11. Thomas

CHAPTER 11

Thomas

What a whirlwind.

When I booked this trip, I had so many reservations about how it might turn out. Of all the scenarios I ran through my mind, nothing ever came close to the reality of these first couple days. Still, if I'm being totally honest, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I wouldn't want to be spending my time with anyone else but Arlo.

It's ridiculous, I know. We only just met. But it's like I was missing a puzzle piece that I didn't even know about. He's just so earnest and sweet. Whenever he's close, I feel myself light up like there's sunshine in my heart. It's no wonder that I want him around all the time.

Even if that's at the British consulate organizing an emergency passport. Hell, I'd happily file my taxes if I could have him playing by my feet as I did them. My accountant would think I'd been body-swapped.

There's just something about this guy that makes me feel I can do anything. He's trusting me to take care of him, and that faith gives me the kind of confidence I've never experienced before. I've been yearning for it without even being sure what it was I really wanted.

I'm fully aware that I can't put too much pressure on what we have—because what we have is a fling. A holiday romance. But as he skips around the main room of his villa, throwing all his possessions back into his bags, I can't deny that my feelings are real, even if our time is short.

"Done, Daddy!" he announces proudly, jamming his hands on his hips and beaming at me.

I smirk. "Is that so?" I say, peeking into the closet where I can see at least one shirt still folded up and a pair of socks that have rolled to the back of one of the shelves.

After I've checked all the drawers, the bathroom, the back patio, and under the bed, I'm pretty confident he actually does have everything now. I wonder if part of him left a couple of bits lying around so we'd both enjoy me catching those last possessions for him.

Besides, it's not like he can't come back here. In fact, the sensible part of my brain keeps reminding myself that he's not moving into my villa. This is just until he can feel confident that those bastards won't come snooping around. I'm pretty certain they wouldn't bother trekking it over here, but selfishly, I love the idea of keeping my boy close while he's still rattled from being pickpocketed.

He needs his Daddy. And I need him to need me.

I wouldn't say the relationship we're nurturing here is healing something inside me. I'm fortunate enough that I don't consider myself to have suffered through any real trauma in my life so far.

Sure, blowing my knee out was devastating. I wouldn't wish seeing your dreams shattered in a matter of seconds on anyone. But I had my awesome family to see me through recovery. I still have their support every day, not to mention my former teammates who look out for me, and a huge fanbase who still treat me like a rockstar. I have purpose in my new vocation. Choosing to spend my days giving back to the community warms my soul in a way that being on the ice didn't quite reach.

But this thing…this need to be a Daddy…I'm sure it's always been inside me. A crack I didn't even realize needed to be filled up and smoothed over.

I was so terrified of opening myself up to the wrong person and having my deepest desires used against me. Now that I've met Arlo, that all seems so unimportant. Perhaps the media would be unforgiving if they knew the full extent of my kink. But truthfully, I have a suspicion that the only person who's been keeping me in this particular closet has been myself.

Well, now I choose to let myself out.

It hurts to think of the hypothetical next boy, but that's only practical. The reality is that in a week's time, Arlo and I will have to go our separate ways. I just hope that when that happens, I'll be able to look back on this vacation fondly and that being with Arlo will have made me less afraid to open up my heart again.

I grin, determined to throw myself fully into the here and now and not to worry about the near or distant future. After rescuing a sandal, another pair of socks, a stick of deodorant, and some swimming goggles, I think we are actually ready to head back out.

Seeing as we're making a blanket fort, I grab some of the bedding from this villa to take to mine, leaving a note for housekeeping telling them not to worry and to knock on my door if they're concerned. I have a feeling all the staff have been warned that there might be some pretty wild stuff going on this week, so I imagine two people sharing pillows and sheets will probably be on the tamer end of that scale.

Part of me isn't surprised that Arlo has never done this before. From what I can gather, he's had some kind of fuckery growing up. I'm not convinced he got to be much of a kid, even when he was one. It makes my heart ache to think about it, and I also want to ball up my fists and smash something.

No one should get to be mean to my baby boy. Now or ever.

"It's so cozy," he coos as we sit on the duvet that we've laid on my floor. There's a sheet above our heads, draped over the backs of chairs, creating a tent. Between us, we've made a nest of pillows, and Arlo's stuffed animals, Chippy and Snap, are keeping us company.

"It is cozy," I agree. "Daddy will be very comfy here tonight."

He bites his lip as he bounces his seagull stuffie around. I can practically hear his thoughts churning. "Daddy sleep on the bed," he says softly, not meeting my gaze. "Arlo sleep on the floor. Daddy has a bad knee."

My heart melts. "Oh, baby boy," I say.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and cup my hand against his cheek. He stills at that before his eyes flick up to meet mine with a shy smile. Good. I was worried as soon as I did it that I'd crossed a boundary. I know I touched him quite a bit right after he was robbed, but that was an emergency. In the quiet of my villa, it feels ten times more intimate. But if anything, he leans into the touch.

"Daddy will be fine, I promise. It's Daddy's job to look after…after his baby boy."

I frown. The urge to call him by a little name was so strong then, I forgot he doesn't have one. For a while, I wondered if it was Arlo and Arlington was his regular name, but after today at the consulate, I can see how much he hates his full name. So Arlo is for every day, and he doesn't have anything for his little persona.

Would he like one? It's only something I've read about, but it would make sense that a different name would help him get into the age play head space.

"Arlo," I say as I drop my hand from his face and squeeze his knee instead to give him a bit of space to think. "When you're my little baby boy, would you like to be called something else?"

He chews on his lip and looks away thoughtfully before turning back to me. "Like what?"

Damn. Nothing like a bit of on-the-spot pressure. "Uhh…" I say as I cast my mind around. Well, there's no harm in keeping these things simple. "How about Lolo?" I suggest, shortening the name he's already shortened.

The way his face lights up could power the whole resort for a night, I swear to god. "Lolo!" he shrieks, dropping his toy and clapping his hands. "Lolo and Daddy! Daddy and Lolo!"

I laugh and squeeze his knee again. "I take it you like it," I say, relieved.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

He throws his arms around my neck, planting a big, noisy kiss on my cheek. But then he's practically sitting in my lap, our faces inches apart, and suddenly, we're looking into each other's eyes, breathing heavily.

He said he didn't want ‘any grown-up stuff.' I completely respect that. But the way he's clinging to me and trembling, it feels like he's warring with something inside. I don't move a muscle, just staying still, letting him feel and think what he needs to.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed when he drops his arms and shuffles away again, looking down at the floor and the toys that he grabs in his hands. But I'm also pleased that he's not pushing himself to do anything he's not comfortable with.

"Sorry, Daddy," he mumbles.

"Hey," I say softly, rubbing his knee. "You don't have anything to apologize for, Lolo." I use the name both to test it out and also to gauge what kind of headspace he's in. That could have pulled him out of his age play, but he doesn't correct me.

In fact, he runs with it.

"Lolo wants to kiss Daddy," he whispers, frowning as he determinedly makes Chippy ride around on the back of Snap's fluffy shell.

My heart skips a beat, but he doesn't look up. I realize that perhaps talking about himself in the third person might be easier for a tricky subject, especially while his hands are occupied, giving himself a distraction while he talks.

"Lolo doesn't have to do a single thing he's not comfortable with," I say softly but firmly. "Not ever, ever, ever. Okay?" He nods, a tiny bit of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Okay, good. But just so Lolo knows, Daddy would love to kiss him if he ever wanted to do that."

My heart is thrumming as I admit that to him. I watch his reaction closely. He inhales slowly, hugging his stuffies to his chest, licking his lips, and frowning slightly.

"Lolo doesn't want Daddy to laugh at him."

I shake my head. "Daddy would never do that, sweetheart."

"But that's what happens after kissing and…and grown-up stuff."

My heart threatens to stop altogether as coldness washes through my body. "Lolo," I say once I've scrambled together some composure. "Did someone laugh at you before?"

He shrugs, his eyes still not meeting mine. But I think that's a good thing. He might need to disassociate if he's going to bring up whatever these raw emotions are.

"Lolo likes grown-up stuff," he announces in a surprisingly cheerful tone. "We used to play grown-up games at school at night when the teachers weren't around. Lolo liked it! It felt good! The other boys would play all kinds of games with him."

My stomach turns. I'd gotten the strong impression from things he'd said that he wasn't inexperienced. But I'd just assumed he'd had boyfriends. This wasn't what I'd had in mind.

"Were they mean to you afterward?" I prompt. I don't really want to know the answer, but at the same time I have to if I'm going to take care of him properly.

He shrugs once more. "Lolo didn't mind them laughing during the grown-up stuff. Lolo liked the other boys being in charge. He liked being their good boy. But after, they would laugh and call him names, which wasn't nice after all the good things Lolo did for them."

"No, it wasn't," I agree, doing my best not to growl. It's not surprising that teenage boys wouldn't understand that scenes with intense power dynamics would require essential aftercare. I still want to beat the snot out of each and every one of them.

But then another even more awful thought occurs to me. "Lolo…did the other boys ever make you do the grown-up things?"

He shakes his head vehemently, and I exhale in a whoosh of relief. "Lolo likes doing those things. They make Lolo tingly and floaty and trembly." He giggles and blushes. "Lolo had a friend called Chris. He was always nice to Lolo after the grown-up games. Chris told the other boys off for being mean, too. And when Chris left—because Chris was older—Lolo still wanted to play. But every time the boys would be mean after, so Lolo stopped." He sighs and twiddles the turtle toy. "Lolo misses those games," he adds very quietly, like he's afraid he shouldn't confess to that.

There's a lump in my throat that I do my best to swallow. My poor baby. All teenagers are horny messes. But there are always those kids—usually boys, I'm ashamed to admit—who just think with their dicks and don't care who they hurt in the hunt for their next orgasm. Hell, they were probably ashamed at exploring their desires in the heat of the moment, so they used Arlo as their punchline to excuse it all away in front of their buddies afterward.

Exactly when all Arlo needed was to be told he was good and perfect and beautiful for all the gifts he gave them. Whoever that Chris guy was, I'm thankful for him. It sounds like my baby knows that submission and kink can be good—can be incredible. I might not have had the chance to be a Daddy until now, but I've had plenty of fun with subby bottoms in the past. Arlo is just scared of getting hurt again by trusting the wrong person.

Boy, do I understand that fear all too well.

"Thank you so much for telling me all of that, Lolo," I say fondly as I brush his soft brown hair back. I don't need him to look at me, but I do want him to know I'm right here for him. "That was so brave. Daddy gets exactly what you're saying. You're such a good boy."

He blinks and looks at me with watery hazel eyes and a tentative smile. "I am?"

I can't help but laugh, but I also smile and card my fingers through his hair so he knows I'm not laughing at him. "Lolo, you're the bestest boy Daddy could wish for."

He licks his lips and looks away bashfully. I love the little pink tinge that blossoms on his cheeks at the praise.

"It's okay to enjoy grown-up games," I assure him in a gentle tone. "Daddy will never, ever put pressure on his good boy to do anything he's not comfortable with. But if Lolo ever wants to try playing those sorts of games, all he has to do is ask Daddy. Daddy will do anything for his special boy."

He peeks at me through pretty, wet lashes. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Daddy will love playing those kinds of games with Lolo. So much. And afterward, Daddy and Lolo will cuddle because Lolo is the most perfect boy a Daddy could wish for."

He smiles and bites his lip, looking down at his toys thoughtfully. "Okay," he whispers.

I feel myself sag a little in relief. "All Lolo has to do is think about it, okay? Daddy just wants Lolo to know that he's here if Lolo needs anything. But Daddy loves hunting for buried treasure and playing mermaids in the hot tub just as much as any grown-up game, he swears."

"Really?" my boy asks.

I nod. "They're just different kinds of fun games. Daddy loves all of them because he gets to share them with his baby boy."

He hums, sounding content as he squirms on his butt. "Thank you, Daddy," he rasps like it's a conspiracy.

My good boy.

"Lolo," I say urgently, my eyes going wide.

"What?" he replies with a gasp.

I fling my arm toward the front entrance of the blanket fort. "Don't look now, but I think there are pirates on the poop deck!"

He flings his arms out, shrieking and giggling as he scrambles across the duvet. "Man the cannons!" he yells. "Jolly! Take cover!"

Jolly has been sunning himself outside this entire time and probably won't appreciate his peace being invaded by our silly game. But then again, he seems to adore Arlo, so maybe he won't mind.

I understand the feeling. It doesn't matter if it's only for one week.

I'll do anything to make my little Lolo happy.