19. Ari
NINETEEN
ARI
Daddy’s truck was parked two blocks down, half tucked behind the firehouse, shadowed beneath a wide oak. We didn’t speak as we climbed in. Didn’t even look at each other for the first mile of the drive.
I felt him though. Every glance he stole. Every movement of his hand on the gear shift. My heart punched at my ribs like it was begging to be let out.
His house sat on a quiet stretch just beyond the edge of town. Lights glowed in the windows, porch empty.
Inside, nothing had changed. The framed photos still hung in the hall. I remembered his mom’s voice calling from the kitchen. The way I used to race Sage across the lawn. Back then, Daddy was just this mythic thing I wanted to orbit. A grown-up I thought was cool. A hero.
Now he was the man I wanted to wreck me .
He shut the bedroom door behind us and locked it. I turned, heat buzzing just under my skin.
Daddy didn’t touch me yet. Just stared—hungry. Like he was trying to figure out which part of me to start with.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You,” I breathed. “All of you.”
That was all it took.
He came for me in two strides. One hand curled around my waist as his mouth crushed against mine. My body lit up. I gasped into him, fingers clutching his shirt, hips already rolling toward his.
“Bed,” he muttered against my lips.
I backed toward the bed, chest heaving, heat crawling under my skin. Daddy followed, peeling his shirt off in one fluid motion. My mouth went dry at the sight of him—solid muscle, inked skin, the cut of his jaw as he stared me down like I was something he was about to ruin.
“You said all of me,” he said, voice like gravel. “That really what you want?”
My heart thudded against my ribs. “More than anything.”
Then I sank to my knees.
His breath caught. Just for a second. His stance shifted with the sharp drag of his exhale as I brought my hands up and traced the front of his jeans. He was already hard. Thick and straining against the denim.
I looked up at him as my fingers found his belt.
His hand threaded into my hair. “You want it?”
“So bad,” I whispered.
He leaned in, voice rough and low. “Then beg me for it, sweetheart.”
My hands stilled.
“Please,” I whispered, looking up at him. “Let me suck your cock, Daddy.”
His eyes went dark.
“Good boy.”
My fingers moved to his belt, undoing the clasp with a practiced flick. The button popped open under my thumb.
The zipper rasped down, loud in the quiet between us—metal teeth parting in sync with our breaths.
I tugged his jeans and briefs down together. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking. My mouth went dry, then flooded.
God, I wanted to taste him.
Daddy cupped the back of my head. Just held me there, like he was giving me the choice. I didn’t need it.
I leaned in and licked him—slow, from base to tip, savoring every inch. His grip tightened.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick with heat. His fingers tightened in my hair, like he needed the anchor. “Look at you. My perfect boy on his knees for me. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
My inside voice answered “yes” even as I took him in, inch by inch, my tongue dragging along the underside. He was hot and heavy on my tongue, hips tensing when I swallowed deeper.
“That’s it. Just like that. You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock.”
I moaned around him, sinking down farther, letting my hands grip his thighs for balance. His voice curled around my brain like a drug.
“You don’t even know what you do to me.” His voice cracked low. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”
I kept going—slow, dirty strokes, my jaw aching, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel him lose it. Wanted to know I could bring him to the edge like he’d done to me.
But before I could get him there, he pulled back.
I stood on shaky legs, heart thudding wild.
Daddy stepped in close, his hands going to the hem of my tank. It was bright red with a bold white graphic—soft cotton that clung just enough across my chest. I’d picked it with him in mind, paired it with fitted cargo shorts and fresh white sneakers. Casual, but not careless.
He tugged it up slow, watching my face the whole time. I lifted my arms.
The top came off in one smooth pull. He dropped it on the floor without looking away from me.
“You always this pretty under your clothes?” he murmured, his thumb grazing down my sternum.
Then he went for my cargo shorts. The button popped, the zipper slid down, and before the fabric even cleared my hips, his breath hitched.
“Jesus, baby.”
His fingers hovered at the waistband of the red lace.
“You wear these for me?”
I nodded, heat crawling up my neck. “Yeah. Kinda hoped you’d see them.”
His eyes darkened, jaw flexing like he was barely holding back.
“Fuck, Ari. You’re perfect.”
He pushed the shorts the rest of the way down, slow and reverent, letting the weight of them fall. I stepped out of them, heart thundering.
He didn’t rush. His palms slid over my thighs, then up—cupping my ass through the lace, fingers squeezing, thumbs brushing the crease.
“Ever since the black lace, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. How you looked. How you felt. And now—” his fingers skimmed the red edge, reverent, “—you show up in this? Fuck, baby. You’re gonna ruin me.”
I sucked in a breath as he bent, dragging his mouth over my stomach, his beard scratching gently at my skin.
“Turn around,” he said.
I did, pulse hammering.
He kissed between my shoulder blades, then lower, hands mapping me like he never wanted to forget the shape of me. I felt his fingers slide under the lace, tracing the edges.
Then—gentle but firm—he pushed the fabric aside.
I heard the click of the nightstand drawer. The pop of the lube cap.
And then his fingers were back—slick and insistent.
One finger slid in, and I gasped, my forehead dropping to the edge of the mattress.
“Good?” he asked, voice low, controlled.
“So fucking good,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He worked me open with quiet intensity, pausing only to kiss the dip of my spine, the curve of my hip. When Daddy added a second finger, scissoring gently, I moaned loud, hips rocking back when he found the spot. My legs trembled. He added a third finger and I was in heaven.
“You take me so well,” he whispered. “Knew you would. That’s it, let me in, baby. Let me feel you open up for me.”
“Need you,” I breathed. “Need to feel your cock—want it so bad.”
He growled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and reverent.
“You want me to fuck you in this lace?” he asked, fingers still moving. “Or do you want it off?”
“Don’t care,” I gasped. “Just want you inside me. Want you to make me feel it for days.”
He kissed the base of my spine. “Then hold still, sweetheart. I’m not done getting you ready.”
His fingers slipped out slowly, leaving me empty and aching.
“Hands on the bed,” he said. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
I did, bracing myself at the edge of the mattress. My pulse pounded in my ears, my thighs trembling slightly as I widened my stance. The lace was still pushed to the side. I could feel it clinging to my skin, damp with sweat and want.
Daddy stood behind me for a long second, breathing hard.
I could hear the sounds—the faint scrape of denim as he shoved his jeans the rest of the way down, condom wrapper, more lube.
A moment later, I felt him—his cock thick and hot, sliding between my cheeks once, twice, not pushing in, just letting me feel it.
“Still want it?” he asked, low and rough.
I looked over my shoulder. “Need it. Need you inside me. Please, Daddy.”
He groaned—ragged, helpless—and lined himself up.
“Deep breath,” he murmured, planting one hand on my hip. The other gripped his cock.
And then he pushed in.
The stretch burned just enough to make me whimper, but I didn’t move away. I opened for him, feeling every inch of him. He went slow, careful, sinking into me like he’d been waiting for this all of his life.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “God, you feel so fucking good. So tight. So perfect.”
I pressed my forehead to the mattress, mouth open in a moan. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Daddy.”
He bottomed out with a low, guttural sound, hips flush against my ass, one hand now splayed across my lower back like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
“Mine,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. “You’re mine.”
Then he started to move.
Slow thrusts at first, letting me adjust, letting me feel it—his length dragging against every nerve ending I had. Every time he pushed back in, I felt it in my spine, in my knees, in my chest.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “So deep—feels so good?—”
“You’re taking me so well,” he growled. “Knew you would. Knew your body was made for me.”
He picked up the pace, hips snapping harder now, and the bed frame gave a quiet creak beneath us. One hand came around to stroke my dick, firm and slick, in time with each thrust.
“Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he panted in my ear.
I choked on a moan, body shaking. “Yes—yes, I’m so close—please?—”
His hand sped up, his cock driving into me with perfect precision, and everything tightened.
“Come for me, baby,” he ordered. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
And I did.
My orgasm hit hard, blinding, my cry muffled against the bed as I spilled over Daddy’s fist. My body clenched around him, and with a broken sound, he thrust deep one last time and came with a sharp groan, pulsing inside me, gripping my hips like a lifeline.
Outside fireworks cracked open the night sky—but inside, it was all fireworks too. White-hot. Blinding. Bursting behind my eyelids in a rush of color I didn’t have to see to feel .
Inside, it was quieter. Just our ragged breaths.
He stayed wrapped around me, still inside, his chest pressed to my back, one hand curled over mine where it clutched the edge of the bed. Our skin was slick, the room hot.
I was shaking a little. Aftershocks.
He kissed the space behind my ear. “You good?”
I nodded. Couldn’t quite find my voice.
His arm slid around my waist, anchoring me. “Talk to me, baby.”
I took a breath. “That was... Jesus.”
Daddy chuckled, low and rough. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He pulled out slowly, carefully, and I winced.
His hands were gentle as he helped me onto the bed.
I lay back on the pillow while Daddy moved around the room—tossing the condom, grabbing a warm cloth, wiping me down with these gentle passes like I might bruise.
When he finally climbed into bed beside me, he didn’t hesitate.
Just curled an arm around my waist and pulled me in.
I turned on my side and propped my head on my hand.
My heart had finally figured out its rhythm.
His fingers stroked slowly along my spine, and mine traced the edge of one of his tattoos—some old firehouse design inked into the muscle of his bicep.
Then his fingers skimmed down my stomach, feather-light.
“What are we, Reid?” I whispered. “Is this a casual thing?”
He shifted beside me, leaned on one elbow, and ran a thumb along my cheek. “You think this is just about fucking?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know what to think. I want to believe it’s more, but...” My voice faltered. “I don’t want to be the only one hoping for something.”
Reid didn’t speak right away. Instead, he lay back and pulled me with him, my head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my cheek, and the silence wrapped around us—not uncomfortable, but full.
“You’re not just a hookup, Ari,” he said finally. “And you’re not a secret I’m ashamed of.”
My throat tightened. “Then why does it feel like something we’re keeping locked up?”
“Because I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he said, voice low. “You’re Sage’s brother. And you matter to me. Way more than I know how to say. And if I messed this up... I’d lose both of you.”
I exhaled slowly. “You won’t mess this up.”
He was quiet again. Then: “I’ve wanted you for longer than I should probably admit. And I knew if I let myself have this—even a little—I wouldn’t want to stop.” His fingers brushed through my hair. “And now I don’t want to stop.”
I closed my eyes, the weight of the moment settling in my chest.
“But you haven’t said what you want,” he added, voice almost a whisper. “Not really.”
I swallowed hard. The back of my eyes burned. And still, I couldn’t say the thing sitting on my tongue.
I want you for more than tonight.
Daddy, I want you for always.
I looked up at him. “I want this. Us. Whatever it is... whatever it could be.”
His hand stilled for a second.
“I just don’t want to feel like we’re pretending again tomorrow,” I added.
Daddy let out a breath, like something in him had been holding tight.
“I meant what I said—I don’t want to stop.” He kissed my temple, then rested his forehead against mine. “I’m scared of screwing us up, Ari. But I want to be with you, Ari. Even if we take it one day at a time, I’m not going anywhere.”
I want to be with you, Ari.
Those seven words felt bigger than anything I’d let myself imagine.
I didn’t push for more.
Instead, I curled into Daddy, and let the rhythm of his breathing carry me somewhere safe.
And for tonight, that was enough.