Chapter 11. Liam
I'm supposed to be in the rec room, but things have been tense.
Reed hasn't shown up, Harry avoids open spaces like the plague.
Jack has been sad since his sister's news and pretends he's fine by talking too loudly and laughing too much.
Miles is Miles. Mason is gone. And Ethan has been in his office more often.
I think he's trying to mentally prepare for Tyler's arrival, or for his clinicals.
I don't feel like wandering, talking to kids I don't know well.
So, I go look for the only person I want.
Technically, we're not allowed to leave the rec room during rec time, but I sneak out, telling the guard next to the door that I'm going to the bathroom. Then I hug the walls, looking as innocent as I can.
The hallways are in "energy saving" mode, which means only half the lights are on, the spaces between them dark. It's scary and exciting. There's a thrill in breaking the rules, and I love it.
I sneak into the admin building, take the stairs two at a time, and find my favorite door.
I knock, quietly, and don't wait for him to say anything.
It's unlocked, so I open it, slide in and close it behind me.
He's at the desk, writing in the blue notebook he uses for shift reports. He looks up, and for a second, he looks serious. Then the corners of his eyes soften, and he smiles. I relax a little because I’d been afraid that he'd be mad I'm here.
"Hey," he says.
"Daddy!" I exclaim. I'm physically unable to stop being so excited when I see him.
He puts down the pen, sits back. "You're not supposed to be up here, you little naughty brat."
I grin. "Report me, then."
He doesn't smile back, but his eyes get brighter. "Come here," he says, dominant as ever, and taps his thigh. My mouth immediately waters.
I sit on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, and he hugs my waist, burying his face in my neck for a second, inhaling my scent. It's so good to feel his strong arms around me, his warmth, his scent. I completely forget everything I was stressing about.
"What are you doing here, puppy?"
"I missed you. I was lonely. You're always working."
"Aww, poor thing," he says, kissing my neck. I have goosebumps now. Then he looks at me and studies my face. I can never hide anything from him. "Something on your mind?"
I laugh. "Isn't there always?"
“Even though you aren’t allowed to have thoughts? I do the thinking for you,” he jokes. I laugh too. How I wish this were true.
He kisses my neck again, I feel his tongue grazing my skin. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"It's just…" I start, then stop. I can't figure out how to say it, not without sounding like a child. "Everything is falling apart, and I don't know how to stop it."
He nods, like he already knew. "Harry?"
I shake my head. "Not just him. Mason. You. Jack. The whole place feels off. Like we're all just waiting for the next thing to blow up."
He doesn't say anything for a long time.
Then, still holding me close, he says, "I know, sweetheart.
It's scary. But I'm here. You're the only thing in my life that makes sense," he says.
I look into his eyes, and he looks calm, serene, and not like he's faking it.
It definitely looks like he actually feels it, which fills me with so much fucking happiness I could explode like a pinata.
I catch his mouth. He doesn't bite or press or grab, just lets our lips fit together, open and unhurried. The heat builds in my chest, a low flame. When I pull back, he's looking at me with so much love.
"Is this okay?" I whisper. I don't know why I ask. We've never been shy about what we want, not even in the beginning. Maybe it's the difference in the air tonight. The way he's holding me.
"It's perfect, baby," he says, and his voice is gentle.
I try to look away because it's too much for this poor little heart of mine.
But he won't let me. His hand comes up, fingers under my chin, tilting my face toward him. His thumb runs over my jaw, slow and deliberate, tracing the line. "You're beautiful," he says.
My ears are burning, and I can feel the color climb my neck. He smiles, but there's no mockery in it. He looks older than he is at this moment, and he looks tranquil. Like a rock in my jelly world.
He gets to my collarbone and bites gently, tongue tracing the edges of my tattoo, and I gasp. The sound makes him pause.
"Sorry," I say, but he shakes his head.
"I love your sounds."
He kisses my throat, my shoulder, then down my arm to my wrist.
I want him naked. I tug at the hem of his shirt, impatient, and he lifts his arms so I can strip it over his head.
I love it. He doesn’t usually let me strip him.
His body is all muscle, but it's the scatter of freckles that undo me.
I kiss each one, like he did to me, and I feel his chest stutter under my lips. He laughs. "Worshipping me, pet?"
"You know it, Daddy," I say, already kissing down his chest, mapping the territory with my mouth. He lets me, his hand in my hair, barely guiding, just enough to make me feel him there.
We get out of our pants, fast, messy. He's hard already, leaking at the tip, but there's no rush. He pulls me into his lap, so I'm straddling him. His cock presses against my stomach, and I grind down, slow, loving the way his jaw goes slack.
I grip him in my hand, stroke once.
He's hot and slick in my palm, and I can feel every shiver, every subtle throb as I pump my hand up and down.
His breath goes ragged, this tiny little catch and release.
He throws his head back, closing his eyes, grunting, and I love it.
I love it when he's vocal, when he shows me everything he likes to hide.
I start slow, squeezing at the head and then dragging my thumb over the slit, smearing the bead of pre-cum.
He's so sensitive it makes his hips jerk up, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I keep stroking, a little faster, loving how easily I can make him lose that perfect composure.
I want him to see how much he does to me.
I palm myself, and he's immediately there, moving my hand away so he can do it for me.
The first touch is blinding, he knows exactly how hard to squeeze, how to twist his wrist just so at the top.
I'm almost embarrassed by how close I automatically get, but he wants that.
He lets go, and I whine, but only for a second.
"Show me how you please yourself," he says, and his voice is a command, not a request.
I let his cock go, reluctantly, to stroke myself, and I get slicker with every pull, and he matches my rhythm on his own cock.
We're face to face now, both working ourselves, both watching, breathing harder, panting in sync.
His eyes are locked on mine, and I don't look away.
Every sound he makes goes straight to my gut.
The way his hand works over his shaft is effortless, but every time his thumb rolls over the head he shivers. He meets my eyes, watching me watch him, and grins, open, hungry, confident.
He takes my wrist, moves my hand away from myself, and then wraps his big, warm hand around both of us at once.
The stretch is obscene. Skin on skin, we're so close it's like we're trying to merge into a single body.
His fist is tight and slow, drawing a moan out of me I can't suppress.
He matches my rhythm to his, rocking us together, the slide of our cocks against each other slick and perfect.
I grab his waist, digging my fingers into the muscle there, and hold on.
His mouth is on my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, shifting locations every second like he can't get enough of my skin. I feel his teeth graze my earlobe as his hand speeds up. We're both leaking, the mess spreading, slippery and hot. He groans, and I moan.
"Look at me," he says, and I force my eyes open. He's right there, pupils blown, lips parted, so beautiful it hurts. He kisses me and I arch into him, helpless, grinding against his palm.
"Fuck, Daddy…" I whimper. I'm close, so close, and he knows it, squeezing just a bit harder, twisting his wrist the way he knows I like. It's not enough, it's too much, I lose track of which. I'm dizzy, my whole body humming, every nerve tuned to the friction between us.
He pulls back from the kiss, breathing ragged, and presses his forehead to mine. "You're so good, my baby. You're so good for me."
I shatter. I come hard, hips jerking, splattering over both of us. He doesn't let up, keeps stroking, and a second later he's coming too, painting my stomach and chest, his whole body going taut. He bites into my neck to muffle the sound, but I hear the gasp anyway.
We stay like that for a while, stuck together, his arm around my back, my head nestled into his collarbone. Our heartbeats thump in sync. The air smells like sweat and sex. I fucking love it.
I start to giggle, which makes his chest shake. "That was so fucking messy."
"You can clean it up, pet," he says and he wipes some of the mess off with his fingers, then smears it onto my cheek, a stripe across my face like war paint.
I make a big show of licking it off, slowly. He pulls me close and kisses me again, softer.
We don't rush. Neither of us wants to break the spell, but the clock on the wall is merciless, ticking closer and closer to the end of rec time.
"Go, baby. I'll see you soon," he says.
"I'll miss you so much!" I exclaim, dramatic.
"Me too, baby. Me too."