Chapter 37. Knox
I caught Florian's wrist as we crossed the threshold of our bedroom, the door barely clicking shut behind us before I pulled him against me.
My heartbeat thundered in my chest. The careful restraint I prided myself on had frayed at the edges throughout the evening, watching him with my mother, his gentle manner, his attentiveness, the way she had looked at him with such acceptance.
It had undone something fundamental inside me.
"Daddy?" His voice held a question, blue eyes searching mine with that perfect mixture of concern and desire that always threatened to bring me to my knees.
"You have no idea what it meant to me," I whispered, my voice rougher than I intended, cracked with emotion I rarely allowed myself to display. "Seeing you with her. Watching you become part of my world in that way. I've never taken any partners there. You're the first."
His breath hitched. His body melted against mine. I felt the heat of him through our clothes, the slight tremor in his frame as he pressed himself fully against me, his arousal evident against my thigh.
I claimed his mouth with a hunger that startled even me.
This wasn't our usual show of dominance and submission, this was raw need, unfiltered and honest. His lips parted beneath mine, yielding completely, his fingers clutching at the fabric of my shirt.
I tried to start unbuttoning his shirt, but I trembled too hard for that.
Something primal had awakened in me, something that couldn't be bothered with control.
"Daddy, let me," he murmured, his fingers replacing mine, moving to the buttons of his own shirt.
I watched, as he undressed for me. When he stood before me in nothing but his underwear, I reached for him again.
"Your turn," he said, hands rising to my collar, working the buttons.
I let him undress me, watching his face as he exposed my chest, my abdomen.
His fingers traced the path of hair that disappeared beneath my waistband.
The awe in his expression always made me want to go to my knees for him.
That this beautiful young man could look at me with such worship was a gift I knew I would never fully deserve.
"Bed," I growled. "Now."
I guided him backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He fell, looking up at me with those blue eyes. I followed him down, covering his body with mine, getting drunk on the small gasp he let out as our bare chests pressed together.
"You were so perfect today," I murmured against his throat, where I caught notes of the cologne I'd bought him in Italy. "So beautiful. So good."
His back arched as I dragged my teeth along his collarbone, leaving a trail of marks that would bloom purple by morning.
I wasn't usually so possessive with physical marks, I preferred my claim on him to be subtler, more psychological, but tonight I needed to see the evidence of my touch on his skin.
My hand slid between us, palming him through the thin fabric of his underwear.
He was already hard, leaking, his body so responsive to my touch.
I stripped us both. I reached for the bedside drawer, retrieving what we needed.
The preparations were quick but thorough.
I would never hurt him, no matter how desperate my need, and then I was guiding his legs around my waist, positioning myself at his entrance.
"Look at me," I commanded softly.
His eyes found mine. I pushed forward, watching his face as I filled him, the way his lips parted on a silent moan, the flutter of his eyelashes as he fought to keep his gaze locked with mine while rolling back his eyes.
The tight heat of him around me was exquisite, but it was the complete surrender in his expression that truly undid me.
I began to move, setting a rhythm that was neither too hard nor too gentle. My hands gripped his hips, angling him just so, ensuring each thrust hit that place inside him that made him see stars. His fingers clutched at the mattress.
"My perfect boy," I praised. "My beautiful, brave, incredible boy."
Florian responded to the praise as he always did, with a full-body shudder and a tightening around me that threatened my control. I leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing his moans as I increased my pace, feeling the familiar tension building at the base of my spine.
"Please," he begged against my lips. "Please, Daddy, I need…"
"I know what you need," I assured him, wrapping my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts. "I always know. I love you," I gasped. "God, I love you so much."
His eyes widened at the naked emotion in my voice, and then he was coming, his body clenching around me, his release spilling warm between us. The sight of him undone sent me tumbling after him. I buried my face in his neck as I emptied myself inside him, my entire body shaking.
For long moments afterward, we lay together, our breathing gradually slowing, our heartbeats syncing.
Florian's head rested on my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers tracing my chest. The sheets were tangled around our legs, damp in places.
His finger circled a small scar near my collarbone.
"What's this from?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I glanced down, surprised he'd noticed the faded mark. "Sailing accident. I was twelve."
"You sailed?"
I nodded, my chin brushing against his tousled hair. "Every summer. My father insisted. He believed it built character."
Florian shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. His blue eyes were serious, searching. I saw the marks I'd left across his pale skin. The sight stirred something possessive in me, but it was tempered now by a gentler feeling.
“Did you like it?” he asked, softly, as if a bad answer might hurt too badly. But I nodded, with a gentle smile.
“Yes. It was hard, sometimes, but I mostly liked it. The sun, the sea, the salt.”
"Tell me about her," he said. "Your mom. What was she like when you were growing up?"
I hesitated. These were waters I rarely navigated. The past was a foreign country I had deliberately exiled myself from. But Florian's expression was so earnest, so genuinely interested, that I found myself unable to deny him.
"She was... formidable," I began, searching for the right words.
"Not just the fragile woman you met today.
She ran that house like a general. The staff adored her but feared her in equal measure.
We did too. But she was always soft, even when making us follow the rules or the consequences of our actions. She protected us from the world."
"I can see that," Florian smiled. "She has your eyes. Or you have hers, I guess."
"Her garden parties were legendary," I continued, surprising myself with the ease of the memory's return. "The entire country club set would attend. Women in wide-brimmed hats, men in linen suits no matter how hot it was. She insisted on proper attire. The gardens would be immaculate."
Florian laughed softly. "Sounds like someone else I know."
I pinched his side gently in retribution, earning a squirm and a giggle.
"I was ten when I realized she was actually terrified of those parties.
I found her in her dressing room, practicing her smile in the mirror, rehearsing small talk.
She saw me watching, and instead of being angry, she sat me down and explained that sometimes, appearing strong was more important than feeling strong. "
"That's... actually really sad," Florian murmured.
I nodded, memories surfacing now, impossible to suppress. "My father was different. Cold, methodical. He viewed parenting as another business to manage efficiently. Every interaction had a purpose, a lesson to impart, a weakness to correct."
"Jesus," Florian breathed. "That's intense for a kid."
"It was his way of showing love," I said, surprised to find I actually believed that now, with the perspective of years. "He wanted me prepared, I guess. The world was not kind to men like us."
"Men like us?" Florian asked, his finger resuming its gentle exploration of my chest.
"Gay men," I clarified. "He knew before I did, I think. Never said a word against it but made sure I understood that I would need to be twice as competent, twice as controlled, to earn the same respect."
Florian was quiet for a moment, absorbing this.
“I couldn't talk about that, of course. He didn't want to know any of it, but I respect that. He accepted me as well as someone who was born in 1940 could, I suppose.”
“But your mom was also born around that age, and she supported you better?” he said. Witty kid.
“Well, that's moms for you,” I said, and we both smiled, even though I knew his own mom had left him. I couldn't begin to comprehend how a mom would do that, and how he wouldn't resent her. He was too pure for this world.
"Winters were different," I continued, caught now in the stream of memory.
"The house was always cold, no matter how many fires burned.
My father would retreat to his study for days, not much interested in being with us, emerging only for meals.
My mother would play the piano in the evenings.
She liked Vivaldi, the Four Seasons. I would sit in the library with a book, listening to her through the walls, watching snow pile against the windows.
I was the youngest of four. My siblings were too old to want to play with me. "
"It sounds so... formal," Florian said, his voice soft. "Beautiful, but lonely."
"It was," I admitted, the truth surprising me. "I was lonely. I had everything a child could want materially, but... and then soon they’d send me to the boarding school anyway, so…"
I trailed off, suddenly aware of how much I was revealing. I wasn't used to this kind of emotion. But when I looked down at Florian, there was no judgment in his expression, only understanding.
I watched as Florian's eyelids grew heavy, his blinks becoming longer. He fought it, clearly wanting to extend this rare moment, but exhaustion was claiming him. I stroked his hair, silently giving him permission to succumb.
"Thank you," he whispered against my shoulder, his voice thick with approaching sleep.
"For what?" I asked, equally quiet.
"For letting me in."
Three simple words, yet they hit me. I tightened my arm around him, drawing him closer, unable to formulate a verbal response that wouldn't bring me to tears. Me, a man who never cried. Instead, I pressed my lips to his forehead.
He had indeed breached walls I'd spent decades fortifying.
The strange thing was, I no longer felt exposed or vulnerable because of it.
Instead, there was a curious sense of relief.
I'd tell him everything he wanted to know.
I'd let him live through everything there was still to be built.
Perhaps this was what it meant to truly belong to someone, not just to possess them, but to allow yourself to be possessed in return.