19. Feel It
When I get off work, I pick up Oliver and take him to a restaurant in the Old Town area, not far from where he lives.
Oliver complains that he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans—hardly appropriate for a place where you have to book a table in advance.
I tell him no one will care, but then I look properly at the jeans he’s wearing.
They’re tattered and washed out; they look like hand-me-downs from Mason, and his hoodie isn’t much better. It’s too big for him, and the edges are worn.
I make a mental note to take him shopping over the weekend, but until then, I reassure him that the restaurant isn’t quite as fancy as he thinks and that no one will care about his clothes.
We get a couple of stares when we arrive together. The waiter sits us down at a table in the corner, and Oliver taps his feet while he looks at the menu. The lights are dimmed, and the furniture is modern and sleek.
“Anything looking good to you?” I ask.
“I prefer your cooking,” Oliver says, his sheepish smile turning into a wince. “Sorry. I’m not being ungrateful, I just…”
“You wanted to be alone?”
He bites his lip, cheeks turning rosy. “Yeah, um, kind of, I mean…”
“We have time,” I assure him. “Now pick out what you want, and let Daddy spoil you a bit.”
He blushes and squirms in his seat, and the waiter comes to take our orders.
“I’ll have the smoked salmon with garlic potatoes, please,” I say.
The waiter nods. “And your son?”
Oliver and I both cough—he with a laugh.
“I’ll have the same as Daddy,” he says.
The waiter raises a brow but takes our menus and disappears.
I look around us, chest twisting with discomfort. When I turn to Oliver, he doesn’t look uncomfortable at all; in fact, he’s grinning mischievously.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t.”
“What?” he says with a pout, but the bratty glint in his eyes remains.
I’ve been curious about what strangers will think of our relationship when we’re out and about, and now I guess I have my answer. Our age difference is so obvious that it’s easy to assume we’re father and son, even though we look nothing alike.
“Do you think that’s funny?” I ask, forcing a smile.
He shrugs. “Don’t you?”
I believe it’s fairly obvious where I stand on the matter. I won’t let strangers dictate the appropriateness of our age gap, but still, everyone wants to be accepted for who they are, right?
If that waiter found out we’re actually a couple, not father and son, he might treat us differently.
He might judge us—or let’s be honest, the one he’d judge would be me—and I fully understand why.
It’s part of the reason I resisted Oliver in the first place.
If that waiter found out I’m not only twice his age, but that I used to see him as my son, well…
I’m not sure what would happen, but I suspect it wouldn’t be anything good.
Being in a gay relationship is one thing; being in a gay age-gap relationship is a whole new layer of societal judgment laid on top.
I judge myself hard enough as it is, and Oliver…
If he’d been on a date with someone his own age, no one would bat an eye.
Being with me complicates things for him in more ways than one, and he doesn’t deserve—
“Daddy,” he says, snapping me out of my spiral and bringing me back to the moment.
“It’s okay.” He slides his hand across the table and puts it over mine.
“No one is looking. Everyone’s minding their own business, see?
” He nods at the tables around us, and I suppose he’s right; everyone is looking down at their plate or at their dining companion rather than at us.
I sigh, and my shoulders drop. “You’re right. Sorry.”
The rest of the dinner passes without any more trouble, and if the waiter still thinks we’re father and son, so be it.
I don’t need to prove to everyone here why I’m not some old creep who’s seduced a young man into my bed.
They can think what they want. All I care about for now is getting Oliver home safe.
We drive in silence. I assume he’s tired. I’d planned on buying him dessert at the restaurant, but I have chocolate in my apartment if he…
The moment we step inside, he tugs at the sleeve of my shirt and looks at me strangely.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, adrenaline pumping through my veins. It’s like my body is always on high alert when he’s with me. The slightest sign that something’s off, it reacts immediately, ready to make things right and take care of whatever’s bothering him.
He bites his lower lip, and he looks away for a moment before his gaze shifts back to mine. “Remember… before we started?”
“Started?”
“The toys,” he says, a crease between his brows. “You told me not to be upset if we couldn’t go all the way, but… you were upset. You still are.”
“No, no…” I shake my head. “I was upset with myself, not with you.”
“Why?”
My throat clicks, the guilt making it hard to speak. “I made you hurt, Oliver.”
“Only for a second. It wouldn’t have hurt if you’d kept going. Lane said—”
“Who’s Lane?”
“My best friend. Mason’s boyfriend.”
Right, I remember now. “Okay. So what did Lane say?”
“That it only hurts for a second, but it’s a good hurt, and then it feels amazing. So much better than toys or fingers.” His cheeks flush, and his voice is an eager whisper. “I really want to know what it feels like.”
I look away, jaw clenching, but Oliver reaches up to cup my face, bringing me back to him.
“Please, Daddy. If I’m in pain—too much pain—I’ll tell you. I promised, remember? I trust you, but you need to trust me, too.”
I shut my eyes, trying not to feel guilty about what he’s implying; I already feel guilty enough. He’s right, though. He trusts me, despite everything, and the least I can do is trust him back.
“The second dildo,” I tell him. “After the plug and the purple one, we’ll use the second dildo.”
“The one that looks like a real dick?”
I nod, mouth dry, and Oliver smiles.
“Okay. It’s not as big as your cock, though.”
“It’ll help stretch you out better.”
He makes a needy sound. “Okay, um, just a second.” He disappears into the bathroom.
I go to the bedroom to prepare the toys, heart beating fast and my skin tingling with arousal and anticipation. I take my clothes off and wait for him on the bed, and when he opens the door and sees me there, he widens his eyes and scrambles to get naked too.
I chuckle at his eagerness. He’s so fucking cute—too cute for me—and more trusting than I deserve.
I try not to think about all the reasons I don’t deserve him as he gets onto the bed and climbs on top of me, his mouth clashing with mine in a hungry kiss.
“I did it again yesterday,” he whispers against my lips.
“Did what?”
“Fingered myself, thinking about you. I fit two inside this time.”
Fuck. I reach for his ass and squeeze his firm cheeks, pulling them apart and baring his hole to the air.
“Mm,” he moans into my mouth, and he rocks his hips, his dick leaking precum onto my stomach.
I still have a hard time believing that this is really what he wants. He could have anyone—and he chooses me. He shouldn’t, and I shouldn’t allow him to, yet here we are.
I reverse our positions and get him under me, and he flips onto his stomach, parting his ass cheeks with his hands.
“Stretch me out, Daddy. Open my hole, please.”
Fuck, he’ll be the death of me.
I grab the lube and the plug and place them within reach. Then I kneel between his legs and bury my face in his ass.
“Oh… yes.” He parts his cheeks wider, giving me perfect access to his hole.
I lick around it, covering it in saliva before I make my tongue sharp and pointy and press it to his rim.
It might be my imagination, but he feels more relaxed now than last time.
His hole is still impossibly tight, though, and I struggle to get the tip of my tongue inside him.
“Hold yourself open like that; that’s it.” I coat the plug in lube and rub it over his hole while I lick around his rim until his thighs tremble. Then I push. The plug slides inside, popping past the tight ring of muscle, and he moans and writhes, rocking his hips into my touch.
“Oh my God, Daddy… Ohh God…” He releases his grip on his ass, hands falling to his sides.
“Are you close?”
“Yeah… Wanna come, but… want the dildo first.”
I pull the plug out of him, groaning at the sight of his rim expanding and contracting around the tip.
The purple dildo sinks inside him easier than last time, and as I slide it deeper, I take his leaking dick in my hand and give it a pump.
“Ohh shit, fuck…” He blabbers incoherently into the sheets, rolling his hips and fucking himself on the dildo. The sight of it sliding in and out of him is almost too much—too fucking hot. My dick pulses, aching to get inside his tight, willing hole.
“More,” he moans. “Want more.”
“Want the second one?” I reach for the flesh-colored, realistic dildo, the one that’s almost as thick as my cock.
“Yes… Please… Feels so good.”
“Part your cheeks, sweetheart.”
He reaches behind himself again and digs his fingers into his cheeks, parting them wide as I pull the purple dildo out of him.
His hole flutters, clenching around air.
The lube I pour down his crack slides right into him, but when I nudge the head of the second dildo against his hole, it looks too big for him to take, and I hesitate.
“Please,” he moans. “Put it in.” He arches his back, and slowly, carefully, I press the dildo inside. There’s resistance, and he stills, breathing fast.
I stroke his lower back. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Such a good boy, letting Daddy open up your hole.”
He moans at that, his cheeks flushing as he gazes back at me.
With one determined breath, I push the dildo deeper, and it sinks inside his quivering body.
I grab his dick again, give it a few slow pumps, and he moans like he’s coming apart, his ass spasming as he shoots ropes of cum onto the sheets.
It goes on forever. He shakes with the aftershocks, and when I pull the dildo out, he whimpers under his breath.
“I did it.”