Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
KEANE
Oren’s cheeks are pink, and not from the chocolate. He’s trying to disappear into my shirt, mumbling curses about his friends, while I keep my hand balanced at the small of his back. He’s warm, jittery, vibrating like he might either bolt or melt if I press too hard.
The care package is absurd—lube, socks with eggplants, and those bonbons that definitely weren’t just chocolate. His friends aren’t subtle. But beneath the embarrassment, there’s truth.
Have I been so focused on keeping him shielded that I was blind to his needs?
I tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at me. His eyes dart everywhere but my face, and God, he’s so sweet when he’s flustered.
“Baby boy,” I say, low enough to make him still, “your friends can be loud and pushy. But this—us—it’s not their place to decide.”
He swallows. “I didn’t ask them—”
“I know.” My thumb strokes across his cheekbone, coaxing, not cornering. “That’s why I’m asking you. Not them. Not what they think. Not what they sent in a box with ridiculous socks.”
His lashes flutter; his breath is uneven.
“I need to hear it from you,” I say, firmer now. “Do you want this? Do you want me? More than cuddles and forehead kisses?”
For a heartbeat he just stares, lips parted, color flooding his skin. Then he gives the smallest nod, shy but certain, and whispers, “Yes.”
The sound punches straight through me. I kiss him slow, deep, savoring his sweet mouth. Oren loses himself in the kiss, sliding his tongue along mine with a soft moan. When I finally pull back to catch my breath, I rest my forehead to his.
“Then that’s all I needed. Not candy. Not socks. Just your voice. Go fetch the other sock,” I tell him, loosening my tie. He blinks, clearly not expecting the command. “The one under the couch.”
Oren scrambles off, crouching down on his knees and elbows, muttering about dust bunnies. When he comes back, triumphant with the sock in hand, I drape my tie over the back of a chair and take both socks from him.
“Place these on the bed,” I instruct. “We’ll save them for later.”
His eyes flicker with uncertainty, aroused and flustered all at once. God, he’s beautiful like this.
Dinner is easy. We order pizza. He groans over the greasy cheese-pull from his dripping, gooey slice, and I laugh at the sauce smeared across his face. By the time I clear the box away, Oren’s warm and pliant, already halfway in that place where he listens without argument.
I turn the shower until the water sits somewhere between hot and warm and gesture for him to step in. Oren hesitates in the doorway for half a second, clutching the towel like it might save him, then lets it drop.
I’ve seen him nervous before. I’ve seen him brave. I haven’t seen this—this quiet, breathless awe that steals over his face when his eyes land on me.
He freezes. “Oh,” he says softly.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “That good or that bad?”
His gaze travels slowly, curious and unguarded, cataloging every inch as if he’s trying to memorize something important.
“No one warned me,” he mutters.
“About what?”
“That Daddy comes in… deluxe edition.”
I shake my head, amused despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
But he’s still staring, cheeks going pink, eyes wide in that earnest way that always twists me up inside.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like you just discovered paradise.”
He shrugs, completely serious. “Feels about right.”
I step forward before he can spiral into embarrassment and guide him under the spray. Warm water runs over his shoulders and he shivers when my hands start working soap into slow circles across his skin.
He tries to be shy, but he leans into it almost immediately.
“Relax,” I murmur, dragging suds down the line of his back.
“I am relaxed,” he insists.
“You’re vibrating.”
“That’s just… enthusiasm.”
I laugh quietly and slide my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp while he tips his head back under the spray.
“Mm,” he breathes.
“There it is. That’s the sound I was waiting for.”
His eyes flutter open and he looks up at me again—so open, so trusting it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“You’re looking again,” I point out.
“Can’t help it.”
I rinse the soap from his hair and grab a towel, taking my time drying him off. The whole time he squirms a little, cheeks bright, eyes flicking away and back again like he’s not sure where he’s supposed to look.
“You’re blushing,” I note.
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“That’s just the steam.”
I lean down so he has to meet my eyes.
“Sweetheart,” I say softly, “I know that look.”
His mouth falls open. “What look?”
“The one that says this exact scenario has been living rent-free in your imagination for a while.”
His ears go red.
“Oren.”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“You could’ve warned me.”
He groans and buries his face in the towel. “Please don’t make me admit that out loud.”
I chuckle and pull him closer, wrapping the towel around both of us.
“I’m not rushing tonight,” I tell him quietly.
And the way he melts against me tells me that’s exactly what he was hoping for.
Oren pads into his bedroom and reaches for a clean pair of underwear, but I stop him.
“Just get in bed, kiddo. No undies tonight.”
Dropping my towel, I climb in, aware of his hungry gaze glued to my body. I reach for the journal, thumbing to the page I’d dog-eared. His eyes go wide when he sees what I’ve chosen—a sock fetish story he never meant for me to read.
“You’ll read it,” I murmur, sidiling up behind him and pulling him into the cradle of my body. His back is pressed to my chest, my chin resting over his shoulder. I slide the brand new eggplant sock over his hardening shaft, hand closing around the purple fabric.
His voice falters on the first sentence.
“Keep going,” I whisper, stroking him in time with the words. The cotton drags in just the right way, rough and soft all at once.
“Keane…”
His cheeks are blazing, the story trembling out of him in broken pieces, embarrassed but so goddamn turned on he can’t stop.
“Daddy,” I correct softly, and squeeze just enough to make him gasp.
By the second paragraph, he’s a mess—hips jerking, voice shaky, torn between shame and the sharp edge of pleasure.
But I’m not letting him look away. Not tonight.
The journal rests in his hands, heavy with the wantonness of his own words. He clears his throat, hesitates, then begins softly.
“‘The boy took off his socks slowly… knowing his Daddy was watching.’” His voice is tentative, eyes flicking up to mine as if he’s unsure if he should continue.
I murmur encouragement, brushing a hand gently along his back.
“Keep going. I want to hear it from you.”
He swallows hard and continues, voice shaking slightly.
“‘Daddy said the socks looked nice… and the boy felt shy.’”
I hum softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Good. You’re doing great.”
He grips the journal tighter, leaning back against me, the warmth of our closeness grounding him.
“‘The boy tried to be brave, even though he felt a little embarrassed… Daddy was proud.’”
“Exactly. That’s why I love hearing you read your stories. Your courage shows through every word.”
He takes a deep breath, finishing the paragraph with a shy, proud glance at me. To reward him, I stroke him faster. The sound of Oren’s breath hitching makes me grow impossibly hard.
“‘And Daddy told him he was doing wonderfully… just as he was.’”
I nip his shoulder gently with my teeth. “Perfect. You’re doing wonderfully.”
Oren continues, spreading his thighs wider. My boy is living out his wildest fantasy in my arms. I squeeze him tighter in my grip, pushing him toward the edge because if he doesn’t get there soon, I’ll surely beat him to it. The way his ass squirms against my cock is driving me wild.
He grips the book tighter, his voice threaded with need.
“‘The Daddy stroked the boy's soft soles, sliding his long thick fingers between the boy’s toes.’”
“I bet that felt good,” I murmur between nibbles on his neck. Oren shudders and breathes out a breathy sigh.
“It does,” he answers, as if he’s the boy in the story. “The Daddy’s mouth would feel even better.”
“And how would the Daddy’s cock feel?”
My free arm snakes around his chest. Toying with his pert nipples produces the sexiest sounds from him.
“Good,” he squeaks. “So good.”
“You can find out how good it is after you fill the sock, baby.”
“Keane,” he whimpers, fighting embarrassment.
“Daddy,” I correct again. “Fill the sock for Daddy.”
Loosening my wrist, I pump Oren with quick strokes until his toes curl and his body goes stiff in my embrace.
“That’s it, baby. Let it all out.”
“Daddyyyyy,” he cries as he comes for me.
“Good boy, Oren.”
My kisses land on his ear, his cheek, his hair, showering my sweet, perfect boy with praise.
“Now lean forward, ass up.”
Gently, I guide my boy down on his chest, face flat on the bed, and urge his hips up, thighs spread.
Turning the sock inside out, I smear Oren’s cum over his pretty pink hole and loosen him with my fingers.
He’s eager for more, pushing against me and bearing down.
His tight pucker opens easily, and I reach for my wallet on his nightstand to grab a condom.
“Daddy, no,” Oren begs shyly. “Just us, no protection. I want to be your boy in every way.”
Jesus Christ, what he does to me.
“You already are, baby. I promise. This doesn’t change anything.”
“Please?” he begs.
The only answer I can give is a soft kiss above the crease of his ass, spread so temptingly for me.
Grasping my cock, I rub the head over his wet hole, making a slippery mess through his crease.
He wiggles his sweet little ass again, telling me he’s ready.
Slowly, I push inside his incredible heat, gripping his hips for balance.
Oren makes a keening sound as I fill him up, but he holds still for me.
“That’s it, baby. Take Daddy’s cock in your tight bottom. Doing so good,” I grit as I bottom out.
He squeezes around me like a pulse, making the head of my dick threaten to explode. The pressure, the heat—it’s too much, too good.
Instinct takes over and I start to move inside him, in and out with long, slow strokes that take all of my patience to maintain. It’s so hard not to pound into him and take what I need. But first, I have to give Oren what he needs.
We lose our rhythm as my boy tries to take control and quicken the pace. I pause, letting him fuck himself on my cock. The sight drives me out of my mind.
“Hungry boy, fill yourself up. Take what you need.”
“Starving, Daddy. Need to come. Need to…”
He doesn’t finish because I scoop him up and flip him across my lap, straddling my cock.
“Ride me, baby. Bounce on my dick until Daddy fills you up, all wet and sticky.”
“Ungh,” he whines, “those words. So dirty. I love it.”
God bless his youth and energy, barely out of breath as he rides me like a bouncy castle. I have to dig my fingers into the mattress to keep from shooting my load into him before he’s ready.
“Oren, baby, please,” I huff, glistening with sweat.
“Coming, Daddy!”
My sweet boy giggles as he says it, and warm pulses hit my stomach.
He wraps his arms tighter around my neck and pulls himself up for a kiss, and that’s my limit.
I lose myself inside him, balls deep, and pause to catch my breath as my dick throbs.
Oren squeezes those ass muscles again, milking every last drop from me.
Now I can focus on the kiss, taking his lips with a bruising force meant to leave a reminder on his mouth.
“God, baby, I love you so much.”
He stiffens mid-kiss, and I can feel his grin break out across my lips.
“Say it again, Daddy,” he whispers over my mouth.
This time, I lean back to look at him. His face is lit with happiness and excitement, soft brown eyes shining brightly.
“I love you, Little One. My sweet, perfect boy.”
And then I can’t see him because he’s squeezing my neck to the point of pain, and peppering my face with kisses.
“Love you, Daddy.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “Love you, Keane.” Kiss, kiss. “Love, love, love you sooooooooo much.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.
We fall back against the pillows in a laughing, sweaty, sticky-wet mess of kisses that makes my heart feel fuller than it ever has.