3. Dom
THREE
DOM
This was insanity.
This was role play and sex like I could only ever have dreamed of.
After that first all-night long with him, I knew. I just knew I had to find him and make it a permanent thing.
I’d never had it so good.
He was perfect.
Fitch was so utterly perfect for me.
He was boyishly cute, boyishly small, and he wanted it just as bad as I did.
I’d had every intention of only speaking to him, of putting the proposal to him, giving him time to think about it.
But he wanted it.
And god fucking help me, I wanted him.
Just thinking about sliding my cock into his small and willing arse had me hard. I barely managed to discuss the finer points of our arrangement with him, trying to lay some ground rules and guidelines, but god fucking help me, all I wanted to do was fuck him.
I wanted to bury myself inside him, feel him writhe and hear him call me daddy.
I wanted it so bad.
Too bad, I realised. So the next morning I was determined to have a clearer mind and a firmer resolve. But even after the amazing sex on the couch, the shower where he let me tend to him, then he let me feed him, he let me suck him, then he let me fuck him again, I still had to remind myself that I had responsibilities outside of sex.
So in the car when I was driving him home, I decided now was my best chance.
“I need to know you’re okay with this arrangement,” I began. Then I made the mistake of looking over at him, and he was half curled up in the passenger seat, facing me, smiling serenely.
“Oh, I really am,” he replied.
I huffed at him, trying to be serious when he was being all cute like that. “I’m being serious, Fitch. Any time either one wants to end our agreement, it ends. No problem.”
He snorted. “Uh, okay, real talk for a minute,” he said, his tone more serious now. “You wanna rail me like that for hours and make me feel so utterly precious, then drop me home with my boy-pussy full of your loads, I am never ending this agreement. Just so you know.”
Oh dear god.
“Boy-pussy...” I made a face. “Maybe we shouldn’t call it that.”
“What do you want me to call it,” he replied smugly. “My honey pot? My baby-maker?”
I looked at him again, grimacing, and he laughed.
So I scowled at him instead. “Anyway, my point is, if I do something that you’re not comfortable with, you need to tell me. Not bad enough to safe word, but anything you want to mention. Maybe we could use some time after breakfast to discuss how we’re feeling.”
He rolled his eyes.
He actually rolled his eyes.
“Did you just...” I reined in my anger. “I’m trying to be serious. It seems being in the car is the only time I have rational brain function around you, because every other time I just want to do very bad things to you, so if you could please?—”
“You keep doing those very bad things to me and I assure you, we will have no problems,” he replied.
I let out a slow, measured breath. “I see your boldness is back.”
He chuckled. “You’re killing my buzz. I’m on such a freaking high right now. I feel like I’m floating. Don’t ruin it.”
I relented a sigh, because that was fair enough. I understood that because I felt it too. “Okay. I apologise. I’m just trying to make sure all your needs are met.”
“What about your needs?” he shot back, smirking. “Do I meet all of those?”
I cut him a look. He was just playing with me now. “You know damn well you do.”
He grinned, then as I pulled up at a spot, he took my phone out of the centre console.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
As I was parking the car, he held it up to my face to unlock the screen, which it did. Then he thumbed the screen, working it faster than I ever could. “I’m going to add my number. That way you can text me when and where you wanna pick me up from.”
He showed me the screen, and sure enough, there was his number with a bee emoji as his name.
“A bee?”
“Bee for boy,” he said. “I’m assuming you don’t want names.” Then he shrugged. “Or evidence, as some would call it.”
Then he sent himself a text. He handed me his phone and took out his own. “And I shall save your name as... D . Just a capital D . D for daddy, D for Dom, D for damn-fine dick.”
Oh god.
He showed me the screen, and sure enough, he had my number saved under a capital D .
“You’re a little punk,” I said.
He grinned. “Next Friday, you can punish me. And by punish, I mean hold down and fuck me really hard.”
Before I could reply, he got out of my car and walked away, grinning over his shoulder at me.
Little punk.
I sat there a few seconds, trying to catch my breath, trying to stop smiling.
Then I shook my head, pulled myself together, and went home.
I cleaned up, stripped the bed, smiling at the come stains he’d left when I’d fucked him this morning. I did laundry. I went about my day the best I could.
Housework, groceries, all that productive stuff, and after not enough sleep the night before, I fell into bed early, exhausted but never happier.
I was at the office by seven thirty on Monday morning, and I was contemplating telling Nolan that I may have begun an arrangement with someone.
Would I tell him it was a paid arrangement?
I was undecided.
Would he care?
I doubted it. He’d probably laugh at me, clap my shoulder, and tell me to be happy. We’d always appreciated the same taste in men.
Twinks.
Young, pretty, petite, playful.
So I knew he’d understand that part.
But I didn’t have to worry about telling him or not, because he sent me a text.
Working from home today. On email if needed. Call if it’s urgent.
Hmm.
It was odd for him, and I assumed he mustn’t have been feeling well enough to come into the office.
I sent him a reply.
Everything okay?
There was no immediate response, and I was too busy all morning to give it another thought.
He did reply sometime later, saying he wasn’t feeling well, but what that meant for me was—given I hadn’t been able to tell anyone about my arrangement—I also hadn’t had anyone to talk some sense into me. By late afternoon, I found myself googling things for Fitch.
Which was ridiculous.
But if he was going to spend one night a week at my place, he should have his own pyjamas and toothbrush at least.
And his own toiletries. And whatever food he preferred.
And I should order more lubricant. Like, a lot more.
And book myself in for bloodwork.
And . . . and . . . maybe do this shit when I got home instead of at work.
Which is what I did.
I spent all night ordering things all while telling myself not to get ahead of myself.
Which was redundant because I was already well past that.
I wanted to keep him. To make him happy, to explore the daddy/boy grounds he seemed so eager to play in.
He did love it, I knew that.
The words he’d used when I asked him how he felt? Safe and warm. Those two words lit something in me I hadn’t been expecting.
Holding him and caressing him after sex made him feel safe.
And that was something I’d only expect of someone who understood. Who got what it meant for a daddy. All I wanted for him was to make him feel safe.
Then, of course, outside of my home he was being a little punk again, and I loved that he did that.
Sassy, bratty, mouthy.
And being the brat he was, he did it so I’d punish him next time.
I was absolutely going to punish him, teach him ever so thoroughly a lesson in manners.
Starting on his knees, I’d put his mouth to better use.
Yeah. I really needed to speak to someone about this. Someone who understood. Leon and Marek were my obvious choice. Friends of mine at the club 180. They’d had a boy for a little while now, and according to them, though they gave no details, the three of them had never been happier.
When I got to work on Tuesday morning, I took out my phone and sent Leon a text.
I need to discuss a personal matter I think you and Marek may be able to help me with. Are you free for a phone call sometime?
I knew they were busy—busier than me, which said a lot—but they’d reply when they could.
So I shoved my phone aside just as my assistant, Gail, came into my office and offloaded a pile of folders on my desk. “Morning. You’ve got a nine o’clock with Truman,” she said.
I nodded. “Sure. Ah, can you tell Nolan to give me a minute today?” I asked, opening my emails.
“He’s not in today,” she replied.
I looked up at her then. “Again?”
She nodded with a frown. “Second sick day in a row, apparently. He must be really unwell.”
It was standard knowledge in the department that Nolan never missed a day.
Hm.
I checked my phone. No text, and that wasn’t like him either. I should check up on him...
“Okay, thanks. I need the brief he was working on, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing,” she said, and she was gone.
Work was busy as it always was. I had lunch at my desk, buried in paperwork. The Barbieri case wasn’t the only one we were working on, of course, so the files and finer details just never stopped coming. There was no room for error in this game.
But I was focused and only afforded a brief few thoughts of Fitch, mostly memories of our times together, and maybe an occasional daydream of what we might do in our future... dates? Dates wasn’t the right word. Meetings didn’t feel right either.
Rendezvous? Appointments?
Hmm. Appointments worked.
Our next appointment, all things going well, would be Friday.
I already couldn’t wait.
Focus, Dominic. For fuck’s sake.
Determined, I put Fitch out of my mind and concentrated on work.
It was after six when Gail popped her head into my office. “I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow.”
I gave her a smile. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll be far behind you.”
When she’d gone, I leaned back in my chair and sighed. It’d been a long day and I’d had enough. I wrapped things up, closed everything down, plucked my jacket off the rack, and collecting my bag, I called it a day.
But I wasn’t going home.
I drove myself to Nolan’s place, figuring checking up on him and seeing if he needed anything was the least I could do.
He buzzed me straight through and opened his front door mid-knock.
I was expecting to see him look somewhat ill. Pale, dark eyes, red nose... but no, he looked the best I’d seen him in a long while.
“Hey. So you are alive,” I began, walking in. “Two days off in a row and...”
My words trailed off as I noticed the two young men sitting nervously at the dining table.
My heart skidded to a stop and my stomach dropped. What the...
Fitch stood up, eyes wide, a smile pulling at his lips. “Dom,” he said.
“Fitch,” I managed in a whisper.
What the actual fucking fuck?
I spun to face Nolan, a dozen emotions bubbling to the surface. Mostly anger and jealousy. And hurt and disbelief. “What the fuck is going on?”
Nolan sighed. “Can I get you a drink? Looks like we could all use one.”
He walked right past me, produced a bottle of whisky and two glasses, then asked Fitch and his friend if they wanted one.
What in the blindsided fuck was going on here?
He knew him?
Nolan knew my boy?
I could barely get my brain to scrape together two firing neurons.
And then my phone rang. I saw Marek’s name on the screen and hit Answer. “Hello, darling. We got your message. Everything okay?”
I stared at Nolan, at these two boys, and swallowed hard. It seemed my situation with Fitch had just changed anyway. “I’ll have to take a raincheck, sorry.”
“That’s perfectly fine. Just a phone call away.”
I disconnected the call, trying to get my temper in check. “So you’re not sick,” I said to Nolan.
Fitch’s friend stood up and went to Nolan, putting himself between me and him. He touched Nolan, put his hand on his waist while keeping his eyes on me, reassuring and protective. They then had some private, whispered conversation and my head was beginning to spin.
Then Fitch sauntered his way over to me, smiling like this entire interaction was completely normal.
“So your name actually is Dom,” he said with that damn smile I’d tried to not think about all day. “I thought it was a title or a status.” He raked his eyes up and down me without shame. “You look hot as fuck in that suit. My god. Order me to my knees right now?—”
I put my hand up and took a breath to calm down. “I’m going to need someone to start explaining what’s going on here.” My gaze lasered in on Fitch. “Is he... paying you?”
Because the jealous part of me couldn’t deal with that. I knew he slept with other men; he was a rent boy, after all. But not with any of my friends.
I wouldn’t be able to deal with that. I couldn’t even bear thinking about it.
Fitch, of course, seemed to find that funny. “Oh no. Not me. I’m just here for moral support. That guy over there belongs to Nolan.”
The guy in question, Fitch’s friend and the one who was clinging to Nolan, with the dark curly hair and big brown eyes, gave me a wave.
“No one belongs to me,” Nolan mumbled.
Yeah well, Fitch belonged to me .
That was now, apparently, very clear to me.
With another sigh, Nolan took a whisky in each hand and walked one over to me. “Take a seat. I’ll explain everything.”