Chapter 4
He was in pain; it was obvious to anyone looking.
He had very little control over the way his face appeared.
He’d be awful at poker. And I was becoming attached to him, but it was strange to feel this type of attachment.
He was great at taking notes, staying quiet, nodding at my points and not at my brothers’.
He had my back—although not the position I’d put him in.
I’d been around, I’d seen everything there had to be seen.
The downright dirty and depraved things the world had to offer, I’d been witness to them all.
And Isaiah wasn’t that, he was somehow untouched and pure.
My fingers burned with the need to touch him, the way I had in the car, on the knee, squeezing just right in the way that begged the question about whether he wanted me.
My apartment was a penthouse overlooking the Boston Common, it’s where I spent most of my time.
The family construction company had built most of the apartment building, with the help of some outside contractors.
I think we owned fifty-one percent of the building itself.
It was one of our legitimate businesses, renting the apartments out for premium prices.
They all had floor-to-ceiling windows, and were expensively decorated by some interior designer.
The entire building was gilded it seemed, in creams, marbles, and everything smelled like a roasting vanilla pod—it was divine.
I answered the door in my tight gray sweats, no T-shirt, forcing his eyes to my bulge. He stood there, his eyes on mine, holding a brown-leather duffle and was still dressed in his work clothes—a touch more wrinkled and messy than they were earlier.
“You came,” I said.
“Of course.”
“You could’ve said no,” I told him. “Your contract probably doesn’t state anything about coming to my apartment and entertaining me.”
He smacked his lips. “I didn’t want to say no.”
I gestured for him to enter. I didn’t want him to leave him standing out in the tiny strip of a hallway between my door and the elevator.
“And what do you mean by entertain?” he asked, walking by me. “Because I—”
“You need money,” I said. I’d seen the texts, and I’d seen his finances now. I knew all about him. Isaiah King. He was wrapped up in student debt, credit cards, and . . . there were a bunch of transactions to his mother. “And I do this thing with my employees.”
He immediately paused, watching as I closed the door. “I’ve got all that sorted out,” he said. “I—I—obviously, I could do with extra money, but I’m not gonna do that for it.” Now his eyes were on my cock.
Tutting, I walked by him, introducing him to the living room. I sat on the plush white loveseat in front of the coffee table. “It’s one option,” I grumbled. “I’ve seen the type of guy you are, and let me know if I’m wrong about any of it.”
He sat right where I’d patted the seat for him, still clutching his duffle.
“I’m not sure I’m really reading the situation properly,” he mumbled.
“I want to keep my job, this job, working for you. I don’t care in what capacity, I just need the job.
” Isaiah’s brow was pinched in the center, creating a vertical line of wrinkles.
“Then I’ll be plain about it,” I said. “I’m someone who likes .
. . pleasure.” My tongue licked at the edge of my teeth.
“And since my father’s death, I can’t live the same life I used to.
I can’t go out to the clubs, or entangle myself in a bed of handsome twinks.
” My hand snaked to his lap, resting on his knee.
“I think you’re a sweet guy, though probably not cut out for the shit I go through. ”
“You want sex?” he asked, looking at me, his knees flinching together, almost pinching my hand between them. He stumbled over his words for a moment, shaking his head then nodding. “Is this why your turnover of assistants is high?”
I laughed. “Well, heavy settlements,” I told him. “And honestly, with all the money you need to get out of your hole, I could give you it. I could solve that problem for you.”
“For sex?”
My teeth came together hard. I’d already had a fair few glasses of scotch. It was my down time. “For being here,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And whatever happens here, well, that’s just what happens. It’s not what you’re being paid for.”
His breath was hitching and his hand softly laid across the back of mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve never had someone come onto me before. Is this—is this that?”
Through laughter, I nodded. I couldn’t believe nobody had ever hit on Isaiah before, with his sweetness, mixed with the hint of heritage on his skin.
“Anyway, I set something up for you,” I said.
“I told you, I know the type of guy you are, and I strongly feel that you’ll like what I’ve prepared. ” My words were calculated, confident.
I didn’t need to be touching him to know his heart was racing. His cheeks were flushed, his grip on his duffel tightening. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a little,” I said. “Right?”
Slowly, he nodded. I knew I was right. My observation skills had gotten me through many things, I just didn’t think they’d be getting me into this. “How could you know?”
“Firstly, your soft nature, then it was the briefs, those little teddies I kept seeing, your phone home screen, and I might’ve had someone sweep your apartment for bugs,” I said. “But you’ll find you agreed to that in the contract you signed.”
He gulped hard, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “I knew things had been moved around.”
“That was just one of my guys,” I told him.
“You can say no, you can leave, you can even quit, but you fascinate me. To the point I had to pick you up because I didn’t want anyone else getting to you .
. . intimately.” I removed my hand from his knee and he pulled it back, squeezing it down on his thigh.
“You want me to call you Daddy?” he asked in a whisper.
“Please,” I whispered back.
“Okay, Daddy.” He looked away from me, his grip on the duffle at his side loosened. “So, what else do you get out of this?”
It was an honest question, and I didn’t want him to delve too deep into my brain.
“I get you, for now,” I told him. “To trust you, and maybe not run through you like I did the—it doesn’t matter.
” I didn’t want him to feel less special.
I had, after all, picked him at random. What was the chance that after toasting to my dead father in disgrace, I’d find Isaiah’s file?
A little in need of a Daddy. “To be honest, all those other people were far too . . . provocative, they were all on me. And you—you didn’t flirt. ”
He shook his head. “That’s not really professional,” he said. “I think there are definitely laws or HR compliance rules against it.”
I laughed. “Well, you know what I do. I’m the HR, and I say we blow off some steam.”
Locking eyes with me again, he nodded.
I didn’t just want to have sex with him—sure, that was my carnal desire, to almost scratch the surface of his skin enough so I could puppet him—but I’d read about his life, his issues, and seeing him trying his best to please me in the business, it was sweet.
If there was anyone who actually cared, it was him.
* * *
Isaiah had brought a onesie, so he’d known inside the reason I wanted him over here.
Even if he didn’t know, he knew enough to pack his comfort items. I’d prepared the spare room in my penthouse, there were onesies laid out on the bed and a selection of teddies wrapped in plastic.
One of the business ventures we had for money laundering was transporting clean money through items like teddies—these ones.
While their stuffing had recently been replaced with new fibers, they were still new teddies.
It wasn’t the only area of the penthouse prepared for play.
I’d promised a tea party, and that was set up in the corner of the apartment right by the window.
There was a giant teddy bear functioning as a seat for him, and in a circle, almost like a cult, small stools and a tea cup, saucer, and pot set were placed.
I’d never gone to so much effort—but I’d tested him quite harshly, and this was his reward.
In a new onesie, hugging his old teddy to his chest, he stared at me like he was holding his breath.
“I hope this is how you like things,” I said.
“This would ruin your reputation,” he whispered.
I laughed. “That’s to say you’d tell someone.”
Shaking his head, he let out a whimper. “I’d never tell anyone. I just—”
“You can relax.” I approached him, and stood at his side, stroking the side of his cheek with a finger. His skin was soft, with stubble almost threatening to sprout. I kissed him. “Is that okay?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes, what?” I licked his skin. Chemical tasting. “You’ll need to take a shower.”
“Okay, Daddy,” he said, turning his head, our lips almost meeting. “I do think you’re attractive, and I—I—I do want to have sex with you.”
I leaned back to give our faces some space and to not breathe all my scotch breath on him. “This doesn’t have to be immediately intimate, it’s why I’ve given you a room here. A room you can stay in for as long as you want. Again, you can so no, and you can leave.”
Looking around, I knew this was better than that apartment building he was living in, mostly because that one wasn’t within my territory.
The business was into protection too, and other businesses paid for Bianchi protection.
We kept our side of the city clean. I didn’t allow drugs to be sold in my area, and I’d never touched the stuff either.
I wanted him here for his protection too, because good assistants were hard to find, and good littles seemed an even rarer gem to come across.
“I like the view you’ve got over the park,” he said. “I don’t think I packed enough to move in, though.” He smiled at me, and it was so big and wholesome, I couldn’t believe he’d just told me he wanted to have sex with me.
We sat at the tea party setting, and he brought out his small panda plush, Pud, as I informed him nobody came in here, so we could play however he wanted.
He was curious, quizzing me on my knowledge of Daddies and little space.
I told him I’d get him whatever he wanted, all he had to do was ask.
Apple juice—already in his cup. Shaped nuggets—they were in the freezer. And then he stopped me in my tracks.
“This is what I do for fun, but what do you do for fun?” he asked.
I’d never been the violent brother, I’d never been the loud one.
I was the quiet one, the calculating one, the eldest. I always knew my role was to take over, and I couldn’t do that if I was painting a target on myself like my brothers did.
“I—” Fuck. My throat clenched hard. “Drink,” I said, glancing across the wide open-plan lounge to my scotch glass on the coffee table. “And provide—the—”
Isaiah leaned over the teacup spread, not knocking any of them over, and reached for my face. With his sleeve pulled over the knuckle of his thumb, he wiped my cheek of the tear I hadn’t felt fall. “I think we’ve all got dad issues.”
“Yours didn’t threaten your life,” I whispered. “But I can imagine growing up without him or any father was tough.” His sleeve rolled back until he his hand was softly stroking the scruff on my cheek.
“One of the reasons I like to regress and play is because I don’t think I ever got a childhood,” he said, deflating almost, and as he tried to remove his hand from my cheek, I tugged it tight to my face.
“Guess that’s why I like to play Dominant, to play Daddy,” I said, keeping my grip on his wrist. Pulling his palm to my mouth, I kissed it. “I knew you wouldn’t say no to this. I’m giving you everything you want, right?”
He nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good, because you’ve earned your first star.”
Isaiah’s face turned red. “Star.” His hand recoiled back into his lap, sitting on the back of his heels now.
“Mhm. I saw the chart you had at home. Brushing teeth. Showering. Fresh underwear. Waking before seven—or was it six?” I tried recalling from a photo of his apartment. “Anyway, I have a chart for you. I’m surprised you didn’t see it. It’s on the back of your bedroom door.”
“So, the guy . . . you—angry, stressing, demanding—that I’ve seen at work for the last week, who was that?”
“Stress testing,” I said. “I thought I already said that. Publicly, I’m decisive, hard, and—” Now I leaned in close to him. “I always get what I want.”
He nodded ever so slightly. “Okay. And you want me?”
His need for reassurance was adorable. “I want you, and I need you to stay. Plaything and employee. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy. Now, have you eaten?”