too willful for anyone to be my daddy.” Too broad across the shoulders. Too determined. Too him.
“There’s no such thing. Being a challenge isn’t a problem.”
He shrugged, not sure what to say. He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, and his ego simply wasn’t strong enough to handle it again.
Champ growled, but it didn’t feel like it was directed at him. Of course, it totally could have been.
“I’m on the thirteenth floor. Well, technically the thirteenth and fourteenth. Yes, we have a thirteenth floor. It’s my lucky number.”
“Mine too. My birthday is on the thirteenth. So is Marc’s.” He was January thirteenth; Marc was February.
“Well then, you know how good a number it can be. And I’ll remember that—about your birthday.” Champ led him to an elevator that needed a key to open. He’d seen that on television, but it was cooler in reality.
The key was needed on the inside of the elevator too. And he wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the fixtures and decorations were covered in gold.
“It’s lovely. I mean, seriously. This is gorgeous.”
“Thank you. My place has one super-fancy room like this and the rest is far more homey. I think you’ll like it. I hope you will.”
“If you’re happy, that’s what’s important. It’s your home. I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
“It is. But I want you to like it too. It’s important to me.”
What on earth do you say to that? Seriously?
The elevator came to a stop and opened up into not a hall with a lot of apartments, but a front hall, and the hall was as fancy as the elevator. There was a single door that opened into what was indeed super-fancy.
“Do you share with your friends?” It was lovely and perfect, but not uncomfortable.
“We each have our own floors. The thirteenth and fourteenth are mine.” They walked through the elegant room Champ had talked about—it was all whites and golds with fancy furniture that seemed to be for looking at rather than sitting in.
“I’d be scared to touch any of that. I’m always dyeing something or painting something and I’d hate to leave paint or dye on any of it.”
“You’ll like the rest of the place better. As I said, there’s only one fancy room for show.” They went through a door on the other side of the room and it opened up into a lovely room that had high ceilings and windows running from the floor to the ceiling. The furniture was solid and leather and covered in heavy blankets. There was a fireplace, a wet bar, and a great view.
“Welcome to my home, boy.” Champ held his hand and led him toward the amazing couch. Huge cushions, solid, comfy-looking.
“It’s lovely.” Champ sat and pulled him down on the sofa, tucking him right in next to Champ’s side. He tried not to think about how he seemed to fit absolutely perfectly right there.
Champ leaned down and brushed his lips against Stephen’s hair, and it was the strangest sensation, and he felt it along his spine.
“You really are lovely. Now, tell me how I can help. Tell me who hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter. Honestly. It was…I just…It’s embarrassing.”
“I promise not to laugh.” Champ looked so serious, like this was important.
Okay, just fess up, for fuck’s sake. “My last two Doms, plus my then-current one, showed up at my house for an intervention. When it was over, I was alone, packing my room, and looking for an affordable place to stay.”
Champ’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging open for a moment. “That is a terrible thing to do to anyone, let alone your sub. What on earth could they have needed to ‘intervene’ about?”
“They wanted me to know that I wasn’t the kind of boy that was satisfying, that they had discussed me, and I wasn’t fixable.” And now he wanted to go home. “Can you please point me toward your restroom?”
He could call an Uber from there.
“Of course—but first you have to know that that was not acceptable behavior from a Daddy. That was cruel and uncalled for and was in no way meant to help you but to cover their own faults.”
“For one man, sure, but all three? If everyone says the same thing, then it’s me.” He sighed, then shook himself. “The lifestyle’s not for me. I’m not a good boy.”
“You just didn’t have the right Daddy,” Champ insisted. “Were any of your Doms Daddies? Or were they just Doms?”
“They were Doms, I guess? I mean…I don’t want to talk about it, okay?