7. Thomas

CHAPTER 7

Thomas

This boy is going to be the death of me.

In so many ways, he's everything I want. He's so free with his age regression. I just love watching him visibly let go before my eyes. We spend a couple of hours on the beach playing around and splashing in the waves, not a care in the world. It's everything I've dreamed of.

Except I can't shake the knowledge that the clock is ticking even though we only just got here. That this is the reason I'm keeping my distance from him physically when all I want to do is pull him into my lap and smother kisses all over his face. He said he doesn't want a sexual relationship, and when we're going to have to say good-bye in a little over a week, it makes sense to keep that distance.

But it doesn't make sense at all.

His lithe, pale body is so perfect to me. I just want to lick him all over. When he was down on his knees for me earlier, his wet lips parted as he looked up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes, I was so close to totally losing it.

How can something so perfect also be driving me completely nuts after just one day? One lousy day?

So yeah, R.I.P. me. Or at least my poor, neglected dick. He doesn't agree with the upstairs brain that being a gentleman is absolutely the right thing to do.

Still, the second I flop onto the bed and close my eyes, it doesn't stop me from gloriously jerking off to thoughts of that sweet boy and his sunshine smile.

I'm only human. So sue me.

Once I spurt all over my hand and chest, I at least have the presence of mind to clean up before I pass out. Thanks to my captivating and energetic companion, I managed not to get drowsy all day despite my jet lag. But after that orgasm, I'm a goner the second my head hits the cool pillow again.

Or so I thought.

The chime of my message alert makes me groan. My family, friends, and colleagues all know I'm on a damn vacation. I told them it was okay to bother me while I was in London because that was a work trip. But this is the first me time I've really taken in years. Whoever is bugging me is going to get an earful over text.

However, as soon as I see the name on my screen, I realize it's none of those people that have written to me. I'm wide awake again, my blood pumping.

Ironic, considering the nature of the text.

ARLO: Daddy, I can't sleep

He's added several ridiculous but adorable emojis afterward. I grin and shake my head. What a naughty boy I have on my hands, clearly after attention when he should be resetting his sleep pattern.

THOMAS: Lol. Close your eyes and count sheep

I add a winky, kissy emoji of my own, something I'd never do in ‘real life.' It's crazy, but I feel like a damn teenager with a crush, willing the dots to appear to tell me he's writing back.

They do. I let out a hiss of relief.

ARLO: Sheep are boring, Daddy

More emojis that tell me how funny he thinks he is. I laugh in the quiet of my villa, but then I frown and pretend to be stern as I type.

THOMAS: That's the point, baby boy. They're supposed to lull you to sleep

‘Lull'? Who even am I right now? I'm still grinning and shaking my head, though, as I wait for his response.

ARLO: Can I count flying fish instead?

So cute.

THOMAS: Of course, sweetheart. Now get some rest. We're going to have more fun tomorrow

He sends me a single heart, which beats on my screen.

ARLO: Okay, Daddy. Night night. Sweet dreams.

THOMAS: Right back atcha, baby boy

I'm slightly disappointed when, after a minute, it seems obvious that more messages aren't coming. But then I'm proud. My boy listened to his Daddy and did what he was told.

Good boy.

I plug in my cell to charge, and this time I don't fight the sleep that immediately comes to me, a smile still on my lips.

Of course I wasn't going to escape jet lag that easily. I find myself wide awake at five the next morning, but considering that I usually drag my ass out of bed at six or seven-ish anyway to do physical therapy and work out, it's not too terrible.

In fact, after ten minutes of staring at the ceiling fan and realizing I'm not going to get back to sleep anytime soon, I figure why not stick to my usual routine anyhow? It's clear that if I'm going to be hanging with Arlo, he's going to be keeping me on my toes. So it would be good for my knee if I keep up my therapy. I drop him a message to let him know where I am and what I'm doing as I won't check my phone once I get going, then head out.

As I suspected, the treadmills face windows that display the spectacular vista, and that helps my mind to wander, easing some of my concerns. So not only am I helping keep my damaged muscles and ligaments strong, but this also helps me clear my head.

I spent half of yesterday preoccupied with the idea that the time limit Arlo and I face will spoil our time together, when it's the opposite that's true. It's going to be freeing for both of us.

After my accident, I got so bitter and angry that Mama had enough in the end and threatened to hit me with a wooden spoon if I didn't go talk to someone professionally. The thought of spilling my guts to a stranger filled me with dread, and I barely said three words that first session.

But I went back the next week.

After a couple of months, I could see how much seeing a shrink was helping me understand where all my anger was coming from. I felt out of control thanks to an injury that only took a matter of seconds to basically ruin my life. Except it didn't. I found the strength to move on to the next awesome chapter of my life.

More importantly, it helped me to accept that there is so much in this world that's completely out of my control, no matter how hard I try to manage everything. Like this vacation. I have to accept that even though my feelings for Arlo have come on hard and fast, there's only so far they can go.

There's a calmness to that acceptance.

By the time I shower and head back from the gym to my villa, I'm feeling much more confident about being the Daddy Arlo needs me to be. I'm a safe space for him to finally live out his age-play desires. While I get the impression that he's not exactly inexperienced when it comes to other desires, for whatever reason he doesn't want that right now.

So I will give him what he wants and not worry about the rest.

Part of what I can control and what I've enjoyed so far is being the one to make plans or at least suggest them. Arlo seems to get a kick out of being cared for that way, too.

Therefore, when I pass by reception and see a poster advertising a bus that goes every hour to a nearby market, I immediately text Arlo to see if he'd like to do that today. I'm not sure about him, but personally when I visit a place, I like to actually see the local culture instead of just lying by the pool the entire time.

Judging by Arlo's enthusiastic response, he feels the same way.

I chuckle at the dozen or so emojis that accompany his reply before telling him I'll meet him outside his villa once I've gone back to mine. I'm dressed appropriately for a shopping excursion, but I need to dump my gym bag and grab my wallet as well as some cash from my safe. According to the internet, credit cards aren't always accepted at market stalls. Also, haggling is encouraged, which I'm looking forward to. I've always enjoyed a challenge.

As it turns out, I'm not the only one waiting for Arlo on his porch. A familiar scruffy orange cat is sitting on the deck, his tail swishing back and forth as he eyes me up warily.

"Hey, there," I say, equally suspicious of him as he is of me. Arlo might be won over, but I can agree with Kirana from the resort that Mr. Kitty here looks like he'll play dirty as soon as your back is turned.

Kucing glares at me for a few more seconds, then turns in a circle before settling down on the wooden boards. Grateful that I haven't been deemed a threat, I walk the final few steps and knock on Arlo's door.

"Coming!" he shrieks as I hear something thud to the floor, followed by some muttering. I laugh again.

"No rush, baby boy," I assure him truthfully. If we miss this bus, we'll just take the next one. We're on vacation, after all. There's no schedule aside from the one we make for ourselves.

Still, Arlo opens the door suddenly, breathless but grinning as soon as he sees me. "Daddy!" he squeaks. My heart contracts and I don't think I'll ever get tired of being called that. "I'm ready to go!"

I hum, unconvinced. "Where's your hat?"

"Oh."

I snort as he spins around and grabs a baseball cap from off his dresser. "And have you put sunscreen on?"

"Uhh…"

Laughing and shaking my head, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and tug him out onto the porch, sitting down on one of the chairs by the table. "It's okay. Daddy's gotcha." I wink as I pull out a bottle of lotion from my backpack and start applying it to his exposed arms and legs.

Arlo grins sheepishly at me, but then he spots his other guest. "Oh! Jolly's still here!"

"Jolly?" I repeat. "I thought his name was Kucing?"

Arlo giggles and squirms as I smear lotion over his pale face. "When you said you were at the gym, I went to get some breakfast and ran into him again. I asked one of the other staff members, and he told me that ‘kucing' just means ‘cat.' He said Kirana didn't want to name him properly so she wouldn't get too attached. So I decided to call him Jolly instead."

It's on the tip of my tongue to fret that Arlo shouldn't get attached either, but I don't want to mention the elephant in the room and spoil our mood. So I say "Jolly?" instead. "Because he's so cheerful?"

Arlo laughs again, skipping away now that I'm done protecting him from the sun. "No, the opposite. Jolly as in Jolly Roger—because he's so fierce he scares people away."

It's my turn to laugh at the irony. "Good pick," I say, nodding in appreciation. "That's clever."

"I fed him again," Arlo informs me as he lets the cat rub his head against his fingers. "And the waiter said there's a place that sells pet stuff at the market, so I was going to try and buy a brush so I could have a go at untangling his fur."

Good luck with that, I think, but I don't say anything to dampen Arlo's enthusiasm. In fact, I think it's extremely admirable that he wants to help the creature out. I doubt Jolly will appreciate it, but if Arlo can sort any of those mats out, I'm sure his little furry friend will feel better for it.

Jolly follows us all the way to the front of the resort, much to the amusement of several staff members. But then he sits on the steps to watch us wait for the bus, staying there until we board. Arlo waves to him through the window until he disappears from view.

I almost worry about how sad he's going to be when he has to leave the cat behind, but then I remind myself to live in the moment and let go of the things I can't control.

Today is about exploring a new place with my excitable boy.

The market is buzzing despite it being a weekday. I suppose that doesn't matter when it's a tourist area. I'm immediately taken by all the art stalls selling wooden and metal crafts as well as paintings, jewelry, and knick-knacks. There are also plenty of places offering souvenirs, clothes, beach paraphernalia, and the like.

There's a ton of different foods being offered, both sweet and savory. I get us two bowls of fried rice with veggies and chicken, as well as a fried egg on top as apparently that's a traditional go-to. Arlo doesn't mind a second breakfast and I certainly need a first after my work-out. It's delicious, and I envision slowly eating our way around the market as we browse all the wares as a very pleasant way to spend the day.

I'm so wrapped up in my daydream that I'm completely blindsided when a group of surfer-looking dudes shove their way between Arlo and me, roughhousing and shouting at each other in Australian accents.

"Hey, watch it!" I holler as I steady Arlo back on his feet. They almost spun him all the way around, for god's sake. Luckily, we've finished our food by this point and disposed of the cardboard bowls so my hands are free to check over my boy.

"Up yours, grandpa!" one of them crows as his buddies cackle. They're racing down the street, bouncing off people and objects like they're a pack of wild dogs.

I tut and shake my head before turning my attention back to Arlo. "Are you okay?" I ask.

He laughs, but he sounds a bit shaken at getting pushed like that. His face is flushed as well. "Yeah, I'm fine. I…"

He's patting the pockets in his shorts when he freezes, all color draining from his face. "Arlo?" I prompt.

"My wallet," he whispers in horror, his eyes darting to the retreating gaggle of boys. "It's gone."

I don't think.

I just start running.