Chapter 13
Landon
“That was so cool,” I say, tired but happy. “The waterpark, and then the bookstore. It almost felt like it was real too.”
I take a moment and exhale. I know this is only temporary, and I know right now I have way more questions than answers. But I can’t deny that I had a good time today.
We’re at the motel now. And to say it’s not luxury is an understatement…
The motel bathroom is small and dated—cracked white tiles, a narrow tub with a faint rust ring around the drain, a single bulb overhead that flickers when the exhaust fan kicks on—but right now it feels like the safest place in the world.
Steam is already rising from the tap as I let the water run hot, and the sound of it filling the tub is steady, soothing, almost meditative after the chaos of the day.
I stand in the doorway in nothing but one of Ivan’s oversized T-shirts, watching the water level rise. My muscles ache in that pleasant, used way from the waterpark slides.
But underneath the physical tiredness is something heavier, an emotional exhaustion that has settled deep in my bones. The adrenaline of running, the fear of being hunted, the confusion of what Ivan really is to me now… it all sits there, pressing.
I turn my head slightly.
“Ivan?”
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed in the other room, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet like it holds answers. He looks up immediately.
I swallow. My voice comes out softer than I intend.
“Will you… bathe me?” I ask. “Like a Daddy…”
His brows lift, just a fraction.
I rush to explain before the embarrassment can swallow me whole. “I just want to relax. Completely. And I think… I think I’d feel safer if you were there. Helping. Washing me. Like… like before, but gentle. No ropes. No punishment. Just… care.”
For a long moment he doesn’t move.
Then Ivan stands, slow and deliberate, and crosses the small space between us.
“I can do that,” he says quietly. “Of course.”
Relief floods me so fast my knees nearly buckle.
He steps past me into the bathroom, turns off the tap when the water is deep enough, then tests the temperature with his hand. Satisfied, he looks back at me.
“Undress,” he says. It’s not an order this time, more a gentle invitation.
I pull the T-shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor. Naked again, but this time there is no fear, no vulnerability laced with dread. Just trust, fragile and new.
Ivan offers his hand. I take it. He helps me step into the tub.
The heat envelopes me instantly—almost too hot, but exactly what I need. I sink down until the water laps at my collarbones, sighing as the ache in my muscles begins to loosen.
Ivan kneels beside the tub on the worn bathmat. He rolls up his sleeves, dips a washcloth into the water, squeezes it out, and begins.
He starts with my shoulders—slow circles, firm but careful, working the knots out one by one.
The cloth glides over my skin, warm and slick.
Then down my arms, lifting each one gently to wash the inside of my elbows, the tender undersides of my wrists where the ropes left faint pink marks that are already fading.
I close my eyes and let my head tip back against the tub rim.
He moves to my chest next—careful, reverent almost. The cloth traces the upper slopes of my pecs, circles my nipples without lingering too long, then down my stomach.
Lower. Between my thighs as my cock bobs in the water, free and easy.
He washes me there with the same patient attention, no teasing, no demand—just thorough, gentle care.
I feel my Daddy’s eyes on me the whole time.
When I open my own eyes again, he is watching—not predatory, not hungry in the way he sometimes is. Worshipful. Like I’m something precious he’s afraid he might break.
I reach up, cup his jaw.
“Get in with me,” I whisper. “Please.”
He exhales—a rough, shaky sound.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I watch as Ivan stands. He pulls his shirt over his head, unbuttons his jeans, steps out of them. No underwear. Just him—broad shoulders, scarred chest dotted with tattoos, powerful thighs, and his cock already half-hard, thickening as he looks at me.
I feel a fresh rush of heat between my legs that has nothing to do with the bathwater.
He steps in behind me. The tub is barely big enough, but we make it work. I slide forward; he settles behind me, legs bracketing mine. His chest presses to my back. His erection nestles against the cleft of my ass—hot, insistent, but not demanding.
I lean back against him, sighing as his arms come around me.
For a long minute we just sit like that—skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, water lapping gently.
Then I rock my hips. Just a little. Enough to slide along his length.
“Boy,” Ivan growls, a low groan in his throat.
His hands begin to move.
They roam—slow, deliberate. Squeezing my pecs, thumbs brushing my nipples until they pebble again.
Down my stomach. Between my legs. His hands begin to massage my shaft from the bottom to the top and back again.
Over and over, slow and steady, doing it just right and making me feel hotter and hotter with every touch.
I arch. Moan softly.
He kisses the side of my neck. “On all fours and bend over.”
I do—awkward in the small tub, but we manage. With my ass on display, Ivan leans forward and parts my cheeks and begins to flick his tongue over my wet, hot ass hole. Every flick and swirl makes me whimper in sheer delight.
This Daddy knows what he’s doing. And I’m all there for it.
I feel him squirt some shower gel over my ass hole and gasp as the minty sensation makes my back arch and present my tight ass hole for Ivan.
But Daddy wants to do it his way…
“On me,” Ivan grunts, his cock looking intimidatingly big but a challenge I want to rise to.
I turn and straddle his lap, knees braced on either side of his hips. I let out a nervous giggle as water sloshes over the edge.
He grips my waist, lifts me slightly, guides me down onto him.
Slow.
Inch by inch.
Until he’s buried deep.
We both groan as my little ass accommodates Ivan’s thunderously masculine cock all the way to the bottom of his thick shaft.
I start to move—small movements at first, then longer bounces. He meets me thrust for thrust, hands roaming my back, my ass, my waist. The water makes everything slick, slippery, intimate.
The rhythm builds and Ivan’s thrusts make my cheeks wobble and crash together. He’s going hard, not holding anything back, and I’m taking it all. His cock is so thick, hard, and he knows how to use it too.
“What do you want, boy?” Ivan grunts.
I moan louder and tell him I want everything he’s got.
Faster.
Harder.
I brace my hands on his shoulders. He grips my hips, helping me ride him.
The pressure coils tight—low in my belly, in my tight balls and bouncing cock, everywhere.
“Fuck,” I moan, closing my eyes and feeling all of Ivan inside me. “That’s… so… good, Daddy.”
When I climax it’s sudden, shattering. I cry out—his name, a broken sob—my head thrown back, body convulsing around him as my dick shoots wave after wave of cum into the sloshing bathwater.
Ivan follows seconds later, hips jerking, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he empties everything inside me.
We stay locked together, panting, trembling, water cooling around us.
I rest my forehead against his.
“Daddy… I really have feelings for you,” I whisper. “Big ones. Scary ones.”
He exhales shakily.
“I have them for you too,” Ivan says against my temple. “More than I should. More than is safe.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer—just kisses me again. Soft. Lingering.
We climb out eventually. Towel each other dry with the thin motel towels. He carries me to the bed—gentle, careful—and pulls back the covers.
We slide in together and Ivan spoons me from behind, one arm banded around my waist, the other under my head.
I feel his heartbeat against my spine.
Steady.
Strong.
And as sleep begins to pull me under, I let myself believe—just for tonight—that maybe we can outrun everything waiting for us outside that door.
The more time I spend with Ivan, the more I’m seeing from him. And after tonight, I’m even wondering whether what I’m truly seeing is my Forever Daddy…
The next morning Ivan wakes me early, before dawn has even begun to thin the darkness outside the thin motel curtains. His hand rests lightly on my shoulder, thumb brushing once across the curve of my collarbone in a gesture that has already become familiar, almost comforting.
I blink into the dim room, disoriented for half a second until the events of yesterday rush back: the waterpark slides, the bookstore, the long quiet drive to this roadside place that smells faintly of cigarette smoke and old carpet.
My body feels heavy with the kind of deep, restorative sleep that only comes after emotional exhaustion has finally burned itself out.
“Time to move, darling boy,” Ivan murmurs, voice low and gravelly from sleep. “We’re walking to the diner down the road. Need to eat and talk before the day starts moving too fast.”
“Okay,” I answer, my brain still attempting to kick into gear.
“Come on, move,” Ivan says, a playfully commanding tone in his voice.
I nod without argument, pushing myself upright. The sheets are tangled around my legs; I untangle them and swing my feet to the floor.
Ivan is already dressed: dark jeans, black hoodie, boots laced tight—like he’s been awake for hours. He stands by the window, peering through a narrow gap in the curtains, checking the parking lot the way he always does.
I pull on yesterday’s clothes, still faintly damp from the bath and carrying the motel’s cheap soap scent.
Claw goes into the backpack last, tucked carefully between the coloring book and the half-finished mandala page I worked on until my eyes wouldn’t stay open.
I zip the bag and sling it over one shoulder.
Ivan doesn’t ask if I’m ready. He simply holds out his hand.
I take my Daddy’s hand without a second thought. It feels so natural. So right.
We leave the room without turning on the overhead light. The door closes behind us with a soft final click that feels louder than it should in the pre-dawn stillness.
Outside, the air is sharp and cold enough that my breath fogs in front of my face.
Ivan keeps my hand in his as we walk across the cracked asphalt toward the main road.
No car this time. Just our feet on pavement, the occasional passing semi rumbling in the distance, the quiet crunch of grit under our soles.
The diner is a five-minute walk—same one we passed on the way in last night. A bell jingles when we push through the door.
Only three other customers are there at this ungodly hour: a trucker at the counter nursing black coffee, a young couple in a corner booth sharing an iPad, and a waiter wiping down tables with a rag that has seen better decades.
We slide into a booth near the back. Vinyl seats crackle under us. The menus are sticky but I don’t care.
Ivan orders for both of us without asking—pancakes, hash browns, eggs over easy, bacon, toast, coffee. I add extra toast with marmalade when the waitress swings by again. He nods, no questions, and disappears toward the kitchen.
When he’s gone, I look across the table at Ivan.
He’s watching me, not the menu, not the door. Just me.
I feel the weight of everything unsaid settle between us like a third person in the booth.
The food arrives fast—plates piled high, steam rising, butter melting into golden pools on the pancakes. I’m suddenly ravenous. I attack the stack in front of me, cutting big bites, syrup dripping from the fork. Ivan eats methodically, but I notice he’s watching me more than he’s eating.
Halfway through my second pancake I set the fork down.
“Something’s wrong,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t deny it. Just takes a slow sip of coffee.
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “It’s about my father, isn’t it? He made it clear he wouldn’t pay. Wouldn’t negotiate. Wouldn’t give up anything.”
Ivan’s jaw tightens. He sets the mug down carefully, like he’s afraid it might crack if he uses too much force.
“Landon…” Ivan begins.
But I keep going because if I stop now I might never start again…
“He always said it when I was growing up,” I continue, undeterred.
“No matter what happens, no matter how much it hurts, you don’t give in to rivals.
You don’t pay ransom. You don’t trade territory or pride for a life.
Because once you do, they own you forever.
He told me that more than once. Like it was scripture.
And I know what that means for me, now. I’m no exception to my father’s rule. ”
Ivan exhales. Long. Slow.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “You understand the situation.”
The words land like stones in my stomach.
I stare at my half-eaten pancakes. Syrup is pooling around the edges, turning the plate into a sticky lake.
I lift my eyes again.
“When did you find out?” I ask. “Have you always known?”
“Yesterday morning,” Ivan answers without hesitation. “Before we left the penthouse. Viktor told me. Mikhail’s not budging. Not an inch. Not for you.”
I close my eyes for a second. Let the information settle.
It doesn’t hurt the way I expected. It hurts worse—deeper, duller, like a bruise that’s already turning purple before you even feel the impact.
I open my eyes again.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t.” He meets my gaze straight on. No excuses. “I wanted to protect you. Just a little longer. You’d already been through enough.”
I reach across the table. My fingers find his. He doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you,” I say. “For trying to shield me. But I’m big enough to handle the truth now, Daddy.”
The word slips out—quiet, public, but easy.
His eyes darken. Not with anger. With something raw and unguarded.
I squeeze his hand once, then let go.
Ivan clears his throat. Changes the subject the way people do when the air has suddenly become too thick to breathe.
“You want another coffee?”
I look down at my empty mug.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
He signals the waitress. He brings two fresh cups without comment.
I wrap my hands around the warmth and stare into the black surface.
There’s still something he’s not saying.
I can feel it.
A shadow behind his eyes. A hesitation in the way he breathes when he thinks I’m not looking.
But I don’t push.
Not yet.
Because right now—sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner at not-quite-dawn, eating pancakes and drinking bad coffee with the man who’s risking everything to keep me alive—I decide I can wait a little longer for the rest of the truth.
I’ve waited this long.
What’s a few more hours?