Chapter 64 Stuart
Stuart
I’ve never been one to advocate for spoiling boys.
It isn’t necessary, and I think it’s one of those things that does more way harm than good if you’re not careful about it.
But when a boy’s been on the receiving end of a hard lesson, sometimes a little treat is just what they need to get them back on track.
Today has certainly been one of those days for Elliot.
“What’s the address?” I ask when he gets into the car.
“What address, Daddy?”
“The address for the smoothie place.”
His eyes are still glassy, coated with an extra slick sheen from the tears he shed earlier, and his lips are bitten dark red. He looks like he’s been rubbed raw, but his face lights up when I say it.
“Really?”
You could knock me down with a feather when we get to the place and I see a line of people flowing twenty feet from the door.
I can’t believe there are more than a handful of people in the entire world who’d be happy to pay these extortionate prices for a drink that can easily be made at home, much less a crowd of them right here in my own city.
God, the world has gone mad.
“Triple turmeric, double protein, extra kale, Goddess of Greenness, please,” Elliot chirps when we finally manage to place our order. I try not to roll my eyes or show any sign of sticker shock as the cashier rings his drink up.
I carry the smoothie to the car with much more care than usual, loathe to spill so much as a drop.
It isn’t until we’re both seated that I notice Elliot took two straws from the counter.
He pokes them both into the opening in the cup lid and gives me a shy smile as he tilts one straw in my direction.
He looks hopeful and vulnerable, and so sweet it makes me feel a little spaced out.
I lean in and take a long sip. Icy fruitiness and a hum of spice explode in my mouth.
Elliot’s face is so close to mine I can almost rest my forehead against his.
If I leaned in a little more, I could run my tongue along the seam of his lips and taste him instead.
Oh shit.
I’m in trouble, aren’t I?
“So, what do you think, Daddy?”
Against my better judgment, I concede, “It’s fucking delicious.”
He pumps his fist in the air and then looks at me. His smile changes from sweet to pure mischief. “Better than ass?”
“No.”
I regret saying it immediately because it makes his eyes dance so much I feel as though I’ve been spun around one too many times. I fix my gaze on the road and shift the car into gear.
“Now remember,” I say when we get to his building, “you can call or message me any time. Any time. About anything. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s silly or if you think it’s no big deal.
If it’s on your mind, you tell me about it.
If you need help with anything, you message me.
When you set the alarm tonight, call me beforehand, and I’ll talk you through it. ”
He smiles broadly and comes in for a hug. It’s a little awkward. It’s one of those hugs where neither party seems to know how long to hold on for or how hard.
The car door swings shut, and I watch him as he crosses the walkway to the entrance of his building. A man in a suit passes him by and gives him a curt nod.
My phone pings.
Elliot Gould: Do you think that guy could tell I’ve been spanked?
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it.
Me: No
Me: You and I are the only ones who know that you’re smarting.
He pauses to read the message and then keeps walking. When he gets to the door, he turns back. His head is down, fingers flitting across his phone screen.
Elliot Gould: Do I look like I’ve been crying?
He’s thirty yards away, and he’s wearing a pale-pink shirt that matches the color of his cheeks almost exactly.
The shirt is so fitted that even from here, I can make out the generous swell of his pecs and the tiny peaks of his nipples.
His dark hair shines as the morning sun hits it, blowing lazily in the breeze.
He looks up from his phone and our eyes meet.
Rich chocolate brown shimmers and an incisor pins his bottom lip down.
Me: No. You look beautiful.