Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know I want it. I’ll walk out right now if you think that. Like I said before, I feel it, deep inside me.”
Oh, he had spunk, and I liked that entirely too much. It was refreshing and made me want to smile, but I didn’t. “I won’t tell you who you are,” I replied. I didn’t plan to fuck the boy, but still I asked, “What’s your sexual experience?”
Finley was cutting as I asked. His hand slipped, and he cursed as the knife tumbled to the floor. Immediately, I shoved to my feet. “Did you cut yourself?”
“No, no. I’m fine. I just…” His cheeks were pink, and it was delicious. I couldn’t deny that I wanted him.
“Continue.” I sat back down. Finley washed the knife, then did as I said. As he cut, he squared his shoulders and held his head high.
“I’ve given a few blowjobs. I’ve never been fucked, if that’s what you’re asking, but I want it, and I sure as hell know I’ll be good at it.”
Yes, I was in so much trouble with him. My dick twitched, and that damn smile threatened to curl my lips again. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Because I know I can and—wait, you don’t?”
That was the extent of how far I was willing to go with that at the moment, so I said, “Tell me about Ian.”
Finley cooked as he told me about Ian, his job and his fuck buddy and their history together. Ian was a year older than him, and Finley had been seventeen when they’d run away together.
Soon the omelets were done, and Finley plated them for each of us, along with a glass of orange juice. He watched me as I took a bite. I had a feeling he was holding his breath, and I said, “It’s delicious. Good job, boy,” knowing he needed to hear it. He gave me a thousand-watt smile, and I added, “Eat,” and he did.
He didn’t ask me questions, which pleased me. We ate, and then he did the dishes before I moved us to the living room. I sat down on the couch and bit back a groan when he knelt on the floor beside me. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I want to. May I?”
Shit. This was bad. Incredibly fucking bad, but I nodded. He was young, so young, and I feared I was taking advantage of him, but he was so eager, I told myself better me than someone else. I knew I wouldn’t hurt him. That I would do what was best for him, even if he didn’t always agree with me on what that was.
He was beautiful there, his blond hair like a halo, his blue eyes crisp, open, and needy. I wanted to tell him to unbutton my pants and nurse my cock before fucking between his plump lips. Instead, I said, “If it were up to you, tell me exactly what you would get from me. What you’re looking for.”
He shrugged as if the answer were so simple. “I want to serve you…in all things. I want to cook for you and clean for you. I want to help you get ready for work in the morning and be here when you get home. Whatever you need, I want to provide it. I want to kneel at your feet, and rest my head on your thigh, and feel…safe, and to please you. Always to please you.”
My breath hitched at that.
“Is it wrong? To want that?” he asked, so innocently.
“No. No it’s not. Continue.”
“I want to know what’s expected of me. I want to know that you’re there if I need you, and like I said, to feel cherished because you know I cherish you. I want you to push me to my knees if you want my mouth, and to take my ass when you need a hole, and for you to fill me when I need that as well. And I want your control in all aspects of my life. It’s all too much for me sometimes.”
Blood rushed to my cock, making it ache. Oh, precious boy. The things I could do to you…
“You got all this from porn?” I asked, and he snickered.
“Porn…books. I like to read, and just…my instincts. My gut. I want you to own me…to make me feel whole.”
“And you don’t? Feel whole right now?” I asked, knowing what his answer would be. Still, I needed to hear it.
“No, Sir. I never have.”
It was difficult, but I fought to control myself, to keep a clear head. “Have you tried to get this with anyone else?”
“Not really. I’ve found guys on the internet to hook up with—not the domestic part, but the sex and submission. I can never go through with it.”
“What makes you think you can follow through with me?” Maybe this would be it; maybe this would be the thing that made me scratch this foolish idea from my brain.