12. Daddy
When I stir awake, the movie isn’t on anymore, and Logan is pulling a blanket over me, tucking me in for the night. I reach out for him sleepily, barely aware of what I’m doing.
“Daddy?”
He pauses, letting me grab his arm. “Yes?”
“I like you,” I mumble.
“I like you too, Ollie.” His voice is light and casual, making it obvious that he doesn’t understand.
“No, I mean…” I let go of his arm. “Never mind.”
Later on, when I’ve slept through the night, I wake up mortified.
Why did I say that? I don’t know what I was thinking, disoriented and drowsy from napping on his shoulder the better part of the movie.
I just said what I was thinking in the moment, and now, in the light of day, it feels more embarrassing than endearing.
Logan’s alarm rings, and he emerges from the bedroom a few minutes later, dressed and smelling of masculine cologne. I drift toward him in the kitchen and sit on the bar stool as he makes us cereal and egg sandwiches for breakfast.
“Morning, Daddy.”
“Morning.” He clears his throat, back turned to me as he puts on the coffee machine. “How did you sleep?”
“Pretty good.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his jaw working. When he speaks, his voice is tight with discomfort. “You know… maybe you shouldn’t call me that.”
“Call you what?” I wait for him to make the table and sit down beside me.
“‘Daddy,’” he says. “Maybe you shouldn’t call me ‘Daddy.’”
I take a bite of my egg sandwich. “Why not? I used to call you that all the time.”
He frowns, forehead creasing. “I know, but you were younger then. It’s different now.”
“Different how?”
“You’re older.”
“And?” I’m just playing dumb; I know what he means, but I can’t help teasing him a bit.
“Daddy can mean father or Dad, yes, but it’s also a word that is sometimes used in roleplay. For kink. It’s called daddy kink.”
My cheeks flush, and I look down at my plate, anywhere but at him. I can’t show him that I’ve known all along. It feels so natural to call him by that word, though. It feels so good. I thought it felt good for him, too.
“Oliver,” he says, pulling my attention back to him. “If you’re calling me that for the wrong reason, it’s… not appropriate.” He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds conflicted and maybe a little worried. Why is he worried?
I shrug, but there’s a stiffness to my shoulders that makes it obvious he struck a nerve. “But you like it when I call you that. And you called me ‘good boy.’ Is that appropriate?” I send him a sideways look, gaze challenging.
His mouth falls open, and it’s his turn to blush. “You got me.” He grimaces. “How about this: you don’t call me ‘Daddy,’ and I don’t call you ‘good boy.’ Okay?”
“But why?” Pouting, I tap my foot against the bar stool’s footrest, and I’ve stopped eating to instead rip my egg sandwich apart bit by bit. “We both like it.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s inappropriate, Oliver. I’ll leave it at that.”
I don’t care about being inappropriate. Yesterday, during the massage, I felt his hard dick against my ass—isn’t that inappropriate?
I’m so confused. When he came back from the bathroom, he said he didn’t want to hurt me.
Why would he ever hurt me? I always feel safe around him. Always. So what is he so worried about?
When he drives me home on the way to work, I feel sullen and hopeless, and I don’t know what to do.
The twins are out somewhere, so I spend the day by myself, gaming on the Xbox in the living room.
Nico’s sound system really makes a difference; I feel more immersed in the game world with every sound perfectly balanced and the bass playing off the high notes.
Or at least I would feel immersed if my mind didn’t keep interrupting me with thoughts about Logan. My brain is a mess; it keeps looping the massage and the time he put his thumb in my mouth.
If I think too deeply about it, if I replay the memories too vividly in my mind, I’ll need to go to my room and take care of myself, and it’s not like that’ll work in the long run.
I’ve tried to fight my attraction to him, and I can’t.
My need for him only grows stronger day by day, and it’s not fair.
He’s holding himself back, and for what?
I know our relationship wouldn’t be conventional or even strictly right, but I don’t care. I wish he didn’t care either.
I pull my knees up and glare at the TV, punching the buttons of the Xbox controller as if the game is doing me a personal slight.
I’m sick of touching myself and thinking of him.
I’m sick of him pulling me in and then pushing me away.
I want him, and I’m sick of waiting for him to realize he wants me too.
By the time the twins come home, I’m still on the couch, watching some silly reality TV show.
“What’s up, Blondie?” Nico vaults over the backrest and lands beside me.
“Where have you been?” My voice comes out subdued, still lost in thoughts of Logan.
“Luca,” Nico calls. “I think he needs a drink.”
“What? No.” I cross my arms, hating that Nico can read me so well.
“Make it a virgin one, then,” Nico says and winks at me.
Luca looks as tired as I feel when he brings a tray of three glasses with what looks like orange juice. I can never trust the twins, though. I take a sip, and I think there’s some vodka hiding in there, but I can’t be sure.
“Go ahead,” Luca says. “We’re all ears.” He’s wearing a pair of pink jeans and a tight white shirt, while Nico’s wearing a ripped black sweater and black sweatpants. The weather has been getting colder the last few weeks, and yesterday, I saw my first yellow leaf.
I pull my knees into my body and wrap my arms around my legs, contemplating where I should start.
By this point, I don’t care if the twins judge me anymore, so I start at the beginning.
I tell them about Logan, about how he used to be my stepdad from ages seven to thirteen, about how he left me and my brother behind when he and my mom broke up. I tell them about the hookup app.
I tell them pretty much everything, and by the time I’m done, Nico is grinning, and Luca’s got a worried crease between his brows.
“I knew it,” Nico says.
Luca rolls his eyes. “You didn’t know anything.”
“I knew he was seeing someone.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know he was seeing his literal stepdad.”
“We’re not dating,” I mutter.
“But you want to date him,” Nico says.
I drop my gaze to hide my blush. “Yeah. I want… I want him.” It’s the first time I say it out loud, and now that I do, it feels a bit ridiculous.
Wanting my stepdad. Logan. The man who raised me for years, the man who slept in the same bed as my mom.
From a logical standpoint, it’s ridiculous, wrong, but in my heart, it feels so right.
I’ve longed for him in many ways over the years, and now that we’ve met again, something inside me tells me it’s meant to be him.
He’s the one. The only one I’ve ever wanted, the only one I can imagine being with.
He’s the one I thought of when I first installed the hookup app.
He’s the one I dream of, the one I hold in my thoughts and in my heart, and I’m tired of denying it.
“Have you told him that?” Luca asks.
I bite my lip. “Kind of. I mean… not really.” Even if he’s figured it out, I know he won’t allow himself to do anything unless he’s sure. Even if I tell him outright, I’m scared he’ll reject me.
“How old is he, by the way?” Luca asks.
“Forty-three,” I say casually.
“Damn.” Nico chuckles. “Well, it’s no wonder he’s holding himself back.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Are you kidding me? Because of the obvious power imbalance, of course.”
“I don’t think there’s a power imbalance,” I mumble.
“Oliver,” Luca says, leaning in and catching my gaze. “He watched you grow up. Even if he wasn’t your real dad, he was your parent, and not to mention, he’s literally twice your age.”
I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t see how that’s… I mean… I know it’s not normal for me to want him, but—”
Nico waves a hand. “Who cares about normal? Even if he likes you, he doesn’t want to overstep. He’s a good guy, right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “The best.”
“See, that’s part of your problem,” Nico says. “You’re idolizing him, and he knows it. He probably thinks you’re just confused.”
I raise an offended brow. “I’m not confused. I know what I want.”
“Well, then you need to show him that. Otherwise, he’ll keep worrying he’ll hurt you or take advantage of you.”
“He said that,” I say in a low voice. “He said he doesn’t want to hurt me.”
Luca shrugs. “Well, there you go.”
“Luca’s slept with loads of older guys, but they’re all assholes, right, Luc?” Nico says.
Luca rolls his eyes. “It’s not like they stay as my client if they treat me badly, but yeah.”
“They just want a young ass to fuck,” Nico says. “It seems like this Logan guy is different. He takes the moral high ground.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Think about it. He knew you as a kid. Now you’re not one anymore, but seeing you in a sexual way must be a major mindfuck to him.”
“I guess,” I say again.
“So prove it,” Luca says. “Prove that you’re not a kid anymore. Prove that you know what you’re doing and that you can make your own decisions.”
Nico nods. “And if he still doesn’t fuck you after that, I don’t fucking know. Maybe he needs more time, or maybe he just doesn’t want you in that way.”
“It’s not just about the sex,” I blurt, and immediately blush. I wish Luca had spiked my drink after all.
“What else is there?” Nico asks.
“There’s kissing,” Luca offers. “And I guess you want him to take care of you, huh? Like a daddy does.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Like a daddy.”
“Well, tell him that, then.” Nico stands up and stretches, looking bored with the conversation. “I’m fine with my one-night stands. The last guy choked me so hard, I saw stars.”
“That’s dangerous,” Luca says, frowning.
Nico grins. “Without danger, there’s no fun.”
“You won’t say that the day you end up in the hospital.”
Nico takes his glass and pulls a vodka bottle out of the freezer. “You don’t know what I’m into.”
Luca rolls his eyes. “Don’t end up like him,” he tells me.
I’m fairly sure I won’t end up like Nico. I want the opposite of what he wants. I want gentleness; I want care. I want… love. Not just any love; I want Logan’s love. I crave it so much I can barely breathe sometimes when he’s with me.
The next time I see him, I hope I can gather the courage to follow the twins’ advice, even though it’s slightly terrifying.
It hurts not having him the way I want, but having him in my life as a platonic father figure is better than not having him at all. What if I push too hard? What if he rejects me and sends me away?
All those questions churn around in my head for hours as I try to sleep, and when I dream, I dream about him—his strong hands, his soft voice, and his fingers in my hair as he lulls me to sleep. Daddy. God, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him.