5. Scotty

My hands are shaking, because I'm on my way to see my boyfriend. Ten minutes ago, I was sobbing into the phone like a baby, pleading for him to tell me I was still a good boy. Now, I'm in my clunker of a car, driving to the home of a man who wants to kill me—but also maybe kind of loves me—and I don't know that I've ever been happier in my life.

When I pull up to the gas station and put my car into park, I draw a deep breath. I'm already in trouble with Daddy, so I know this is only going to lead to an even bigger punishment.

"Brody?" I ask, interrupting the awkwardly adorable death glare he's been giving me the entire ride over. Seriously, he's just been sitting there with cum on his cheek, staring at me through the phone, barely blinking.

"Yeah, Freakshow?"

I tremble a little inside, because something about the way he says that word makes my insides feel wobbly. At first, it stung, but now I can hear the affection in his tone. I can tell he means it as an endearment rather than an insult.

"You're going to punish me when I get to your house?"

"You know I am, and you know you deserve it."

"I do," I agree, hoping this punishment involves vast amounts of spankings and perhaps a pinched nipple. "And I want it. I really, really want it. So . . ." I take a deep breath and ready myself to make either the best or worst decision of my life. "You're going to have to punish me for this, too. I'm going to hang up?—"

"No, the fuck you're not."

"—and I'm going to call you back as soon as I'm done, I promise."

"Don't you dare hang up on?—"

"I love you, Brody." Once the call is ended, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and smile. I really hope my punishment is worth this.

As soon as I'm back in the car with my purchase resting in the seat next to me, I try to call him back, but he instantly rejects each attempt. I pull up my GPS and listen for the instructions. The neighborhood it takes me to is one of the nicest ones I've ever seen, with homes I'll never be able to afford in my life. White picket fences. A community center. There's even a neighborhood pool. I can imagine Brody and me taking our future children there one day, with our furbaby Daisy at our side.

I know I'm getting ahead of myself. Despite my unending optimism, I realize there's a chance we're moving too fast. Still, when I'm around him, I lose all logic and run on nothing but pure, unfiltered need.

The home the GPS leads me to is just as stunning as the others in the community. My clunky car feels like an outlier in the scenery. Next to Audis and Buicks, it's an eyesore. I wonder if Brody will be worried my ugly car might bring down the market value, simply being parked in his driveway.

But I push past the cycles of self-doubt and grab the two items I purchased at the store. I don't even make it all the way to the porch before the front door jerks open, giving me a glimpse of Brody's raging face. I know I'm in trouble—I'm essentially walking toward an emotional execution—but I don't regret my actions. Given the chance, I wouldn't do things differently. You only get one chance at a first impression, and I want that impression to be a positive one, when I meet Daisy.

Daisy isn't the only one with a treat in store, though. Once I'm in front of him, I pull my hand around from behind me, holding out the single rose I purchased at the gas station. Brody stares at it, confused.

"What the hell is that?"

Shrugging awkwardly, I suddenly feel inadequate compared to him. "I'm sorry for hanging up on you, but I thought, you know, since we didn't get our first date . . . I just thought this might make up for it." Once I get the words out, I catch sight of the items he's holding. In one hand, there's an old, brown rag. In the other, a bottle with a hastily drawn skull and crossbones. I'm not sure what he plans to do with it, but it certainly makes me feel tingly inside. I nibble my lip and watch as he closes his eyes and huffs out a burst of air through his nostrils. Without so much as a "hello," Brody turns around and sets the bottle and rag on a small table in his foyer. He takes a step toward me, and then I see it. The cum on his cheek. I point at it and try my best to maintain my composure.

"Did you save that for me?"

He takes a step forward, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." But even as he says the words, he's leaning in, giving me free access to his leftover load. Being a thirsty little thing, I take it willingly, running my tongue up the side of his face. The taste is indescribable. It's like someone's bottled the essence of pure man and slathered it on my tongue. I lap furiously, devastated when I realize it's all gone.

"Brody," I whine.

His hand squeezes my shoulder tightly as I continue lapping my tongue against him. "What's wrong, Freakshow?"

"It's . . ." I swipe his face with my tongue, inching closer to his lips. "It's all gone." Closing my mouth, I kiss the slick skin, leaving a trail leading to his ear. "You didn't save enough for me."

His breath is warm against my ear, making the hair on my neck stand on end. "Sorry, little guy. If you're good for me later, maybe I'll make you another batch." He pops my ass, making me stumble. "Come on. Let's get inside before the neighbors realize I've got a slut staying over." My knees go weak, and he has to steady me so I don't fall. He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me. "Just so we're clear, you're not leaving this house with your life."

"And just so you're clear," I counter, "I'm always up for a round of Murder Daddy."

"The fuck is a murder daddy?"

"You're my murder daddy, obvi." I roll my eyes and push past him, wanting to see my future home. It's stunning. It reminds me of when Mom and I still lived with Dad. I grew up in the lap of luxury, and it hasn't been easy going from riches to rags, but I've managed. Being in Brody's beautiful, two-story home, surrounded by wealth, feels comforting.

He leads me to the living room, and I notice a small crate at the end of the room. The dog I saw earlier, Daisy, peeks up at me. I should be following Daddy, but I'm already in trouble; what's one more infraction?

I kneel in front of her, offering the adorable doggy a teddy bear I'd found at the gas station. She yaps her approval, and I set it next to her, my heart fluttering as she nuzzles up to it, resting her head on its chest and closing her eyes.

"Freakshow," Brody practically growls, making me feel tingly all over. I look back at him and see he's in a recliner, glaring at me. He points to his lap and growls. "Now."

I rush to him, my blood pumping so fast I can hear my heartbeat in my eardrums. I stand there, unsure what he'd like me to do.

"That was very thoughtful," he says, pointing at Daisy's crate. He holds his hand out, and I offer him his rose. He stares at it with a look I don't see often. It's kindness and sunshine amidst the most vicious of storms. He lifts the flower, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. I cringe, because I did the same thing in the car, and all I could smell was the lingering scent of gasoline and stale cigarette smoke. That's why I'm caught off guard when he looks up at me and smiles. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

I don't know what this imposter has done with Brody, and I don't know if I care for the sound of kindness in his voice. He said I would be punished. He'd told me if I hung up the phone, he would end my life. Now he's being nice and kind and I don't know what to do. He pats his thigh, welcoming me onto his lap. This must be where the punishment begins. Thankful, I shove down my shorts and underwear and kneel over his thighs, offering my ass for him to do with as he pleases.

"What the fuck are you doing, Freakshow?"

My insides tremble, because there he is. My Brody. My potential killer. My salvation. I want him to take his aggression out on my cheeks. To spank me so I'll have his handprint on me for weeks. To be branded as his.

"Punish me, Daddy. I can take it." When I look up, he's glaring at me.

"Your bare penis is on my thigh. That's fucking sick."

Said penis swells to life, and I know he notices, because his eyes shoot wide open. I grind against him, hoping it'll make him angry. "Please? Want it. Need you to hurt me."

He reaches for my face, squeezing my chin tightly. "You'll be punished when I decide I want to fucking punish you. Until then, I expect you to listen to me." My cock twitches, and a bead of pre-cum seeps out onto his leg. "If you leak on my thigh again, I'll beat the life out of you with my bare hands."

I blink dreamily, lost in an endless haze of lust. "God, yes. Use me. Bruise me. My body belongs to you now. It isn't mine."

"The fuck? That's not what I meant, you psychopath. I was telling you to sit on my lap, not to fuck my upper-thigh."

"I'll sign my bank accounts over to you. Sign a conservatorship. Give you all my social media passwords."

"Why the fuck would I want any of that?"

His thigh is right there. So close all I'd have to do to touch it is pucker my lips. So I do. I kiss his thigh, my lips slowly moving up toward his hip. "Wanna be your prisoner. Wanna belong to you. I'll do whatever you ask me to, Brody. I promise. My body is yours."

"I don't want a prisoner. I want a good boy who will actually listen to what the fuck I tell him." Suddenly, a sharp sting spreads across my ass, making me clench. "That's for hanging up on me."

"Daddy," I croak.

I watch as he lifts his hand well above his head and brings it crashing down with his full strength. His hand hits me so hard that I instinctively scurry forward, but he presses down on my back, holding me in place. "That's for touching your little cock the second my shirt came off earlier."

"Please?" I breathe.

His hand connects with my ass three times, back-to-back. Each strike makes me cry out—whether in pain or pleasure, I'm not entirely sure. "And that was just because I can."

"More, Brody. Need more."

"I know you do," he says, squeezing my ass roughly. "You're leaking like a fucking faucet." Cool air ghosts across my hole when he pulls my cheeks apart. Glancing up, I see him staring at my entrance with a level of desire I've never seen before. "Jesus, Scotty." His finger brushes against the pucker, and I'm unable to stop myself from shaking. "Were you telling me the truth?" Applying pressure, the tip of his finger enters me dry, making me come apart on his lap. "No one's ever been inside of you?"

I shake my head frantically. "No one. It's yours. Just yours, Daddy. I promise."

"Fuck," he groans. For a second, I think he's going to slide more inside me. That he's going to make me take his entire finger. I arch my back, wanting to show him I'm ready and willing. "So fucking pretty." He pulls his hand away and stares at his finger.

I can barely breathe, much less speak, but that doesn't stop me from rasping out, "Suck it. Want you to taste me."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, he looks disgusted. Then I tug my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down, pleading with my eyes. He gives his finger an exploratory lick, and his face goes still like he's trying to decide if he likes the taste. A whimper escapes him, and he brings his finger to his face and slides it into his mouth. He's practically purring as I grind against his thigh.

Beneath me, his cock throbs, and I wedge my hand between us, wrapping my fist around it. I don't know who the fuck invented sweatpants, but I want to find them and throw bleach in their eyes because the fabric is hiding him from me. It's keeping me from Daddy's cock, and that should be a capital offense.

When I look up and our eyes meet, he's panting heavily. "Get the fuck up here."

Sitting on his legs, my ass still stings from the spanking he just gave me. Once I'm nuzzled in his lap, he reaches into the recliner's side pocket and pulls out a butcher's knife. Placing it on the armrest, he clears his throat and looks away. I'm a little annoyed, honestly, because the way he was taking the lead was super sexy. I'm not going to complain, though. If he wants to hand over the power, I'm more than happy to take it. I grab the knife and hold it casually at my side. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. When he opens them, he's got a fearful look on his face.

"I bet you're going to make me do more of your twisted gay shit again, aren't you?"

"Is that what you want, Daddy?"

He shakes his head. "What do I have to do this time? Sit here while you grind your cock against my stomach? Gonna make me watch while you finger your tight hole again?" When I don't answer, he licks his lips and swallows. "This is it, isn't it? You're finally going to make me stroke your little cock? I'm not touching your dick. You'll have to kill me." He gives me a growl as he leans in, harshly pressing his nose against mine as our foreheads touch.

I lift the knife to his throat and press it just enough that a small trickle of red appears on the tip. "Wrap your hand around it."

His eyes narrow. "I'm not jacking you off."

I nod in agreement, because that's not really what I want, either. I just want to feel him on me. "Just wrap your fingers around it. Please? I only want to feel you. That"s all."

His eyes dip down to my dick, staring at the bead of pre-cum pearled at the tip. With a shaky hand, he reaches down, as instructed, and loosely holds it. "Fucking sick, Scotty. That's what you are." He uses his thumb to work the droplet into my skin.

I honestly don't know if I've ever felt as peaceful as I do right now. I don't even see it as a sexual act. It's comforting, more than anything. His hand on my prick is an endless reminder that my life is in his hands. It's his to do with as he pleases. I may be holding the knife, but he's holding me in his palm, tucking me away from the rest of the world. I set the knife on the arm of the recliner and cuddle up closer, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Brody's lap feels like the home I've been hoping for ever since my father kicked me out of his.

"Daddy," I whisper, my voice cracking on the edge of the word. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For finding me. For stalking me. Trying to kill me. Thank you for all of it."

"Most people wouldn't thank the person trying to murder them."

I nod in agreement. "Well, I'm not most people." I never want him to take his hand away. All I want is for him to hold me like this for the rest of my life—however long that might be. "I love you, Brody."

He chuckles softly, and it almost feels like he's pressing a kiss to my scalp. "You're a nutjob. I'm pretty sure you're actually crazy."

"Crazy for you," I say, tightening the hold I have on the back of his neck. "I mean it though. Before you started stalking me, I . . ." I trail off, because Brody doesn't want to hear this. He doesn't need to know how sad I've been these last few years. How incomplete and inadequate I've always felt.

"Tell me," he insists, and it almost sounds like a plea.

"Meaner," I whisper, needing him to take control.

He sighs. "Tell me what the fuck you were about to say, or I'll grab the knife and plunge it into your stomach."

God, I love him. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe he won't judge me for the shame that constantly swirls inside my head and heart. I wonder if he could take all of those broken pieces inside of me and glue them back together.

"I've been so lonely for so long," I admit. "Besides Tatum, I don't have anyone. My dad hates me. My mom died five years ago. I work from home, so I never see anyone. The people I talk to on the phone yell at me and call me mean things because they're too stupid to place an online order without requiring a nursemaid."

His hand grips me tighter. "People yell at you?" He clears his throat. "Start writing down their names and addresses. I'll burn their fucking houses down with them still inside. No one gets to scream at you. Just me."

I look up at him, because I want to see his face. Want to bask in his beautiful glow. "Thank you. Thank you for trying to kill me. Thank you for letting me have this." I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. "Will you kiss me, Brody?"

He bites his bottom lip and stares at me like he's searching for something. I'm not sure what he's looking for, but whatever it is, I think he sees it, because his hand squeezes a little tighter around my package, and he brushes his thumb harder against my shaft.

"I . . . Scotty, I'm not—" He looks so scared right now. He's got a war going on in his head, but all he has to do is ask, and I'll fight it for him. If he's not ready to kiss me of his own volition just yet, that's okay. I won't force him, and I won't make him feel bad for it either.

I squeeze the back of his neck. "Don't do that. It's okay. I'm sorry. I know I'm pushy sometimes."

"All the time," he whispers, kissing my cheek.

"All the time," I agree. "But you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

He nods. We stay this way for a while, our eyes locked, neither of us speaking. He's lost in there, and I'm not sure how to lead him into the light. Eventually, he leans in and gives me a quick peck on the lips, his mouth welded shut. When he pulls away, the corner of his lip tugs up.

"If that Tatum boy ever touches you again, I'm cutting his head off and leaving it in your bed. No one touches you." The hold he has on my cock eases, and he sighs, his breath warm against my skin. "What are you doing to me, Freakshow?" he muses. Others might not understand it, but I love the way he says the cruel name like it's an endearment. A pet-name for his beautiful pet. I don't think he even realizes he's said it, because he just keeps staring at me, sliding his thumb back and forth against the base of my cock.

"Can I stay the night with you?" I've been hoping that's where the night would lead us since I got here. I want him to cuddle behind me in bed, with an arm around my waist, and a hand softly strangling me as he sleeps.

He shakes his head quickly, and he takes his hand away from my cock. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" I grab his hand and guide him back, using my hand to cup his fingers around my balls.

"Because I don't trust myself." His eyes shrink smaller as he stares at me, deep in thought. "I might kill you while you sleep."

"At least I'll die happy." I close my eyes and yawn. I'm not really tired, but I figure if I feign sleepiness, he might pick me up and carry me to bed.

"I'm serious," he says, his grip tightening until I wince from the pain that's swelling in my sack. "I don't trust what I'll do to you when you're unconscious."

Fuck this. Fuck the back and forth. I know what I want, and he's not going to stop me from getting it. Grabbing the knife, I point it at him and try to harden my expression. "Where's the rope you had when you tried to strangle me last week?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to tie you up. If you being scared you might kill me in the morning is what's keeping you from letting us have this, then I'm taking the option away from you. If you're still mad when we wake up, I'll untie you and you can spank me until my cheeks are black and blue. I'm staying here, and you don't get to tell me I can't."

The corners of his lips tug up into a half-smile, and he pops my ass, motioning for me to let him up. After moving across the room, he opens a drawer at the bottom of his entertainment center and pulls out the rope. Pointing toward the hall, he says, "Bedroom's this way."

I extend my arm toward the hallway like one of those studio showcase models on The Price is Right, and he laughs softly, shaking his head in amusement. I trail behind him, and as he walks, I can't take my eyes away from him.

He stalls in the hallway when I say, "You've got a beautiful ass, Brody."

Glancing over my shoulder, he scowls at me. "Don't look at my butt, Freakshow."

I lift the knife and give it a shake. "Who's going to stop me?"

With a sigh, he turns and heads toward the room at the end of the hallway. Behind us, Daisy's feet pitter-patter across the hardwood floors, but he turns around and points back toward the living room. "Crate, Daisy. I don't know what this deviant has planned for me, but I don't want you to see whatever it is." She barks before turning and walking back to the living room.

"You've got her trained well."

"She loves her daddy. Usually, people listen to their daddies." His eyes travel up and down my body. "Seems like someone missed that memo."

His room is just as beautiful as I've been imagining it to be. The walls are a lovely shade of brown. There's a sleigh bed made of mahogany in the center of the wall, and a picture of Brody and a beautiful woman in a flowing gown hanging above it. She's awfully pretty, but her eyes don't seem all that kind.

"Who's that?" I ask, pointing at the picture.

Brody's eyes widen, and he pauses, like he's trying to remember her name. "That's my sister."

It's a little weird he's got a picture of his sister in a wedding dress above his bed, but I don't have any siblings, so I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a healthy familial bond. She"s also Black and doesn"t really look like him, but I don"t know a thing about his history, so who am I to question him?

Angling the knife at him, I say, "Toss the rope on the bed and take off your clothes."

His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to object, but I take a step forward, silently daring him to make a move. After a long moment of pause, he reaches for his shirt and tugs it over his head.

God, he's even sexier than I imagined. He's got a forest of dark brown hair covering his chest and stomach. The hair in the center is thicker, like weeds are growing out of the cracks and crevices of his abs. Brody's nipples are a lovely shade of dark brown, hardened by the cool temperature of his bedroom. I'll be sucking on those later. God, I want to nurse on him like a fluffy little kitten, curled up at his side.

"Now the pants."

Resigned to his fate of near-nudity, he doesn't fight me on it. He just reaches for the drawstring on his sweats and unties them, shoving them down to his ankles. When they're off, I take inventory of the stock in front of me. He's stacked like a shelf, and I want to browse him at my leisure. He's got on a pair of white boxer-briefs, and I can see the outline of his half-hard cock. When he catches me staring, he reaches down, cupping his dick with his hands and hiding it away. That's fine. As delightful as his dick appears to be, it isn't what I want to see right now.

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Wanna see your ass."

He points an accusatory finger at me, and for a second, I don't think he's joking anymore. "You aren't going anywhere near my ass."

As sexy as this little burst of rage is, I need him to remember who's in charge. I stalk toward him, clenching my jaw. He takes a stumbling step back, retreating until he's against the wall. Placing the tip of the knife above his peck, I watch as he draws in a shaky breath.

"What are you doing?"

I snarl at him. "Whatever I want to do. I've got the knife."

"I'm not playing, Scotty." The sound of my name on his tongue makes me tremble—be it from fear or desire, I'm not entirely sure. "I'm not into that. I don't want you anywhere near my ass."

I should probably be angry at him for breaking character instead of using a safeword, but then I remember we've never set one of those up. Well, we used discarded dildo one time, but I told him we'd pick something more apropos later. I guess it's finally later. Wanting to show him he's just as safe with me as I am with him—how he can trust me implicitly—I take a step back and bend over, placing the knife on the floor. With my lifeline out of reach, I approach him, trying to convey warmth. I spot a small bead of blood on his chest where I'd had the knife only seconds before. Leaning in, I lick it off. It's an act that probably disgusts him, but I want him clean. When I hold the power, it's my responsibility to see he's safe. That lines aren't crossed that can't be uncrossed. He needs to know he can trust me.

Pulling away, I place my palm over his heart and stand on my toes so I can kiss his forehead. He lets out a shaky breath. It's warm and smells of vanilla and vodka, just like it did the first night at the bar. He seems confused when I pull away, so I do my best to make my intentions clear.

"We need to pick a safeword."

"What?"

"Like we did in the restroom at the bar. Just think of something you'll remember in the heat of the moment. It can be anything." I give him a genuine smile and scratch my fingers against his chest hair.

He opens his mouth like he wants to throw another insult my way, but stalls when I kiss the tip of my finger and place it on his lips. To my surprise, he puckers his lips and kisses it back. He stares at me, not saying a word. The only sounds in the room are the oscillating tower fan in the corner and his breath as it crashes against my face. He closes his eyes and lifts his hand, running his fingers through my hair as he pulls me against him. He holds me there, my face nestled over his heart, and his lips press an endless array of kisses across the top of my head.

"What are you doing to me, Scotty?" he whispers again, but he seems less distraught when he says it this time. "This isn't me. I don't cuddle with grown men."

"You're doing it now. And, at the risk of pissing you off again and having you threaten to kill me for the umpteenth time today, I think you're enjoying it." Wrapping my arms around his waist, I cuddle up to him, wanting to crush his ribs just to get him even closer. I'd carve open his chest and burrow myself into him like one of those lovely little Russian dolls if he'd let me. I just want to be inside him, tucked away, safe from the world. He doesn't respond, not that I expect him to. His hands shake as he grips my hips lightly. "We can go at whatever speed you want. There's no rush." He laughs bitterly, like there's some inside joke I've just missed, but I refuse to let that stop me. "I'll wait for however long it takes."

"Why?" he whispers.

"Because I love you, obviously." Wanting to bring a smile back to his face, I pull away and stare up at him, reaching for his face and flicking the tip of his nose. "Now, get on the bed so I can tie you up. Wanna cuddle. Wanna wrap myself around you like a candy wrapper."

He looks at the bed, then at me. There's a level of peace settling on his face, and I shudder as he repeats my actions from earlier, kissing the tip of his finger and placing it on my lips. I kiss it, leaning in when he pulls away, not wanting to lose our momentum.

"I don't think we're going to need the rope."

"We don't?"

He shakes his head. Placing his hand on my cheek, he gives me a little scratch and I playfully purr like a kitten. "Grab the knife and go sit on the bed." I arch an eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head and rubs his thumb across my eyebrow. "Daddy asked you to go and sit on the bed, baby."

My knees wobble, and I almost tumble down to the floor, because—fuck—that word has no right to sound as sexy as it does. Wanting to make him proud, I turn around and take a decisive step forward, stopping when his hand slaps my ass and gives it a squeeze. From behind, he pulls me to a stop by hooking an arm around my waist. His hand moves closer to the edge, taking a brief moment's reprieve when it lingers above my crack, gently grazing up and down. He gives my ass another slap and kisses my neck, sending me on my way with a half-hard cock. By the time I place the knife at the end of the bed and take my seat, my dick is standing at full attention. Brody catches sight of it and smirks, knowing he's the reason for it.

"Perpendicular," he says. I have no idea what the hell he's talking about.

"Pardon?"

"That's our safeword."

I snort. "Well, it'll certainly pull me out of the moment, so I guess that works."

He gives me a quick, nervous nod before slowly spinning around, giving me an unobstructed view of his ass in those tight boxer-briefs. There's a line of sweat down the crack, giving me a hint of what's beneath. My cock aches, pre-cum pouring out like a faucet. I wrap my hand around the shaft, giving it a furious pump; but as if he has eyes in the back of his head, Brody lifts his hand, snapping his index finger left-right-left.

"Hands off, Freakshow."

"Brody," I whine. "Need it. Need to?—"

He eyes the knife and smirks. "Guess you're going to tell me to take these off." He pulls the rim of his underwear away from his side and lets go, the pop of fabric snapping on skin sounding absolutely obscene. "Going to stab me in the heart if I don't, aren't you?"

I nibble my lip and nod, because I'm pretty sure I'll do exactly that if he doesn't let me see it. Before I can order him to take them off, he reaches for his underwear and shoves them down.

Sweet Jesus. Baby savior, born in a manger. Hallowed be his name, crucifixion be his game.

Brody's ass. Brody's plump, round, delectable ass. Right there. Right in front of me to idolize. To praise. To drop to my knees and worship like the men in all of those porn videos I've watched every night before bed.

"Brody," I whimper. "Please."

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes focusing on my leaking cock. "Look at you. Absolutely fucking shameless." My cock twitches in anticipation as I stare at his ass. There's a long line of fur down his crack, and I just know it has to be all warm and sweaty, smelling like a man is supposed to smell. I want to bury my face between his cheeks and inhale deeply. To plow my tongue into his hole, tasting him from the inside out. "Does it meet your expectations?"

I nod feverishly, reaching for my cock, stopping when I catch the fire flashing in his eyes. He doesn't need to scold me—I already know I've been naughty. So I roll my hips, seeking contact that isn't there. Fucking the air, because apparently, I'm an absolute whore for Brody's hole.

He laughs. "You're adorable."

I blush, pausing my stroke game. "I am?"

"Maybe," he says with a casual nod. "Or maybe I'm just trying to get your defenses down so I can get the knife while you're still staring at me like a cock-hungry whore." He tosses a wink my way before shaking his underwear away from his ankle. "Guess we'll find out soon enough." To my amazement, Brody bends over to pick them up, and there the fuck it is. The promised land. Heaven on Earth. Brody's hole is on full display.

Looking over his shoulder at me, he says, "You don't get to touch this." He gently grazes his ass before grabbing his underwear. When he turns around, he's got them shielding his package, but the base of his dick is visible, and it makes my cock surge.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, creep?"

I dart my eyes to my throbbing cock. "Can I touch myself? Please? I'll be a good boy for you."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "If you were a good boy, you'd let me fucking kill you instead of dragging this out." He shakes his bulge. "This guy right here? His name is The Wrath. You're not ready for him." He snarls at me. "You'll never be ready for it." He takes a step forward, his hand falling just a bit lower. Fuck. It looks like a tree stump. There's an inch or two on display, and there's nothing I want more than to worship those precious inches with my tongue.

"I can take it," I promise, palming my cock. "How big is it?"

He smirks. "Too big for you." With one hand hiding his cock away from me, he uses the other to gently stroke my cheek. "I'd split you in half, sweetheart."

My heart is slamming in my chest, because this moment—this miniscule, insignificant moment—is just like any other . . . only it's not. It's so much more. The way he's letting his endearments fall like campfire embers, flickering onto my skin, providing warmth and the briefest pinch of a burn, feels like a dream come true.

"If you're gonna kill me, that's how I want to die. Gonna be your good boy. Gonna die so good for you, Daddy."

He licks his lips, his eyes locked on my leaking cock. There's a clock on Brody's nightstand he points to. "You've got one minute to shoot your load. If you can't, you're going to bed with blue balls."

My eyes bulge. "I can't come that fast. It isn't possible."

He points at the clock. "Tick tock. You're wasting time."

I wrap my hand around my shaft and stroke rapidly. I don't know how serious he is about sending me to bed with blue balls, but I'm not taking any chances. "Talk to me," I plead as I stroke my shaft. "If you want me to shoot in less than a minute, I'm gonna need help."

He eyes me up and down, shaking his head, his face twisted up in feigned disgust. "Go on then, slut. This is what you wanted. You keep flashing that little cock at me every chance you get. Let's see how long it takes you."

Making his way to the bed, he hides his cock from me with the discarded boxer briefs. When he comes to a stop, he reaches down, rubbing his palm against his balls. I'm not sure what he's doing at first. I'm too busy stroking my dick to make sense of anything. When he pulls his hand away, he holds it over my mouth and nose.

"Smell that?"

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Yeah," I say in a moan, my mouth muffled by his hand.

"That's what a real man smells like. A real man takes his time when tending to his dick. But you ain't a real man, are you, Scotty?"

"No," I say, letting my tongue escape my mouth long enough to lick his sweat. "Not like you, sir."

"You want to be, though, don't you?" He waits for me to nod before smirking. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that ain't ever gonna happen." He takes a step forward, crushing his knee against mine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "That's okay, little guy. You don't need to be a real man. That's what I'm here for." He leans in, bringing his mouth to my ear. "I'm man enough for both of us, Scotty."

"Daddy."

"Yeah." He takes my earlobe between his teeth and tugs. When he lets go, he whispers, "Daddy's got you. Come for me."

As soon as the words are out, it feels like my cock is exploding. My load shoots out with an unbearable strength. Words leave my mouth that have no meaning. Strings of consonants that have no vowels to tether them together. It's a deep, guttural sound. The cry of a desperate man, lost in his pleasure.

"Such a good fucking boy, Scotty. Come on. Let it go. Give me everything you've got. Every drop."

I writhe and wriggle on the bed, abandoning my still-shooting cock so I can grab him and pull him close. His thigh is between my legs, and I rut against it like a depraved animal. To my surprise, he doesn't pull away. He just stands there, letting it happen, telling me what a good boy I am. Saying I don't have to worry, because he has me.

He has me.

When it's over, he stares down at me and smirks. I'm on the bed, trembling through the aftershocks of my orgasm. He strokes my thigh until my body goes limp. I finally open my eyes, just to find him staring at me, looking amused.

"It only took you forty-five seconds." His eyes leave mine and stare at the mess I made on my chest. Pointing at my cooling cum, he says, "Clean yourself off. You're probably going to try to fucking cuddle, and I don't want that shit on me." I don't see any towels around, but one of Brody's discarded socks is at the foot of the bed. I reach for it, but he growls at me, stopping me in my tracks. "Eat it. Every fucking drop."

I whimper, and then I frantically scoop my load into my palm and bring it to my face. I catch his gaze and hold it, wanting to watch him as he watches me. I bring my hand to my mouth and cautiously swipe my tongue through the pool of semen. His pupils blow wide—either from disgust or arousal. Brody watches until every trace of my shame is gone.

"Good boy," he says, leaning down and guiding me to my side of the bed. He grabs the blanket and covers me, stroking my cheek as he stares into my eyes. "You sleepy, Freakshow?"

I nod, holding my arms out to welcome him in. Once he's in bed, he slides under the bedding, tossing his side of the blanket away until the only thing between me and his penis is the thin, purple sheet. He raises his arm, offering me a place at his side, like he's Jesus and I'm one of his clingy little disciples.

I cuddle close, enjoying the way his warm skin feels against me. His nipple is right there for the taking, so that's exactly what I do. I lean in, latch on, and gently suck. It must tickle, because the sound of his giggle is enough to make me pull away and stare at him in wonder. He looks so beautiful right now. An unfamiliar smile. His affectionate touch. I get a mental image of this beautiful life shared with Brody, and it's almost too much. Too much to handle. Far too much to hope for.

"Love you, Daddy."

He smiles at me. My God, he smiles at me.

"I know you do, Freakshow. I don't understand why the fuck you do, but you couldn't be any more obvious if you tried." He offers me one last peck on the forehead before grabbing his phone and opening his email. For a second, I think I see my name, but he quickly backs out of the message chain and brings up a spam email with a woman's breasts fully on display. "I want your hands on me all night, boy. I'll be able to tell if you move. If you think I'm waking up to you doing something filthy, like sucking my cock, you've got another think coming. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Then, as if this day can't possibly get any better, he takes my hand off his chest and guides it to the bulge hidden by his sheet. "No. Not there. Keep it here. This is where it belongs."

I know he told me not to move, but I can't stop myself. Without removing my hand, I scoot down until I'm face to face with his bulge. It's fucking massive in my hand. Leaning in, I press a kiss against the sheet and inhale deeply. It smells like fabric softener and sweaty flesh, and the combination is doing things to me.

"The fuck are you doing down there?" Brody asks, but I pay him no mind. I have a new friend to introduce myself to.

"Hello, Mr. Wrath," I whisper, squeezing the bulge. "It's very nice to meet you." Another kiss, and I give it a smile. "I love you."

When I'm in Brody's arms again, my face nestled against his chest, he cocks an eyebrow at me. "Did you just tell my penis you love it?"

I nod. "I did. And I do. Even though we haven't been properly introduced . . ." I squeeze him affectionately. "I think I love him as much as I love you."

Brody laughs so hard he snorts. "You're such a queer. All right, Freakshow, lay back and love me then." Leaning in, he gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. And as I lay there, his skin warming me like a space heater, his soft cock heavy in my palm with only a thin sheet hiding it from me, I drift to sleep thinking if he were to kill me right now, I would die the happiest man alive.