Chapter 15
Henny
When he didn’t make a move, I knew I had his full attention. My boy wouldn’t do anything without my instruction.
"I want you clean before I put my mouth on you." I turned him toward the bathroom with a hand at the small of his back. "Unless that's something you'd like to give up."
He went, but he made sure I knew he wasn't happy about having to wait. Little sounds of protest, a dramatic slump of his shoulders. I watched him strip without helping, because I knew that was what he wanted—my eyes on him, my attention undivided—and I gave him that.
The shower was warm, loosening my muscles as I stepped in first. Pip made it approximately thirty seconds before he was pressed against my back, arms around my waist, chin hooked over my shoulder.
"You're supposed to be waiting your turn," I said.
"I am. But it’s cold back there. I'm letting the water hit me."
"I don’t think you understand what waiting means."
He pressed his mouth to the side of my neck. "Daddy."
The word landed low in my gut, heat spreading outward. We'd been circling it for too long. Dropping it in moments that faded before we could hold onto them.
I'd been patient.
I had to be with all the other shit we had going on.
But standing here with Pip's mouth on my skin and his body warm and insistent against mine, patience felt like a choice I was actively making rather than something that came naturally.
I turned around.
He looked at me with that expression he wore when he was being deliberately provocative. Chin slightly tilted, eyes lit with challenge, mouth soft.
"Say it again," I said.
The teasing expression didn't leave, but it layered over a more genuine look. "Daddy."
I cupped his jaw in one hand, tilting his face up further. Water ran over both of us. "You've been using that word a lot lately. Do you think it’s a joke?"
"It's not a joke."
"No," I agreed. "It's not. I want to know what it means when you say it. What you're actually asking for."
Pip's throat worked. The brat in him wanted to deflect. I could see it, the flicker of a smirk starting to form. I ran my thumb along his jaw and the look faltered.
"I don't know how to explain it. When I say it and you respond with that growly tone. I like knowing you want to control me. To take over.” He stopped. Started again. "It feels like something slots into place. I don’t have to keep my guard up."
"And the word itself?"
His cheeks were flushed, and it wasn't from the steam. "It’s who you are to me. Like it's not just something that happens. It's something we are. You’re my Daddy. I’m your boy. Your delectable terror of a boyfriend."
I studied him for a long moment. He held my gaze, which took more courage than he probably had after such heavy conversation.
"Then that's what we are. But it comes with expectations. When I give you a direction, you follow it. When I tell you something, you trust it. And when you're testing me—which I know you will be, because that's who you are—there are consequences."
His breath caught. "What kind of consequences?"
"Ones you won't enjoy nearly as much as you think you will."
He swallowed. "And if I like them?"
"Then I'll find ones you don’t." I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now we need to get clean. Then we'll discuss the rest."
There wasn’t an ounce of argument in him after that.
By the time we moved to the bed, Pip was flushed from the shower, restless with waiting. It was that particular energy he got when he was trying to hold himself still and losing the fight. I sat on the edge and watched him stand in front of me, towel gone, hands fidgeting at his sides.
"Why aren’t you doing anything?" he whined.
"I'm looking at what's mine." I reached out and drew him in by the hip. "Stand still."
He stilled. Just like that. The fidgeting stopped and his chin came up and his breathing slowed, like he was concentrating on it. The transformation never stopped affecting me, how quickly he could drop into this once he let himself.
I ran my hands over him unhurriedly. Shoulders, chest, the flat of his stomach. He made a soft sound when I dragged my thumb across his hip bone.
"Tell me what you want," I said.
"You know what I want, Daddy."
"I do. But you're going to say it."
His jaw set, the sass flickering back to life. "What if I don't want to?"
I stopped touching him.
He lasted four seconds. "Henny!"
"That's not what you call me right now."
A pause, then a soft, "Daddy. Please."
"Please what?"
I watched him struggle with it, the way saying things out loud cost him pride, maybe, or the armor he wore everywhere else. And then I watched him let it go.
"I want you inside me. I want," he exhaled. "I want you to take your time. I want you to make me wait for it."
"You want me in control."
"Yes."
I pulled him down onto the bed.
What followed was slow by design. I knew Pip's body the way I knew the business inside and out.
Every variable, every pressure point, what would yield and what would hold.
I used that knowledge without mercy. Hands and mouth trailed over him until he was shaking, until the brat had gone completely quiet, and there was nothing left but this.
Pip underneath me, open and trusting, saying Daddy like it was the only word he had left.
When I finally pressed into him, he went still with his surrender, a full-body exhale, both arms wrapping around my shoulders like he was anchoring himself.
"Okay?" I asked, low, against his temple.
His voice was rough when he replied. "Yeah, I'm—yeah."
I held there. Let him feel it. Let him breathe through it.
He made a small impatient sound, and I pressed my mouth to his ear.
"You said you wanted me to make you wait for it."
"Daddy."
Ragged.
Pleading.
"There it is," I said, and started to move.
I was not kind about it. He didn't want kind.
My boy wanted to be mine, to be thoroughly fucked.
And I gave him all of it. I kept one hand at his hip and the other braced above his head, while I watched his face the whole time, cataloguing every expression, every sound he couldn't hold back.
The whimper when I changed the angle. The way his mouth dropped open when I found what I was looking for and didn't let up. His hands fisting in the sheets.
"Daddy, please, I need—"
"I know what you need."
"Then give it to me."
"Trust me." I pressed my forehead to his. "Let me."
He went quiet. Quit fighting it. And I took him apart the rest of the way without rushing, until there was no room left for doubt of how much I loved him. No doubt of how deeply he was mine.
When he finally came it was with my name on his lips. I followed him over the edge not long after, one hand cradling the back of his head.
After, Pip lay sprawled across my chest in a way that suggested he had no intention of moving for the foreseeable future.
"So," he said, eventually. His voice still had that soft, worn quality. "We're doing this."
"We've been doing this."
"No, I mean the other thing. The Daddy thing. We're making it official. Like other people can know."
"Did you need a formal announcement?"
He pinched my side. I caught his wrist.
"Yes," I said. "We're making it official."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a tone he was clearly trying to keep casual, he said "And you're okay with it. You actually want them to. It's not just for me."
I turned my head to look at him. He was watching me sideways, doing a poor job of pretending he wasn't braced for the answer.
"Pip." I brought his knuckles to my mouth. "I don’t ever do things I don’t want to. Not in my personal life. I don’t care who knows what you are to me. I do think we have to focus on getting Pharrell and Ricardo back in order before we do, but I’m not hiding my feelings.”
He settled back against my chest. A minute passed, quiet and warm.
"Daddy," he said, like he was just letting it exist in the air between us.
"Yes, baby," I said, equally quiet.
He didn't say anything else. But his hand, resting over my sternum, pressed down just slightly like he was checking that I was real.
I covered it with mine and let him.