7. ALEXI

I didn't expect him to kiss me. I wanted him to, but I didn't expect it. Benny was right, I think the outfit sold it, and maybe the lip tint too. Guys seemed unable to resist the look of a slightly wet lip.

"Sorry," Warren apologised, pulling away. "Is it ok that I—that I kissed you?"

"I liked it."

"Good," he said, his warm hand behind my head. I pressed the side of my chin into his arm. "So—" He looked at my skin where the crop top ended, slightly hidden by the dungarees. "Is it just lace? Or do you like different things too?"

It wasn't just lace. I didn't know how much of myself I could let him in on; I didn't know how much of myself I wanted to let him into.

I'd seen the little patch of hair on his chest, and the rough stubble on his cheek, I'd felt it against my upper lip as he kissed me. His soft hand on me. It was the first time I'd given into someone else's touch in a long while.

My body panicked. I flinched, dodging his hand. Suddenly unsure. The walls of the flat appeared to creep in.

"Hey, hey," he said, "hey." His words softly spoken. "I'm not going to judge you. For what it's worth, I love to play dress up, and you look so—so soft, the type I want to hold against my body." His hand at my chin, cupping it. He caressed with a finger and a thumb. "What are you into?"

It wasn't easy to trust people, especially when they came out of nowhere. But Warren hadn't hit on me when we first met, this wasn't some drunken meet. He was sweet and sincere in every word.

"I like soft, comfortable, and nice things," I said, the words slow from my tongue as though they were stuck. "I've—I've not been with anyone in over a year." The admission made me feel lighter.

He smiled, his hand stroking my chin. I let go of the sweater on my lap, and stretched the fingers of my sweaty palms. "I've not been with anyone since last summer. That's—like, nine months ago."

"Why not?"

"Busy," he shrugged, removing his hand. "I work every single day, I work hard, and then I come home. I'm too drained to do anything. I play video games, I watch films." He pulled at the end of his T-shirt again. It was a cute T-shirt, a little worn, but cute.

"My friend said you were flirting, and I didn't believe him," I said, feeling the words slip from my tongue. There was an ease when it came to talking to him here. "I told him you were just being nice."

"I was flirting," he said. "Am I your type?"

That was a difficult question. There was more to just how a person looked. But he ticked a lot of those boxes on my list. "That depends on whether you like the same things as me."

He smirked, trying to push it away a little. "I've seen a lot of things, and I know a lot of stuff. I think I have something you'd be interested in." He placed his hand on my knee, patting it. "I once dated a guy who loved to play, he liked to dress in similar colours, soft, pastel, he also liked to call me—" he paused, my heart beating up a storm.

"What—what did he—"

Warren looked away for a moment. "Maybe it's the attention and affection I give, but he liked to call me Daddy."

"Daddy," I repeated through a rush of adrenaline.

He smiled. "That ended many years ago. But it was a passionate relationship. He loved to play; we were even—."

"Oh."

"Fuck, I just ruined the mood," he chuckled, "rule number one, don't talk about exes, right?"

I couldn't say anything. My ex had been caring and sweet, he'd been someone I thought was my entire life, and I thought I was his entire life too. It turned out; I was just one of several boys he was with. I was nineteen when it started, and we were together for a year and a half. It's why I didn't entertain men for an entire year afterwards. I couldn't trust them.

I threw myself at Warren, wrapping my arms around him and throwing kisses on his face. I didn't want to talk exes, but he hadn't ruined the mood.

Warren laid back, taking me with him on the comfy couch. The knot of the sweater between us. His arms stroked my back. He was strong. I enjoyed it, allowing him to take over.

Like a plaything, I allowed him to move me; pushing my legs down at either side of his body until I straddled him. Our bodies gyrating to his rhythm.

"You look strong," I said, reaching out to feel the muscle of his chest.

"You feel light," he said, pushing to sit up with me on him. "Where do you want to go with this?"

"You have to be nice; you have to be gentle, and you have to be slow," I said, nodding slowly.

"You want to be my little boy?" he asked, "because I have room for one." He reached for my hand and pulled it to his chest again, right over his heart. I could feel it throb.

I nodded. The heat in my face. The stir in my stomach, right above my cock. It was ticklish.

"I'll be everything you want," he said.

He didn't even know what I wanted, but inside, I knew he would be everything. "Can I call you—"

"Whatever you want, baby," he said, stroking a hand up my arm, his soft touch warm on my skin. "Just say what you want, and it's yours."

He'd done this before. The confidence in his voice. The care in his eyes. The electric tickle in my stomach. With the tip of my tongue, I licked my bottom lip, tasting the light slick coating. "Daddy."

His hands grew restless as they unwrapped me. I liked that. I wanted him to continue.

"You know," he said, his hands around my waist. "I thought I saw it in you, the way you hold yourself, the way you don't make eye contact. You're shy, but I hope you won't be shy around me." He brushed the loose bit of hair behind my ear.

I lifted my hand, placing it on his cheek, my thumb at the dimple. I liked the soft roughness to the stubble. "I'm not always shy."

"I see that."

I kissed him again, pressing my face to his. His tongue was gentle, prodding against my lips, asking to enter. He tasted sweet, like the wine he'd poured. My cock, a little uncomfortable, strained against the lace without any of the usual adjustments when I became aroused.

"Are you a good boy?" he asked. "I can't say I've met many who play, but I know good boys deserve long cuddles, and bad boys deserve to be punished. Right?"

"I'm a good boy."

"What does a good boy like you want to do?" he asked. "We have all night unless you want Daddy to choose. I know how to take care of a good boy."

A warm tingle travelled my neck, flushed with goose pimples. "Daddy always choses," I told him. I didn't like to make decisions. In fact, the thought of it was enough for me to avoid eye contact with him again.

I didn't like the expectation that something I decided would impact someone else.

"I don't think we should jump into anything," he said, "I think we should play some games, and I actually have something you'll look great in."

"Oh?" I locked eyes with him, the wide playfulness, so full of ideas.

"Wait here," he said, "you'll love it, but I'll have to get you one in your size."

"My size?"

"If this is a regular thing," he said, "which I hope it will be, I want to get you something that fits."

Pulling away from his body and back onto the couch, he stood. As he walked, I watched him stick his hand into his trousers, adjusting himself.

I needed to do the same before my cock decided to burst from the side of the lace underwear. The lace was a peachy mesh.

Once he was in another room, I stuck my hand into the dungarees, slipped in through the front. The skin above my cock freshly shaved. It felt odd, it always did, but I liked it. I grabbed my dick and pulled it vertical.

"Ok, you don't have to wear it, but I bet you'd look cute in it," he said. "I already had it out, because I thought if you stayed over, you'd wear it."

Over his arms, a light green hooded onesie. There was a tail to it and small cloth horns. "A dinosaur?"

He nodded. "It might be a big baggy on you, but onesies, you know, bears, dinosaurs, they were one of those things I remember my ex being into."

"Was that—"

"This is mine," he said, "that's why I said it might be baggy. And I think—when someone your size wears something like this, it's—" he bit at his lip, looking me over. "So hot."

I grabbed the tail. "Should I put it on here? Or—"

He nodded. "I'd like to watch you put it on."

As I stood, he took a seat, passing me the onesie.