Chapter Nine
Cooper
Oh.
It was like being under water but in a crystal-clear sea. My brain was quiet but so acutely aware of this monumental moment I couldn’t even blink.
Patrick’s gaze bore into my soul, seeing every last bit of me exposed and vulnerable and safe.
I’d never had sex this way. Face to face. I’d never had someone take their time to pull me apart piece by piece before filling me up.
I knew I was crying, and I’d be embarrassed about it the next day, but right there and then, I didn’t care.
Like Patrick could hear my thoughts out loud, he leaned down and swiped his tongue up my cheeks, kissing and licking the salty tears away.
“You okay, baby boy?”
Baby boy.
I wanted to be his baby boy.
“Perfect,” I choked out.
There had been no pain. The stretch as Patrick pushed his cock inside me had been nothing but exquisite, and I never wanted him to leave. My body felt right for the first time in my life. Like I was made for this and not made wrong.
Patrick pulled out slowly, every ridge and bulging vein in his cock rubbing against hundreds of nerve endings, lighting them up one by one only for them to explode like fireworks when he thrust back in—hard.
“Holy shit.” I gasped and gripped Patrick’s muscled forearms.
He gradually increased his pace, giving as much pleasure as he took, roaming his hands all over my body and kissing me like he was addicted.
My brain fizzled quietly. I didn’t have to be anyone else. Only had to do as I was told, be good for Daddy, and he’d give me what I needed in return. I’d never felt peace like it.
Patrick gripped my thighs and pushed them back until I was practically folded in half, and I moaned at the new angle.
Every thrust pegged my prostate, which was making it hard not to come until he said I could.
“Oh. Daddy. T-too good.”
“Beautiful, alpha. You were made for this, weren’t you?” Patrick leaned down and took my nipple between his teeth, tugging until I was writhing under him.
“Gonna come for Daddy, little fox? Make a mess for me?”
Patrick lifted my hips off the bed and pistoned into me. Our nest was falling off the bed, and sweat coated our skin as the sound of our bodies slamming together in pure pleasure echoed around the room.
“Y-y-yes, Daddy. G-g-gonna come. Gonna come for you,” I stuttered out at roughly the moment I realised I was in the firing line of my own cum. I moaned as my rigid cock throbbed, my release landing on my chin and lips like paint splatters on a canvas.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck. You look too—too fucking pretty painted in cum, baby boy.” Daddy grunted before his thrusts became ragged, and he dropped my hips, pushing inside as far as he could before his whole body trembled and warmth spread somewhere deep within me.
Nobody had ever come inside me before, and there was something raw and intimate about it that only made me want more.
Daddy collapsed on top of me, his heavy weight like an impenetrable blanket I could hide beneath, away from the world.
He leaned on one elbow to pepper lazy kisses all over my face, and I giggled under the onslaught.
His tongue darted out to lick some of my cum from my bottom lip. “Mmmm. Tastes good,” he murmured.
“You’re a dirty man, Daddy.”
Patrick chuckled. “I think this dirty boy”—he poked the tip of my nose—“likes having a dirty Daddy.”
I grinned at him but then pouted as his cock slipped from my body.
Taking me by surprise, Patrick grabbed my waist and flipped us so he was lying on his back with me sprawled out on top of him.
Some of Daddy’s cum dripped down my leg, and I frowned.
He spanked me lightly on my bum. “Don’t like the feel of it coming out again?” Patrick asked.
“It’s not that exactly…” I replied, shy all of a sudden.
Patrick cocked his head to one side, studying me as though I was a piece of abstract art, but then he followed my line of sight to the bedside table.
“Oh,” he chuckled. “One sec.” Daddy reached a hand over and picked up the small metal plug before pushing it inside my loosened hole.
“That better?” he asked. “Didn’t want to lose Daddy’s cum yet?”
I groaned and buried my face in his furred chest as he laughed beneath me.
“My arse is cold now,” I grumbled.
“Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” Patrick grabbed one of the blankets I’d used for the nest and draped it over me.
I wriggled a bit to get comfortable, enjoying the feel of Patrick’s slightly sticky softened cock pressed against my own.
I reached for his left hand, which was gently rubbing up and down my back. “Has this thumb… um… been inside me?” I asked.
“Huh?” Daddy sounded sleepy. “Oh. No. Right hand only. You’re good.”
Because Daddy was clearly a mind-reader, he brought his thumb to my lips and pushed it inside. It was so much better than sucking on my own thumb. I pressed my tongue underneath it and sucked hard, forcing it to suction to the roof of my mouth until I settled.
“You were amazing tonight, little fox,” Daddy whispered.
With boneless limbs and heavy lids, all I managed was a hum around his thumb before I floated away.
The night before returned to me in tiny fragments as I slowly stirred the next morning.
Stupidly, I felt around the bed like Patrick might still be there but he wasn’t.
He’d said he wouldn’t stay in here, so I don’t know why I was disappointed.
I’d slept like the dead and had no memory of Patrick returning to his bedroom in the night.
Despite feeling a little sad to be waking alone, nothing could wipe the grin off my face as I recalled every last second of the best sex of my life. I pressed my fingertips to my lips and chin, expecting to find the dried remnants of the night before there, but my face was clean.
Actually, so was my chest and oh—the plug was gone, too.
My face was suddenly on fire. Patrick must have cleaned me up a little while I’d been in a sex coma. The image of that was somehow both mortifying and hot.
“You awake now, sleepyhead?” Patrick asked from the doorway.
He appeared deliciously sleep-rumpled, hair at all angles, and shirtless with a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms hanging loosely on his hips. I feared I was developing a bit of a flannel fetish because of Patrick.
“Brought you some orange juice, and I ran you a bath. Reckon I can tempt you out of bed?”
He looked so soft I could hardly bear it. A lump of emotion formed in my throat, and I didn’t even know why.
“Hey, hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. I don’t know why…” I whispered, wiping my eyes with the heels of my palms.
“It’s normal, don’t worry. Last night was… intense. You might feel a little bit wobbly today.”
I nodded because I knew that logically but still felt silly.
“Come on, baby boy. Drink this, and then I’ll give you a proper wash. I only wiped you down a little last night.”
“Thank you for doing that. Sorry I fell asleep,” I muttered, fiddling with the corner of the blanket before taking a big sip of juice.
“Sorry? Fucking a boy into a comatose state is practically a badge of honour.” He grinned at me and oh god.
No.
This isn’t fair.
I’d never seen Patrick smile like that. Hadn’t seen how that big, wide, toothy grin was accompanied by a dimple, because of course it was. His stubble tried to hide it, but I could see it, it was there.
Patrick Morgan, Daddy Dom of my dreams, had a fucking dimple when he smiled, and I was ruined.
I smiled back, but inside, a storm was brewing in the pit of my stomach.
Patrick reached out his hand, and I took it, standing to follow him into the bathroom.
It was hard to believe this cottage had once belonged to old Mrs Langley after all the work Patrick had done.
A large double-wide shower with brass showerheads was in the corner of the room, while a huge claw-foot tub was practically the centrepiece.
He’d returned the flooring of the cottage to the original hardwood, and it was beautiful.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Patrick said, and I realised he was being polite so I could use the toilet in private.
We’d agreed upon this aftercare in advance, and it’d been important to Patrick. Once I’d used the toilet, I climbed inside the tub. Rather than filled with bubbles, something milky had been added, and it smelled of jasmine and vanilla.
I couldn’t help but groan as I settled into the hot water. As someone who was not folded in half and pounded with any frequency, my muscles were feeling it today.
“Temperature okay?” Patrick asked from where he’d reappeared in the doorway.
“It’s great, thank you.”
He smiled and seemed happy that I was happy. Patrick grabbed a wooden stool from the corner of the room and sat at the head of the bath.
“Can I wash your hair?” he asked, running his fingers through the slightly tangled strands.
“Yes, please.”
Patrick used a jug to pour warm water over my head, tipping my face back so I wouldn’t get it in my eyes. We didn’t speak as he massaged shampoo into my scalp, but a whimper slipped out. Nobody had ever touched me like this.
My heart told me that maybe my omega mum had when I was little, but I didn’t remember.
After she’d died, Mom was so busy taking care of Dylan that I’d learned to do a lot of things on my own.
By five, I’d been running my own baths, complete with bubbles and the grey plastic boat Axel’s dad had bought me for my birthday.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” Patrick said softly, and I realised that once again tears were streaming down my cheeks, only this time, a sob was ripped from my chest, and I had to lean forward to breathe through it.
“What are you thinking about, little fox? It sounds heavy.”
“D-d-do you remember being bathed as a ch-child?” I asked as I tried to steady my breathing.