Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
KEANE
The phone buzzes against my desk. I recognize the number instantly—Adiel, my friend from The Playground, the kink club I belong to.
“Keane,” Adiel says, warm as ever. “I heard you’ve been dipping a toe into the Daddy scene again.”
I groan, loosening my tie. “Let’s call it… exploratory. Why?”
Adiel laughs. “Tomorrow night, the Littles are hosting an ice cream social. You might enjoy it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ice cream? Great. I wouldn’t have taken Oren out for a triple scoop this week if I'd known that.”
Adiel chuckles. “So, you’ve been seeing him? The one you connected with on the forum?”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Just… spending time. Getting to know him. He’s… special.”
Adiel whistles softly. “I can believe that. Kid’s got a spark. You’d make a damn fine Daddy for him.”
A knot tightens in my chest. “I’m treading carefully. I don’t want to overstep.”
Adiel chuckles again. “Careful’s good. Just… Not too careful, ya’ know? Don’t let the past hold you back.”
A pulse of resolve spreads through me. “You’re right.
I just… I don’t want to mess it up. Oren…
Oren needs more than anyone has ever asked of me before.
Not that that’s a problem for me. I want to be what he needs.
I want more than that. I just don’t want to disappoint him.
What if I wind up hurting him instead of healing him? ”
“Spoken like a true Daddy. You won’t,” Adiel says. “Just pay attention. Watch for the warning signs, but don’t forget the good stuff too. That kid needs you, Keane. And I’ve got a hunch you’re gonna need him too.”
I smile faintly, heart tight with a mix of pride and anxiety.
“Yeah… I think you’re right.” I scrub my face and settle back in my chair.
“But listen, there’s something else. I need you to be on the lookout.
Vince Marlowe. If his name comes up for membership, don’t let him through the door. He’s trouble.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Don’t be a stranger. And next time you pop in, introduce me properly to your boy.”
His chuckle is cut off as the call disconnects. My protective instincts are on high alert, but I need to shed that skin when I’m with Oren and just be present with him. When we’re together, it’s so good, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.
I sink back into the couch, staring at nothing.
I should be winding down, thinking about tomorrow, the social, the flood of sugar-drunk Littles.
But all I can see is Oren’s grin under the stars, flashlight beam dancing across his cheeks.
All I can hear is the way he whispered Goodnight, Daddy like it was a secret between us.
The world’s full of people who’d take advantage of him, who’d twist that sweetness into something ugly. Not on my watch. Not ever.
Tomorrow night, I’ll make damn sure of it.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. My pulse jumps, half-expecting more bad news. But it’s from Oren.
A picture.
It takes me a second to register what I’m looking at.
It’s us, me with an arm slung casually around his shoulders, him beaming brighter than sunshine.
The photo is jammed into the popsicle stick frame he made at camp, crooked twigs and blobs of glue holding it all together.
A bit of moss dangles over my forehead as if I’ve sprouted a lopsided wig.
This is my safe thing, the text underneath says. Makes me feel less small. Shy small, not Little small, he clarifies.
I chuckle under my breath, but it dies quickly, chest tightening as though someone’s cinched a strap around me. That ridiculous frame, his proud little smile—it’s not just a craft project. It’s him, telling me I matter. That I make him feel cherished and protected.
And damn if my heart doesn’t squeeze so hard it hurts.
I thumb back a reply.
“You make me proud, boy. Every damn day.”
The Playground looks different tonight. Less leather and shadows, more twinkle lights strung across the ceiling and folding tables groaning under tubs of neon-colored ice cream.
Someone’s blasting a bubblegum pop playlist that feels wildly out of place in a kink club, but judging by the happy chaos, the Littles and Middles are eating it up.
And in the center of it all—Oren.
He’s parked at the sprinkle station, tongue peeking out as he concentrates on getting the right ratio of gummy worms to crushed cookie pieces.
His bear flashlight dangles from his belt loop like it’s the most natural accessory in the world, and in this crowd, it is.
Every few seconds he glances around, scanning for me.
When his eyes land on mine, his whole face lights up. Not just a smile. A full-body glow that makes my chest go hot and tight. As if he’s been waiting just for me.
I weave through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces. A few Daddies clap me on the shoulder, some smirk knowingly, and Adiel raises his cone in salute from across the room. But I barely register any of them.
It’s all Oren.
“Hey,” he says when I reach him, voice a little shy despite the grin stretching his face. He holds up his concoction like it’s a science project. “I might’ve gone overboard.”
The cup is piled so high it’s a structural hazard.
I laugh. “That’s not overboard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
He giggles, ducking his head, and I want to kiss the sprinkles off his lips right there. Instead, I snag two spoons and hand him one. “Guess you’ll need help eating that.”
His eyes flick up, bright and daring. “Guess I will.”
My chest squeezes again, vice-tight.
Again, that feeling of rightness washes over me. I know this isn’t just a scene or a weekend thing.
Oren takes the spoon from me with a look that’s way too innocent for the way he deliberately slides his tongue along the pink plastic. His lashes flick up, daring me to react.
My blood heats instantly.
But then—splat.
Half-melted Superhero Swirl dribbles right off the spoon and splashes across his shirt in a smear of blue and red. His eyes go wide.
“Oops.”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. He looks so horrified and proud at the same time, as if he can’t decide whether he ruined his sexy attempt or leveled it up by accident.
And then, of course—Timmy notices.
“Oooops!” he parrots dramatically, dumping the entire scoop of his own ice cream onto his chest. The gasp he gives is pure theater. “Guess I need to, uh—” He yanks his shirt over his head in one flourish, revealing smooth abs and a shameless grin. “Emergency clean-up?”
Counselor Hottie, who’s been valiantly scooping rainbow sprinkles for the last half hour, nearly drops the ladle.
The Littles around us erupt into laughter. Oren groans, face redder than the cherry on his sugar mountain, and mutters, “He’s hopeless.”
I lean down, low enough that only Oren hears me. “Good thing you’re not.”
His blush deepens, but he doesn’t look away. Sticky shirt and all, he meets my gaze with confidence, knowing he’s got me undone despite his folly.
The club echoes with laughter as Timmy struts shirtless as though he just won a pageant. Oren hides his face in his hands for a second, then tugs at my sleeve.
“Bathroom. Please.” His voice is tiny, urgent.
I nod and guide him through the crowd, my palm warm at the small of his back. He doesn’t speak again until the door swings shut behind us, muffling the noise outside.
He peels his sticky shirt away from his chest with a grimace, blue and red streaked across the fabric.
“So much for being smooth.”
I chuckle, leaning against the sink. “Kiddo, you’ve got no idea how smooth you are. Messy? Yeah. But smooth all the same.”
His cheeks burn brighter than the smear of strawberry syrup on his collarbone.
“You’re just saying that.”
I shake my head. “I’m a lawyer, remember? I don’t waste words.”
He looks down at the ruined shirt, then back at me, hesitation flickering across his face.
“You think they’ll laugh if I go back out like this?”
I step closer, reach for a paper towel, and dab at his mouth with slow, careful strokes that make him shiver.
“Nobody’s laughing at you. Not with me here.”
Carefully, I lift the shirt over his head. For a beat, the air between us tightens with electric heat. His bare chest rises and falls, his lips parting as if he wants to say something else, something more.
But instead, he whispers, “Thanks, Daddy.”
Two words, soft as a heartbeat. And suddenly I’m the one fighting not to spill something all over my shirt.
His Thanks, Daddy hangs in the air, and something in me snaps tight.
I dip my head before I can talk myself out of it, ghosting my breath across his nipples, now tight from the cold ice cream.
“Looks a bit sticky,” I murmur. My voice is rougher than I mean it to be. “Let me help you clean up.”
My tongue snakes out, tasting sugar and salt and the shiver that runs through him. He gasps, gripping the counter behind him, chest arching as if he can’t decide whether to lean into me or run.
Sweet skin, sweeter sound. I lap at the smear until all I can taste is Oren, until my lips brush the edge of his racing pulse.
I should stop. God, I should stop. But his fingers twitch toward my hair, and I’m already gone.
His fingers finally sink into my hair, tentative at first, then tighter, as if daring himself to want this as much as I do. That’s all the permission I need.
I close my mouth over his nipple, tongue circling before I suck hard enough to pull a sharp little cry out of him. His hips jerk, brushing against mine, and the sweet, clumsy mess of him just about wrecks me.
“Keane—”
It’s half-whisper, half-moan, and it shoots straight through me.
I drag my mouth lower, tracing the sticky trail across his stomach, each lick deliberate, claiming. By the time I’m on my knees, he’s trembling as if he doesn’t know where to put his hands.
I look up, and there’s nothing boyish in his eyes now. Just trust and heat.
“Still sticky,” I rasp, nuzzling against the bulge straining his shorts. “Want me to finish the job?”
He nods, fast and desperate, and my heart pounds as though I’m nineteen again, as though I haven’t sworn off letting anyone close. But Oren isn’t just anyone. He’s mine.
I tug his waistband down, freeing him, and then I don’t think anymore. My mouth opens, and I take him in, slow at first—because he deserves savoring—then deeper when his breath catches and his thighs quiver under my hands.
Every sound he makes is ice cream and summer and sin, and I’m starving.
I sink deeper, lips sliding hot and wet down his shaft, and the needy whimper he gives me makes my cock ache.
I work him slow at first, savoring every twitch, every shaky inhale, letting him know he’s the center of my world right now.
Then his fingers grip my hair tighter, urging me, and I answer with a long, greedy slurp that makes his knees buckle.
“God—Keane—” His voice breaks, then steadies, playful even in the wreckedness. “Make my undies sticky, Daddy.”
That does it. Something snaps in me, and I go to town, sucking him hard and fast, swallowing every little gasp and cry he offers as though they’re my lifeline.
His hips stutter, his thighs trembling, and then he spills for me with a desperate cry, pulsing over my tongue until he slumps back against the wall, panting.
He’s grinning even as he’s catching his breath. “Confidence restored,” he declares, like the brat he is. “Now let’s go get more ice cream!”
He moves to tug his shorts up, but I catch his wrist, hauling him back down into my space. My mouth meets his in a kiss that’s slow, sweet, and sticky with his own taste.
“None for me,” I murmur against his lips, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “Already had my dessert. Sweetest thing here.”
The way his eyes go soft at that—as if he’s not sure he deserves to be wanted this much—damn near undoes me more than anything else.