I looked at him like a predator with a rabbit in its sights. “I need to ruin you tonight, my boy,” I told him. “Need you to fall apart at my hands. Break you into pieces.”
I stepped onto the topmost of the two steps down, and he flinched backward.
The hunt was on. I snarled at him, delighted in the primal surge of desire that shut off every circuit in my brain, and stepped forward again.
Slate’s will broke. He scrambled backward, whimpering as he tried to stay out of reach. “No, Daddy,” he begged, but I heard the thrill of yes in his voice. It made my cock stretch painfully under my trousers, wet against the satin that secretly lay beneath. “Please. Don’t break me. I-I can’t… you can’t…”
There. His mistake. “I can’t?” I repeated in a low rumble and stepped forward, sharply grabbing for his arm. It was a gesture intended to miss, to let him get away, but to show my intentions.
Slate nearly fell onto the bed, then grabbed the bedpost and scrambled around the end of it, like he was trying to shelter behind it. “No, I didn’t mean—Daddy, no!”
I growled and surged forward, sprinting for him as he ran backward and we fell into a game of cat and mouse. He dodged this way and that with surprising nimbleness given his broad shoulders and height, the sturdiness of his body.
And I let the frustration well up in my chest, layers building upon layers, sharpening my anger and my savagery.
“Enough,” I growled, cornering him by my dresser. I surged forward, seizing him by his wrists and hauling him toward the bed.
Slate struggled, but not hard. He didn’t throw even half his weight into it, and my pride stung. Did he think I couldn’t handle him really fighting back? That was yet another lesson to teach him.
“N-No,” Slate begged, but I bent him over and shoved him face-first onto the mattress. I locked his arm behind his back with one hand, the other on the back of his head as I leaned over and spat on his back. So there, I might as well have been saying, reveling in my victory.
Then I pressed my erection, barely contained by layers of satin and polyester, against his ass and shoved hard, and suddenly his knees gave way and I was the only thing holding him down against the bed.
The cry that fell from Slate’s lips and reverberated through his body was genuine, shocked yet delighted. “D-Daddy…!” He twitched, his shoulders pulling up.
I let go of his head and raked my nails down his back. I drew them from the wet heat between his shoulder blades straight down his spine, leaving four red-hot scratches in the wake.
And this time, I wasn’t gentle.
Slate’s cry verged on an animalistic scream of defeat and rage, but he didn’t dare fight back, either. He arched into his punishment, his face pressed into the bed as he quivered under my touch.
This had finally shifted from gentle foreplay to the battleground