8. Connor
Connor
The open road stretches out ahead of us, winding through the foothills with the mountains rising sharp and beautiful on both sides. Late morning sun pours across the dashboard, warm and bright.
“Damn, those guys don’t know what they’re missing,” I say quietly to Milo, tilting my head back to the rear seats.
Shadow and Spirit are passed out in the back seat, snoring like a couple of old men after their big town adventure.
Milo sits beside me in the passenger seat, legs tucked under him, looking out the window with this soft, contented smile on his face.
He’s wearing tight black shorts and that oversized sweater that keeps slipping off one shoulder.
Every time it does, my eyes drift to the smoothness of his skin before I force them back to the road.
“I would never want to live anywhere else in the world,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “This place… it just feels like home.”
I glance over at Milo and feel the corner of my mouth lift in a rare smile. “Yeah,” I agree. “It does.”
Milo might only be twenty-two, but the boy has an old head on young shoulders. There’s a depth to him that most people his age don’t have. He knows what he wants and he’s willing to work for it.
Stubborn as hell, too. And I respect that more than I want to admit.
Milo reaches down for his backpack and starts rummaging around. I catch a flash of something brown and fluffy inside. An owl stuffie with big round eyes and a slightly crooked beak.
“Who’s that?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
He pulls the notepad and pen out but doesn’t try to hide the stuffie. “This is Flappie,” he says lightly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “He keeps me company when I’m working on ideas. And at home too.”
“Cool,” I reply, nodding once. “Flappie’s got a cool vibe.”
Milo gives me a quick, grateful little smile, the kind that says he appreciates me not making a big deal out of it. I file that away. He’s comfortable enough with his Little side to carry his stuffie around, but he doesn’t want it teased. Good to know.
As he settles back and starts quietly sketching in his notepad, my mind begins to wander.
How much of a Little is he, really?
What does he like in Little Space?
What role could I have in helping him have the best Little time?
The questions sit heavy in my chest. I can already see the signs: the way he melts when I call him “little boy,” the spark in his eyes when I take control, that breathy “Yes, Daddy” he gave me before running off with a red ass.
If something were to develop between us… we might actually be compatible.
But that’s a huge fucking if .
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as memories I usually keep locked down start to surface…
Ten years ago…
Middle East. Long-term covert military posting.
His name was Nav. Same age as me. Sharp, funny, tough as nails on the outside.
But behind closed doors, he was the sweetest Little I’d ever known.
We fit together perfectly. Two soldiers who understood the weight of the job and the need to let go when we were alone.
He’d curl up against my chest with his stuffie after hard days, call me Daddy in that soft voice that made everything else disappear.
We had something real. Strong. The kind of bond most people never find.
Then one afternoon I came back from a routine patrol and the base was in chaos.
Nav had volunteered for an aid delivery run to a nearby village. Routine, they said. Safe.
It wasn’t.
Ambush.
Nav was gone before I even got the news.
I still remember the exact moment they told me. The way the world went silent. The way my chest caved in like someone had ripped my heart out with their bare hands. I finished that tour on autopilot, then handed in my papers the day I rotated home.
Never again.
No more attachments. No more risking someone I cared about. I’d live alone up in the mountains with my dogs and my scars. It was safer. Cleaner .
Present day…
The memory fades as I blink hard and refocus on the road. The pain is still there, dull and familiar, like an old wound that aches when the weather changes.
I glance sideways at Milo. He’s humming softly to himself, completely absorbed in his notes, one foot gently tapping against the seat.
Completely unaware of the storm he’s stirring up inside me just by existing.
I shove the memories back into their box and lock it tight.
We pull into the parking lot of the coffee roaster about an hour later. It’s a converted old factory: red brick, big windows, industrial charm. The smell of roasting beans hits us the second I cut the engine.
Milo’s whole face lights up.
“Oh my gosh, this place is even better than the pictures!” Milo says, practically bouncing in his seat. “Look at those silos! And the tasting room! Connor, we have to try everything.”
I hide any trace of the darkness that crept in during the drive. I give him a small nod and a grunt.
“Lead the way, coffee boy.”
Milo beams at me, slings his backpack over one shoulder, Flappie safely tucked inside, and hops out of the truck. Shadow and Spirit lift their heads sleepily but stay in the back: they know the drill.
As I watch Milo practically skip toward the entrance, excitement radiating off him, I feel that dangerous pull again. The one that says maybe, just maybe, I could let someone in.
But the memory of Nav’s name echoes in the back of my mind like a warning.
I lock the truck, keeping the windows open for the dogs, and follow Milo inside, jaw tight.
One step at a time.
That’s all I can promise myself right now.
I follow Milo around the roaster like a damn bodyguard, hands shoved deep in my pockets so I don’t do anything stupid.
The owner, some slick, handsome bastard in his mid-thirties with perfect hair and a too-tight shirt, is giving him the full VIP tour. He laughs at everything Milo says, leans in way too close when he’s showing my boy the roasting machines, and keeps touching his arm or lower back “by accident.”
Every single time he does it, my blood gets hotter.
I can’t step in and fuck this up for the boy, but my animal side wants nothing more than to rip the asshole’s head from his shoulders.
Milo is in his element, asking smart questions, taking notes, glowing with excitement.
He doesn’t seem to notice how predatory the guy is being, or maybe he’s just too focused on the coffee.
But I notice. I notice every lingering look, every flirty little comment about how “a handsome boy like you should come by more often.”
I’m two seconds away from putting my fist through his perfect teeth when I finally growl, “I’m gonna go check on the dogs. See if they want some water.”
Milo glances at me, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but the owner is already steering him toward the next batch of beans. He gives me a small nod and dives back into his questions.
I stalk outside, jaw clenched so tight it aches, and climb into the truck.
Shadow and Spirit lift their heads, sensing my mood. I sit there brooding in the driver’s seat for the next twenty minutes, arms crossed, staring at the brick wall of the factory like it personally offended me.
I could have kicked the coffee guy’s ass there and then. But ruin Milo’s day and potentially screw things up with a supplier? Nah, even I’m not that much of an asshole. Not this time, anyway.
When Milo finally emerges, cheeks flushed and carrying two big bags of beans, he looks happy as hell.
I force my expression neutral and help the boy load everything into the back.
The drive back starts quiet. Too quiet.
Halfway home, the silence is thick enough to choke on. Milo shifts in his seat, glancing at me every few seconds.
“What’s up?” Milo finally asks.
“Nothing,” I bark.
The boy huffs. Then he kicks his feet up on the dashboard like a proper brat and starts swinging them. “You’ve been grumpy ever since we left the roaster. Did I do something wrong?”
I keep my eyes on the road.
He kicks again, harder. “ Connor .”
I don’t answer.
“ Connnnnnor ,” Milo whines, dragging it out in that sweet, annoying Little voice that goes straight to my cock. “You’re being a big grumpy bear and it’s ruining my good mood.”
That’s it.
I pull the truck over onto a quiet stretch of roadside, tires crunching on gravel. The second the engine cuts, I turn to him.
“Jealous,” I admit, voice low and rough. “I was jealous. That smug bastard was all over you. Touching you. Flirting. And you were just smiling at him.”
Milo’s eyes widen for half a second, then a mischievous little giggle escapes him. He bites his lip and looks up at me through his lashes.
“Okay,” Milo says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Yeah, he was a little flirty. I wasn’t into him. Of course I wasn’t. But whatever. So… what are you going to do about it… Daddy?”
The challenge in his voice snaps something inside me.
I reach over, grab him by the waist, and haul him straight across the bench seat and over my lap. He lets out a surprised squeak but doesn’t fight it. I yank his jean shorts and briefs down in one rough motion, baring that perfect, round ass.
My hand comes down hard.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“You think it’s funny to let another man flirt with what’s mine?” I growl, spanking him fast and firm, his white cheeks wobbling and jiggling with every spank.
Milo gasps and squirms, but his legs part slightly. He’s already hard, I can see his cock pressed down, thick, full of blood.
I spank Milo harder, covering every inch of his juicy cheeks until they’re bright pink. Then I slide my hand between his legs and grip his shaft.
“Fuck, you’re hard ,” I mutter.
Milo moans loudly, wriggling on my hand. I wank him hard and fast, while my other hand keeps spanking his red ass. It doesn’t take long until his whole body starts stiffens, ready to go over the edge.
“Cum for me,” I command. “And that’s an order.”
Milo shatters with a cry, his cock going extra hard as it shoots its load, his thighs tensing all the way as he rides out the orgasm.
“Daddy!” Milo squeals, his ass cheeks clenching hard as the orgasm peaks longer than probably even he expected.
And before he’s even finished twitching, Milo slides off my lap, eyes dark with lust. He fumbles with my belt and jeans, pulling my hard, throbbing cock free. Without a word he leans down and takes me into his warm, wet mouth.
“Shit…” I groan, one hand tangling in his hair as he sucks me deep, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing.
He works me like he’s trying to prove a point: eager, sloppy, perfect.
I don’t last long as Milo sucks and slurps. With a deep growl I cum hard down his throat. He swallows every drop, then sits up with a satisfied, slightly dazed smile.
I tuck myself away and pull his shorts back up gently, rubbing his sore bottom. “I’m glad we sorted that out.”
Milo giggles softly and curls against my side, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Me too, Daddy.”
I wrap one arm around Milo, pull him close, and kiss the top of his head as I start the truck again.
The road home feels a lot less tense now.
But deep down I know one thing for certain: this boy is going to be the death of me.
And I’m not sure I mind anymore.