Just Sign Here - Cara Dee Page 0,61

hours later on the East Coast, and it’d been an eventful day.

Either way, there were no complaints from me. While she slept peacefully on the airbed at the foot of Peyton’s bed, I got to cuddle the hell out of my boy.

“Part of me still can’t believe you’re here.” He burrowed deeper into my arms and kissed my chest. “That you came all this way. For me.”

I hummed and reached over him to grab the bottle of cooling gel on his nightstand. “It wasn’t just you. I felt I hadn’t collected enough miles these past few months.”

He chuckled drowsily.

“Lie flat on your back,” I ordered softly.

He drew a breath, the air between us changing slightly, and obeyed me. I loved how the shift came so suddenly, how the tension could crackle with just a few words.

“If we’re really quiet…” He trailed off with a pleading tone.

“No funny business tonight.” I coated two fingers with gel before placing the bottle on the other side of him. “Spread your legs for Daddy.” I waited until he’d complied, then eased my hand between his legs. “I do think we should check out the housing market here, though. It would be nice to have a place of our own for when we visit.”

“Are—shit.” He gasped when I slid my two wet fingers straight over the smoothest little hole ever. “Are you kidding me?”

“God,” I muttered. “You’re gonna make me hard in two seconds, baby. You feel so soft and smooth.” I could tell he was extra sensitive, both in the good way and the bad. “No, I’m not joking,” I added as an afterthought. “I want you in Boston with me, Peyton. I want us to build a life there—without leaving the one you’ve made for yourself here.” I went on to explain, hoping he’d understand, that I couldn’t up and leave—or work so far away from headquarters for extended periods of time—but that we could arrange for West Coast summers and holidays.

Easter was the only holiday I wanted to spend in Boston, for Sandra’s mother’s sake. We’d established a tentative tradition of getting together so Mags could see Julia. Mags saw her own daughter in Julia, and it was painful, so I knew it would take a long time before the two would form a more significant bond. I had hopes, though. Mags had been overjoyed when Sandra had announced her pregnancy.

“So yes, I think a summer residence out here would be good,” I said. “Besides, work does sometimes bring us here. Westwater has two locations in Seattle, one in Tacoma, and two in Vancouver. It makes sense.”

Peyton nodded jerkily and pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” I wondered.

He inhaled sharply, his abs clenching. “I’m trying to pay attention, but it’s kinda difficult when you’re fingering me.”

“Ah. In my defense, it’s absurd to think I’d be able to stay away.” I added the second finger and curled them inside him. He slapped his hands to his face and arched his back. Such stunning reactions. “I trust that you understand you’ll go back to the spa regularly from now on.”

He’d never had much hair to begin with, but I couldn’t resist what I was feeling now. It was a miracle I hadn’t already buried my face between his legs. But I suspected the stubble on my chin would hurt him too much.

“Yes, Daddy,” he whimpered under his breath.

I couldn’t resist his cock either. It lay there, hard, pointing toward his abs, and my mouth watered.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” I whispered. I leaned over his stomach and licked the underside of his cock. At the same time, I started massaging his prostate. “Promise Daddy.”

“I p-p-promise,” he stuttered in a breath. “Oh God.”

I hummed around his cock and took him as far as he’d go.

Epilogue

Four years later

“You need to relax.” I steered Peyton into our bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. “You were supposed to take it easy this summer, not take on extra projects.”

I was incredibly happy for him; his podcast had taken off since it’d been recommended in not one but two history-themed magazines. But since he’d also taken on one gig as a substitute teacher in Boston and one out here in Camassia as a teacher in summer school, he wasn’t getting the rest he needed. Hell, at times, he worked more than I did.

“I was almost done,” he defended petulantly. “And preparing for an interview isn’t an extra project. It’s part of