Fitch (The Wylde Street Boys #2)

1. Dominic Lowing

ONE

DOMINIC LOWING

“Leave your car,” I said to Nolan. “Come back and get it in the morning.”

He nodded. “Night,” he said, and we went in separate directions.

Nolan was a good mate and colleague. He was like me in a lot of ways: driven and smart, and gay. I respected him, and there were few people I could say that about.

We were also both drunk. It’d been a long week, and after a few too many whiskies, he was being a good guy and going home, and unlike him, I was not.

I was in a mood and hungry for something only a certain thing would satisfy.

I had an appetite I was tired of suppressing.

Not that I’d suppressed it, per se. My closest friends knew I preferred much younger men. But no one else did. I’d tried to ignore my desires and date men closer to my age, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore, to dismiss, to quash down.

I wanted what I wanted.

I wanted a man who played the part. Who played up to my appetite and fed my soul.

There was one boy who I’d had a few times. A rent boy. I didn’t even know his name. But he certainly knew what I liked.

He normally hung around Wylde Street—I’d seen him when we arrived—but he was gone now. Would I find him at midnight on Oxford Street?

Highly unlikely. He’d be with some other lucky guy, for sure.

But I went looking anyway.

I might not find the man I craved, but I’d definitely find one to quench my thirst tonight.

As I rounded the corner onto Oxford, the sounds of music, laughter and chatter got louder. The neon lights and crowds were a familiar feel, and the Friday night vibes made me smile.

I liked Oxford Street.

There was a sense of community here. One I’d not had when I was a younger man, and I appreciated it, if not for myself, for the younger queer guys who got to enjoy a night out with friends without fear or shame.

I was glad they had that here.

I was glad I had it now.

God, shake off the morose funk, Dominic.

See? I was in a mood.

I needed to unwind, to let it all go. To destress, to be happy. To be me. I needed to go to that place only one thing could take me to.

I needed to find myself a?—

“Oh, sorry.” A guy stepped out of a store, looking back and laughing at something, and ran straight into me. I had to catch his arm to stop him from falling. He was young, maybe twenty years old; he was a foot shorter than me, small frame, big familiar blue eyes, and a smile that stole my breath.

Him. It was him.

The boy I’d had a few times. The boy who knew what I liked.

Then he looked me up and down, his tongue teasing the corner of his mouth. “Oh. Hi. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Oh yeah. He was exactly what I needed to find myself.

“Hello,” I said, my voice deep.

He had floppy brown hair, sinful lips, and sultry please fuck me daddy eyes. He slow-blinked, and those damn lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Please tell me you’re cruising,” he murmured. “If you’re after trouble, you know I’m your boy.”

God, why did he have to call himself that?

Boy.

I didn’t even need to answer, because he stepped in closer, his teeth worrying his bottom lip, and I swear he purred. “I know how you like it,” he murmured. “Because that’s how I like it too.”

Damn.

Then the little punk batted his eyelashes at me. “Every boy needs his daddy.”

My breath caught and my blood ran hot. This kid thought he was in control here and I needed to remind him who he was dealing with. I took his chin between my thumb and forefinger and made him look up at me. “What I want,” I said, voice gruff, “is for you to do what you’re told.”

His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. “Oh, I’ll do anything you tell me. You know the price; back room or alley, depends how fast you want it.” Then he hummed. “Or three hundred dollars for the night and I’ll do anything you want.”

Oh, those were dangerous words.

I’ll do anything you want.

Dangerous, indeed.

“You shouldn’t say that,” I told him. “To me, or anyone else. They might take it as permission to hurt you.”

He had the hide to smirk, his chin still in my hold. “You could never hurt me. Well, not in a bad way. I bet you could hurt me real good.”

Christ.

Oh, I wanted to do things to this boy. His smart mouth, that mischief and daring in his eyes that was begging for punishment.

“Three hundred dollars,” I agreed. “My place.”

“Your place?” He didn’t look too sure now.

“You said all night.”

He seemed to consider this, and then out of nowhere, another young guy appeared. He snapped a photograph of my face, then pocketed his phone before I could blink. “Collateral. Return him unharmed and the photo gets deleted.”

Now it was my turn to consider the terms. Given he was about to leave with me, a stranger for the most part, for the sole purpose of sex, it was probably fair. Normally the transactions I’d had with him happened in back alleys or back rooms, once in a cheap hotel room, but if I wanted this guy all night—and I really did want him for the whole night and well into tomorrow—then I wanted to take it back to my place.

“Fine.”

He looked up at me, smiling shyly, and batted his eyelashes again. “Lead the way.”

I flagged down a passing taxi, and we climbed in. I gave my address, which the boy clearly heard because he took out his phone and texted it to someone named Ky.

“Was that his name?” I asked. “The guy back there?”

He nodded. “We look out for each other.”

That was fair enough. The world was a terrible place, full of people who used and abused every chance they got.

I should know.

I saw the worst kinds of people in my job, hearing about all the horrors they inflicted. So who was I to question this guy’s need for personal safety?

I was careful to not say much, with the cabbie pretending not to watch us in his rear-vision mirror, and my company for the night seemed to understand this.

He thumbed through his phone to a health app I recognised. He opened it and tapped on the screen to show me his health status. Negative to everything. “Show me yours.”

I hesitated because this kid was too damn bold. Then he leaned up and whispered in my ear. “You can’t come inside me if you don’t show me.”

Fuck.

The little punk leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear, voice warm. “And you want to do that, don’t you?”

Fucking hell.

I fished my phone out and found the same app, showing him the screen. When he saw the list of negatives, he looked up at me and hummed. Then he slid his hand along my thigh, running his fingers along the inseam of my suit pants until his fingers brushed my balls.

I shot him a look, and he had the audacity to squirm, blinking through his lashes as if he was doing nothing wrong.

Then he rubbed his hand up over my crotch and palmed me. His nostrils flared and his eyes melted when he felt hardness. “Fuck yes,” he breathed.

I smirked down at him.

He licked his lips, his cheeks pinking up.

God, I wanted to pull him onto my lap. I wanted to hold him, feel his small frame under my hands, feel him squirm on my dick.

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to hear him whimper and beg.

I wanted this cab driver to hurry the fuck up.

The boy kept palming me, rubbing, feeling me harden under his touch.

I grabbed his wrist. “Mm-mm.” I needed him to stop or we were about to give this cabbie a show.

He responded by leaning into me and pouting like a kid being told he couldn’t have his favourite toy.

Holy shit, this boy was dangerous.

When I’d enjoyed him before, he played up to his boyish looks while doing everything I asked, and it never lasted long.

Like that time I’d unzipped my pants and he sank to his knees without me asking and begged me to feed him.

Or that time in a cheap hotel, when I’d been balls deep in him and he’d babbled incoherently and called me daddy...

But this side of him? This playful side—this mine-for-the-whole-night side of him—was something else.

It felt obscene and risqué. Taboo, even.

It made my blood sing and my balls ache.

The taxi came to a stop and I’d never been so relieved to see my place. I threw him more than enough money and we climbed out, walking silently to my front door.

It gave me some time to cool down, to get my mind in a better place. To embrace some patience before I took this boy the second we were through the door.

I had a role to play, and if I was going to do this properly—to reach that ultimate high—I needed to get in the right headspace.

I flipped on some lights in the foyer and, taking my suit jacket off, gently placed it over the back of the sofa.

“Can I get you a drink?”

When there was no immediate reply, I turned to find him taking in my house.

“Boy,” I said.

His eyes snapped to mine. “Sorry, I... a water would be great.”

He followed me toward the kitchen, his hand skimming the cool marble top of the island. “So,” he said. “What do I call you, if you don’t want me to call you daddy? I thought you liked it when I called you daddy.”

“You can call me Dom.” I wasn’t aware we were doing names, but my mouth beat my brain.

He grinned, that damn tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I like that. Should you call me sub?”

Dom. Sub... of course he would make that connection.

He trailed a finger along the marble countertop. “My name is Fitch, though I do like it when you call me boy, Dom.”

Why did I tell him my name?

Why did I like it when he said it?

“You can call me daddy when I fuck you,” I said.

His eyes met mine and that sultry spark was back. He hummed. “Yes, Dom.”

He was so much shorter than me, and I did ask him this the very first time, but I had to ask again.

“How old are you really?” I asked quietly. He’d said twenty but he looked younger, and I had to be sure.

The little punk grinned, then leaned up on his toes to whisper in my ear. “I’m almost twenty-one. But shh. Don’t tell anyone. I look young but I promise I’m legal.” He put his hand to my chest as he leaned a little closer, his breath warm in my ear. “Didn’t you see my date of birth on my health app?”

I hadn’t noticed it, no.

He took his phone out and showed me again. He was, in fact, twenty years old. And his surname was Lamont. Not that I mentioned this, for fear he’d ask for mine in return.

I handed him the glass of water and he took it, still watching me as he sipped it. “All night, huh?” He looked up at me with big eyes and, now, wet lips. “Where do you want to start? If I remember correctly, you like me on my knees.”

I pulled at my tie, and he was quick to put his glass on the counter. “Let me,” he said, sliding his hands over mine and taking over the removal of my tie. “Come and sit down. You’ve had a long week. Let your boy look after you.”

He led me to the dining table, pulled out a seat, and made me sit.

And I did everything he wanted, all too willingly.

Your boy.

Fuck, I’d let him do anything he wanted to me when he called himself that.

Then, as if he knew exactly what I liked, what I needed, he straddled my knees and began to gently undo my tie. “Let me do this for you,” he murmured. “It’s a boy’s job to look after his daddy.”

I grunted. “What did I tell you about calling me daddy?”

He leaned in and whispered in my ear, his lips brushing me. “Oh, but you are going to fuck me, right? Please?”

I let out a rough breath, resting one hand on his lower back, the other on his knee. He was small. Maybe five foot two, and he’d be lucky to weigh fifty kilograms, wringing wet.

God, now I want to see him wet.

My hand covered most of his lower back, sliding down to his hip. He’d be so easy to manhandle, to control.

Then the little punk wiggled closer to my crotch as he pulled my tie through my collar. He dropped it onto the table and then, while he chewed his bottom lip in concentration, he undid my top button, then the second, then the third.

He gasped quietly and ran his dainty fingers through the hair on my chest. “Mm,” he hummed. “So hot.”

I couldn’t help myself. I ran my hand along his jaw and brought his mouth to mine. He opened easily, our tongues colliding and sliding. He tasted like gum and lemonade.

A heady combination when I wanted a boy.

But then he tried to slide closer to my crotch, as if he were desperate for more. I wasn’t having that. So I gripped his thigh and broke the kiss.

“You’re being bold,” I warned him.

His lips were swollen and wet, his eyes glazed with desire. “Please,” he whispered. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

Heat flooded my veins, and the lid on my self-control loosened. “Can you be a good boy all night?”

The little punk played his part without prompting. He gave me big puppy dog eyes, a pout, and a nod. “All night.”

Oh, holy hell.

Then he squirmed again and I lost all fight. I was already hard, getting closer to desperate. I gripped his hips, moved him onto my crotch and flexed my hips to make sure he could feel my erection. “I should give you something to squirm about, boy. Right here and now.”

“Oh, daddy,” he breathed. “Yes.”

Then he stood up and pawed at the fly on my suit pants, expertly pulling my cock free. I thought he might take a second to appreciate me, but no. He unzipped his own jeans, his hard cock springing out, and then he turned around and began to lower himself down.

Christ, he was bold.

I took his hips in my hand and guided his arse over the head of my cock. He was already slick so I stopped him.

“Do you have another man’s come in you?”

He froze. “No. I lubed up earlier,” he said quickly, voice tight, fraught. “I promise, daddy. I like to be ready. Take a look.”

He leaned over the table, his jeans around his thighs, showing me his small arse. There was lube and nothing else. His hole looked fresh and pink.

Damn.

I hummed. “Just as well.”

He went to stand up, but I pushed his shoulders down to the table. I gripped my cock and swiped it over his hole, adding my precome to the lube.

And what did he do?

He spread his arse cheeks for me.

I leaned over him, my cock at his hole. “Such a good boy,” I murmured, voice rough.

He whined, his eyes closed, lips parted. “Please, daddy.”

Fuck yes, the way he begged me for it.

I pushed into him, his feet coming off the floor, his back arching as he groaned and cried out.

He was tight and hot, and I sank into him to the hilt in one long push.

“Daddy, daddy,” he pleaded, his arms and hands clutching at the table. It was too much for him, without any preparation, but he took me.

He took me so well.

He pushed up onto his hands so I wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled him up so I could whisper in his ear. “Breathe for me,” I murmured. “Feel daddy’s cock.”

He let out a long, breathy moan.

“Such a good boy.”

He relaxed then, his shoulders dropping, his breathing more regular and less strained. So I slowly pulled back and sank in again, over and over.

He was moaning with pleasure in no time.

I hadn’t fucked anyone raw in a long time, and by god, I’d missed it.

It felt so good.

His hips and arse were almost half as wide as mine, and when I looked down, seeing my cock buried in him was almost too much.

Fuck, he was perfect.

I fisted his hair and grunted in his ear. “You like daddy’s big cock, boy?”

He panted. “Yes, daddy.”

I slid my hand around his throat and arched his back. I drove deeper inside him and I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Come inside, yes or no? Tell me now, boy.”

“Yes please, daddy,” he whined. “Please. Give it to me.”

My orgasm hit me like a truck. Powerful, obliterating. Beautiful.

Fire ripped through me, flames of ecstasy licking my bones as that whiteout of bliss cleared my mind. My cock surged, shooting my load deep inside him and wave after wave of pure pleasure barrelled through me.

So sublime.

This is what I craved. What I needed. What I’d doubted I’d find tonight... Well, I’d certainly found it.

With a slow blink, I realised my forehead was pressed against his nape. His head was turned, a serene smile on his face.

God, this boy.

Fitch. Is that what he said his name was?

“Are you okay?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

He laughed. “Yes, thank you, daddy.”

I stood up to my full height, still buried inside him, and slowly pulled back.

His arse was used now, a slight gape and the hint of my seed at his hole.

He was a fucking masterpiece.

I ran my hand over the small globe of his backside. “We should shower,” I said. It’d been a long day. It was well after midnight now, and even though that orgasm had damn near blown my brains out, when I’d said I was paying for the whole night, I meant it.

“Let me help you up,” I said.

There was a good chance he’d be a bit sore—the table edge more unforgiving than what I’d been—and when he winced as he stood up, I was quick to put my arm around him. I picked him up, bridal style. “I’ll carry you,” I said.

He was shocked, but soon slung his arms around my neck and rested his head on my shoulder. I carried him into my bedroom ensuite.

I caught his smile in the mirror as I set him down on his feet, so I knew he wasn’t injured. But I lifted his chin and met his eyes. “Are you sore?”

He shook his head, a soft smile playing at those sinful lips. “No, daddy,” he whispered. “Was I a good boy?”

My nostrils flared and I had to steady my breath. “A very good boy.”

This pleased him, clearly, because he preened. And that was not an act. That wasn’t part of the roles we were playing.

He got off on this as much as I did.

And that made my whole chest warm, my heart feeling a size too big.

“Let me take care of you,” I murmured.

“Yes, daddy,” he said.

I took my time undressing him, running my hand over every new reveal of his pale skin.

Then I showered him, washing him thoroughly and pressing soft kisses where the bubbles had just been.

Then he insisted on giving me a thorough clean. First with soap, then on his knees with his mouth.

He didn’t bring me to orgasm, but fuck, it felt good.

And the sight of him on his knees with my dick in his mouth while the shower washed over us was something I’d never forget.

Sometime around three in the morning, I fucked him in my bed. Doggy style, his small hips in my hands as I impaled him over and over, filled him with my cock, with my come. He shot his load at the same time, hands-free, his whole body trembling, and the sounds he made, the way he called me daddy, the way he begged and pleaded...

So hot, so perfect.

He was everything I needed.

All I could ever want.

Just before seven o’clock in the morning—after six glorious, too-short hours with him—I knew I needed more. I needed this boy on a regular basis.

Surely he’d like a regular customer, regular income. I was willing to pay. Hell, he could name his price and I’d pay it.

I got out of the shower, excited to cook him some breakfast. Excited to ask him if he’d be interested in some kind of arrangement. I fixed the towel around my waist and, still with beads of water on my chest, I opened the door. “So I was thinking...” I began.

But my smile died when I saw the empty, rumpled bed, his clothes and shoes no longer on the floor.

I considered calling out to see if he was in the kitchen, but I knew...

My house felt too quiet, too empty.

He was gone.