12. Tatum

CHAPTER 12

TATUM

I 'm going to kill Fiona fucking Frost. I hadn't planned on committing first degree murder today, but here we are.

Manhole, the only gay bar within a forty-mile radius would not be my first choice for a bachelor party. It wouldn't be my second, third, or ninety-ninth choice either. Considering its owner and proprietor is none other than my archnemesis, Benito Blankenship—I'd much rather set it ablaze than step a single foot inside. Unfortunately, the moment my Russian captor flashed me his fuck-me eyes, all logic must have left me, because I allowed him to carry me inside on his hip.

When we walked in, we were met with a ridiculous standing ovation from our friends and family. Well, from my friends and family at least. Aside from Brody and Fiona, there's not a single person here on Abi's behalf. It's a realization that hit me like a ton of bricks. He truly doesn't have anyone in his corner. His mother and father are dead. Brody's parents took him in and raised them as their own, but they were killed in a car accident over a decade ago. I know from the stories he's told, Abi's had quite a few friends at the last agency he worked with, but none of them speak to him anymore after he abandoned ship .

Though not directly, I've cost him his semblance of normalcy. Had I been a better friend to Scotty, I could have talked him out of playing his stupid game of Murder Daddy with Brody. I could have somehow protected Scotty from Brody, and then Abi would still have his old life. The pre-Tatum portion of his past.

But I didn't. I couldn't protect Scotty, and now, I can't protect Abi. My indecisiveness is bringing him pain. I'm the reason for every bit of hurt in him, but he still holds me like I'm the most precious possession in the world.

When we come to a stop, we're at a table. Abi doesn't remove me from his hip, thankfully. He just shifts me until I'm being cradled like a newborn. Once he takes a seat at the table, he places me on his lap, offering me a quick kiss on the side of my face.

"Tatum!" Scotty shouts, and when I'm finally able to tear my eyes away from Abi, I realize that my biffle is already drunk as a skunk. His eyes are bloodshot, and his makeup is smeared to Hell and back. He's wearing a pair of banana-yellow hot pants and a silver shirt that says, Daddy's Boy . Scotty's resting on Brody's lap, rocking back and forth with a cheeky grin.

"Bad boy," Brody says, gripping him by the nape. "You think you can just fuck me through my jeans and get away with it, you cheap fucking slut?"

Scotty whimpers as he stares seductively at Brody over his shoulder. "Please, Mr. Daddy. I wasn't trying to upset you. Now you probably want to take me backstage and beat my balls until they're black and blue, don't you?" Scotty places his hand on top of Brody's and drags it down his chest until they're both fondling his lackluster bulge. "Please don't hurt me, sir. I'll be a good boy for you."

"I ought to put a bullet through your skull. You think I want to touch your pathetic little cock? Maybe these fucking freaks want to touch it, but I don't. I'm not like you. I'm not a fucking fa—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "Listen, baby. I know you get off on this homophobic shit, but I'm really not comfortable calling you the f-slur. Can't we just stick with ‘queer'? It feels a lot less problematic."

Scotty's bloodshot eyes widen, and he jerks his head in Brody's direction. The frightened expression on his face is gone, making room for a scowl. "Brody?"

Brody closes his eyes and sighs. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"Damn right, ‘fuck.' You're damn right. I gave you instructions. They were very clear, were they not? Did you even read the email I sent you?"

Brody rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Freakshow. I got the email."

"Then why are you deviating from the script? Christ, babe, we're getting married in two days, and you wait until now to pull something like this? Well, I'll tell you something, I'm not having it. I don't ask you for much, do I?"

"Of course not—" he begins, but Scotty's look stops any other words from forming in his mouth.

"Correct. So, why are you denying me this? If I want you to call me a faggot to get my blood pumping, why won't you? Don't you love me?" Scotty's mouth falls open. I have no idea what's going on inside my biffle's head, but I've learned it's best to just let him have his moment. Nothing good can be gained from calling him out on his ridiculous behavior. "You don't, do you? You've fallen out of love with me."

Brody grabs a beer bottle off the table and smashes it against the side. While the amber liquid drips to the floor, he presses the sharp edge of the bottle against Scotty's throat.

"If you ever insinuate I don't love you again, I'll slit your goddamn throat. You fucking hear me, boy?"

"More," Scotty begs. "More, Brody."

Jesus Christ. Why the fuck are they always so goddamn weird? "Abi," I groan, thankful when he squeezes my hip.

"Yes, little one? "

"I need a drink, and I need a break from"—I flick my hand in Brody and Scotty's direction—"whatever the fuck this is."

Abi chuckles softly into my ear before standing up. He gives me a moment to resituate, so my legs are wrapped around his back. As he turns to take us toward the bar, there's a loud bang behind us. Abi turns around slowly, and I watch as one eyebrow rises in question. I look down at the table and sigh. Brody's got Scotty pinned against it, his tongue fucking in and out of his fiancé's mouth. The broken bottle has been forgotten, and I watch as it rolls off the table and smashes against the floor. The sound rips Brody and Scotty out of their haze and Scotty tries to sit upright, but Brody's still got him pinned. Resigned, Scotty smiles and looks up at me.

"The stripper's going to be here soon, so don't go too far. I told Fee to hire a hot guy to masturbate on stage while we watch. He's gonna come for us, Tatum. He's gonna come so good!"

I blink at him. "Your words are stupid, and so is this entire interaction. Abi? The bar. Now."

Without another word, Abi carts me away. I'm more than a little annoyed when he doesn't stop at the bar, choosing instead to push past the bartender and walk toward a door that clearly says Employees Only. The bartender opens his mouth to object, but Abi's got him beat, growling, "Nyet. The little one needs a moment to compose himself," before walking us through the door.

He takes me to a small kitchen, though I'm not entirely sure why the bar even needs one. They don't serve food here, just dust-dry pretzels and the occasional bag of expired potato chips. I whine a little when he sets me down, but Abi squeezes my ass reassuringly before pointing at something off to the side. I have no idea what he's pointing at, but what's worse is I can't bring myself to look away from him. I'm lost in him. Drunk on him. Fucking consumed by Abi Kincaid.

He corners me, moving in close until I can't even breathe without our chests touching. And if I'm breathing a little heavier just so I can touch him, he can fucking cope.

"You've been teasing me all night, Tatum. I looked past your bad behavior when you stroked my cock beneath your family's dinner table. I did not say a word when you entered the bathroom while I was showering, pulled back the curtain, and ejaculated onto my ankle?—"

"I told you—" I answer, only to be cut off.

"Yes, love. It was a prank. You wanted me to be the victim of a drive-by shooting." He steps even closer, wrapping a hand around my throat and squeezing. It isn't a tight squeeze. He means me no harm, but that knowledge doesn't stop my heart from racing faster.

"It was a drive-by fruiting, actually," I point out, my breath hitching as he tightens his grip. "I heard it in a movie once and thought it sounded fun."

"Normally, I would not disagree. As a matter of fact, going forward, you're welcome to sneak up and shoot your load on me any time you see fit, but not today."

"Why not today?"

He cocks his head to the side and smirks. "Because, as I told you earlier, I have a surprise for you." He reaches down and cups my balls in his hand. "It's a surprise that requires all the cum these little guys can make. That's what I told you, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I say, grinding against his palm. "All my cum. It's yours. You can have every drop." When his hand wraps around my shaft, I think for a moment he's about to provide me relief. Instead, he grips my cock roughly and glares.

"Naughty boy." Moving closer, he captures my mouth with his, his tongue spearing inside, dominating me completely. When the kiss is over, he pulls back, and all of that nastiness is gone. There's no more anger on his face. Just his goofy, golden-retriever-like smile. "Do you know what happens to naughty boys?"

I lick my lips in anticipation. "They get punished? "

He nods before taking a step back and pointing at an unnecessarily large wooden cake. I'm not entirely sure what its purpose is, but I don't really care.

"Strip," he says.

"What?"

"Strip, then get in the cake."

"Why would I—" Before I can finish, Abi grabs the top of my shirt with both hands and rips the fabric in two like some busted-up superhero. I have no idea how this man has so much strength, but I'm not complaining.

Actually, yes, I am complaining, because that was my favorite fucking shirt. "I spent seventy dollars on that shirt, you big Russian bastard."

"I will buy you another. Now, get in the cake."

"Would you please stop speaking in vague commands and tell me why the hell you want me to get in the cake? Honestly, Abi, you're unhinged."

"Da," he agrees. "Unhinged for you." With my shirt ripped off and my shorts in just as tattered a condition, I'm standing in front of him wearing only a magenta jockstrap. On the other side of the wall, life roars on, and knowing the only thing hiding me from prying eyes is a strip of sheetrock and a layer of poly-cotton blend, my dick swells to life. It's something Abi notices instantly, because a smirk rises in the corners of his mouth. "See? You're enjoying this. Now, in the cake."

I quickly realize resistance will get me nowhere. Once the son of a bitch gets an idea in his head, there's no talking him out of it. "Fine," I say, flinging my hands in the air. "But you're coming with me. I'm not going in there by myself. There could be a snake."

His eyebrow rises. "Why a snake?"

I shrug. "Fuck if I know. I haven't had a chance to inspect it, have I? Yet you just expect me to climb in blindly—oh my Goddess, Abi, put me down!" The motherfucker's picked me up and is carrying me toward the cake like I weigh nothing. I mean, in fairness, compared to him, it's probably true. Still, it's a bit unsettling to love a man who could easily pick you up with one hand and yeet you across a football field with all the effort it takes to stir creamer into your coffee.

When we reach the cake, he lifts me even higher before delicately placing me inside. The four-tier cake is almost as tall as I am, but not tall enough to hide the top of my head, so I crouch down. It's rather spacious inside, but that space is invaded when Abi climbs in after me and crouches. He reaches over his head and pulls the lid closed, drenching us in darkness. I'm a little claustrophobic, and Abi must realize it, because his hand presses against my chest.

"Give me a second, sweetheart, I have this," he says. There's the sound of fabric rustling, and then the enclosure lights up when he powers on his phone screen. The only thing I see is a picture of me bending over, my ass fully visible. Even my hole. Part of me loves that he has my exposed body for anyone to see, should he turn it on in front of them.

"Would you mind telling me why the hell we're in here, asshole?" I hiss.

"We're coming to the stripper portion of the evening," he says, as if that explains anything. "As Scotty said, Fiona was placed in charge of attaining a man of loose virtue. Fiona wanted to spend some one-on-one time with your mother, so I offered to hold auditions myself."

I blink at him. "Why would my mom and Fee need to spend any time together?"

Rather than answer, he just chuckles, mumbling something under his breath in Russian. I don't know what he's just called me, but I know I don't care for his tone, so I slap him across the face.

"Rude!" I shout. "Answer the ..." As the rest of his words replay in my head, my mouth opens and closes a few times, but I can't get anything out. Auditions. He held auditions for exotic dancers? With their dangly bits hanging out and everything? I try to steady my breathing so my voice doesn't give away my jealousy, but I'm not sure how successful I am when I glare at him and shout, "Auditions?"

"You're upset I agreed to watch other men strip, aren't you?" he asks pointedly.

I drive a finger into his chest, hoping it hurts. "I don't care who the fuck you look at naked. I don't care if you live or die." Closing my eyes, I let out a shaky exhale, regrouping. "How many?"

"How many what, my love?"

I slowly open my eyes, trying to keep my face neutral. It's a little difficult with the way my lips keep rising, unintentionally baring my teeth at him like a rabid animal. "How many men did you see today? How many of them waggled their penises at you?" It isn't until he winces that I realize I'm digging my nails into his thigh. Oh fucking well. He can cope. "Answer me. How many?"

"Are you jealous?"

Any other time, I might argue. Any other night, I might tell him I don't give a fuck whose penis he looks at. But tonight? At our bachelor party? All I can see is red. "Yes, you fucking asshole. Yes, I'm jealous." His eyes widen. I guess he didn't expect me to be so honest about my feelings. I can't say I blame him, it's come as a bit of a surprise to me, too.

"Little one?"

I have to look away, because the thought of other men ejaculating in front of him makes my heart feel like it's breaking. "Did they jack off for you?" I whisper, hating how bad my voice cracks around the words. "Did you ask them to come for you?"

He shakes his head insistently. "I was only joking. I did not mean to upset you." His hand cups my face, and it's an action that makes me loosen the hold I've got on his thigh. "You are my world. I will never look at another man. Only you. I told Fiona I would handle it because I do not want another man revealing his penis to you, even if they are simply dancing on a stage. I'll cut it off at the root if they try."

"You promise?"

He reaches into his pocket. When his hand emerges, he's holding a cloth mask, pink with silver sequins. As the sequins catch the light from his phone, it sends glittery fractals bouncing around the wooden walls.

"I swear it. Hush now, let me finish my story. When she left me in charge, I contacted the party store and asked for this oversized wooden cake." His hands fidget with the mask he's holding, and it almost seems like he's working himself up to say whatever the hell it is that has him so worried. "I only wish to make you happy. You know that, don't you? You know I wouldn't ask you to do anything to hurt you or your feelings?"

"Obviously," I say. "I wouldn't have put up with you for six months if I didn't."

He nods. "Good. So, here is what will happen," he says, slipping the mask on my face. "You are going to put on this mask, and we will be wheeled into the main room. Once that's done, you will be announced and music will start. When the music plays, I would very much like you to exit this cake and put on a show."

I scrunch my eyebrows together, unsure what the hell he's talking about. "What do you mean ‘put on a show'?"

"You will dance. Once you've gotten everyone worked up with your delicious body, you will remove your jockstraps, and I wish for you to masturbate."

My eyes bulge. "Masturbate? You want me to rub one out while everyone stares at me?" I won't lie and say my cock doesn't swell at the thought, but that's hardly the point. Our closest friends are out there. Shit. For all I know, my dad could have crashed the party. The last thing I want to do is ejaculate in front of every person I've ever known.

Okay, maybe I kind of want that, but it's madness. Rational adults don't masturbate at random in a room of friends. That isn't normal behavior. Abi must be able to read the confusion written across my face, because he leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the lips.

"You wish to be seen. You know it as well as I do."

"And that's what you want? For people to see me? For other men to watch me?"

His lips brush against mine. Just the briefest of grazes, really, but it sends heat sparking down my spine. "I wish only for your pleasure, Tatum. It's all I want. Being seen makes you happy." His hand cups my bulge, and the motherfucker grips it like he thinks it might slip away. "Watching you come undone gets me harder than I've ever been before." For emphasis, he uses his hand not holding my cock to guide mine to his bulge. Jesus. He's so hard, it's fucking pulsing in my hand. "This is what you do to me. It belongs to you. Only you. It is for your eyes only. But this ...?" He shakes my dick. "Your cock belongs to the world. You wish for every soul to see it, don't you?"

"It sounds like you're calling me loose in virtue and light in shame." I arch an eyebrow. "Did you just insinuate I'm a whore?"

"Nyet," he barks, startling me.

"Good grief!" I slap his chest. "Fucking warn a guy before screaming directly into his face. Rude, much?"

"What I am saying is this cock is the most beautiful cock in the world. I love when you show it off, because once you've got everyone riled up, I'm the one who gets to take care of it. I get to caress it. Kiss it. Hold it until I have no feeling left in my hands. It is my responsibility to make it come." His stare intensifies, and it's almost too much to take. "I will always take care of what is mine. That is the difference between Benito and me. I will never make you feel ashamed of you or your body. I will worship it."

"Abi . . ."

He shakes his head. "He cut you down. Benito broke your confidence. He made you feel like you don't deserve this, but you do. No one has ever made me wild like you. Before you, I imagined myself settling down in a subdivision, getting a promotion to ensure I'm out of harm's way, and eventually marrying a woman. Now ..."

"Now, what?" I ask, gripping his hand. "Tell me." His eyes are locked on my neck, and I can tell there's a quiet storm brewing in him. A hurricane about to touch land.

"Now," he says quietly, "things have changed."

"Good change, I hope?"

His eyes lift to meet mine. "The best change. I want you, Tatum. There are things I want to tell you. Dark things. The ones I haven't shared with anyone. I do not open myself up to anyone, but you open me up without trying. Every time I see you, I want to—" He bites his lip, stopping the words from falling out by force. I'm taken aback by the neediness in his eyes. Someone else might call his clinginess a red flag, but the longer I see that look on his face, the closer I am to throwing a white flag of surrender. He wants me. He loves me. I hold the power to shape the future of his world, and it's a level of responsibility no one should ever hold. Because Abi Kincaid's world? That's a world worth living in. It's a world one flourishes in.

"Every time you see me, you want to ... what?" I finally ask.

He shakes his head. "I cannot say. I should not have said anything."

I move even closer. "Tell me."

"Each time I see you, I wish to fall to my knees."

My eyebrows lift, because that's not where I pictured this admission going, but that's okay. "I mean, if you insist."

"Not like that," he says. "I wish to fall to my knees and beg you to stay. To let me keep you." His eyes fall, and it's only now I realize we're no longer touching each other's packages. His hands are resting on his thighs, and I've got my hands clasped around his, softly stroking the sides with my thumbs.

This moment—this one insignificant, unplanned moment of connection—makes every physical interaction I've ever experienced pale in comparison. With one simple touch, Abdulov Kincaid has shifted my entire world. I didn't even realize my world was off. I didn't know I'd been living on shifting sand, always tilting left to right, the threat of collapse constantly looming overhead. Abi has steadied the tremors. He's taken me on, endless faults and all, never pushing for more than I was willing to give. I want to provide that relief for him, too. To be his shelter in the storm.

"Please, may I keep you?" he whispers, the shame clear in his voice. There's no shame here, though. Not with me. Doesn't he know that by now?

I open my mouth to respond, but before any words make it out, we're in motion. The wheels beneath the wooden cake squeak, and I hold on to him during the ride. It doesn't take long. Maybe thirty seconds at most. When it stops, he slides the mask on my face.

"Go on, sweetheart. Let go and enjoy yourself. Then, when it's over, let me enjoy you."

I flash a quick smile. "Yeah. Okay, Abi."

Outside, I hear a man's voice playing through the sound system. He's making some idiotic pun involving blowing out candles, but right now, I kind of want to blow out Abi's again. The memory of his taste lingers, even days after the fact. I wonder if he'll let me suck him off once we leave. If he'll shoot in my mouth and let me keep it there for a while, just so I can taste him. I open my mouth to ask, but a hand reaches into the cake and pulls me out. I stumble during the ascent, almost toppling over the side and landing on my ass. Thankfully, Abi's got a hand on said ass, holding me steady.

Once I'm out, my skin turns to gooseflesh, the hairs on my arms prickling as they stand on ends. Ahead of me, just past the edge of the stage, are fifty of my closest friends. "Friends" is probably an overstatement. Most of these men are just patrons from the bar who used to slide cash into the elastic band of my jockstrap while I stood on speaker boxes, shaking my ass for anyone who desired to watch.

With every eye on me, the music starts, and I roll my hips to the beat. It's been ages since I've danced properly. Even longer since I've done so in front of a crowd. When I used to cover for Nito's go-go boys when they called out sick, the sight of a crowd made my cock twitch and my blood run cold. It was like being bathed in both scalding and freezing water at the same time. Now, there's no chill, only heat. Every eye is on me. Admiring. Adoring. Fucking me without fucking me.

I'm hard. I don't know how long I've been erect, but it's straining against the fabric of my jock, and when I look down, there's a wet patch in the pink fabric. Everyone's eyeing me, and as I eye them back, I can see the tightening of denim around several of their crotches.

Fuck, this has no right being as hot as it is. I have no desire to do anything with these men, but I do desire to do something to myself while they watch. There's a small stool toward the end of the stage, and I make a mental note to collect it once my dance is done.

I twist and pop, shaking my ass to the sound of the music as their applause makes my dick twitch. When I dip, I know every inch of my crack is on display. My hole as well. There's nothing hidden from them aside from my dick, and that won't stay hidden much longer.

I try not to distinguish between the faces in the crowd, because that would make all of this real. If I were to see a childhood friend out there, eyes widening in shock as I slowly stroked myself to completion, it might pull me out of the moment. Or it could push me over the edge. Honestly, at this very moment, it's a bit of a toss-up.

There's sound behind me, then the crowd erupts again. When I look over my shoulder, Abi is climbing out of the wooden cake. Dry ice blows through vents in the wooden cake, sending out pink mist that wraps around his feet. It's honestly ridiculous, and he looks like a fool, but somehow the fool has stolen my heart. Said heart slams in my chest as he approaches, stopping when only inches separate us. He's wearing no mask, so the whole room can see who he is. Can see the love he pours out from his eyes, right into me. His hand touches my cheek, soft and affectionate, and he trails a fingernail down my jaw, my neck, and then my chest. Abi stops when he reaches my jockstrap, and somehow, the room's gone silent around us. Up here, on this stage, he's all I see. He's the only soul left in the world.

"May I remove this, my love?" he asks, his fingertip spilling over the waistband of my jockstrap. I'm ignoring the fact he's essentially molesting me in front of everyone, and our friends will probably think he's cheating on me now. That's a battle we can wage another day.

All I can say is, "Please?"

His smile widens as he lowers himself to his knees, tugging my jockstrap down. My cock springs to life, flying out of the fabric and slapping his chin. It's a bit painful because the son of a bitch hasn't shaved in a few days, and I'm fairly confident my dick now has road rash. Again, that's going to have to be a battle we fight another day, because his mouth opens and he takes the head between his lips, sucking softly.

"Jesus, Abi," I moan, my head falling forward as my hips thrust. I've got one hand on my chest, but he takes my wrist and guides me lower until I'm holding my shaft. Our eyes are locked as he slowly pumps his hand over mine, getting my engines roaring to life. The longer he guides me, the more I want this. To come undone at his touch. To come in front of everyone, painting his face.

"Stroke it," he commands, but his voice still has an affectionate tone, letting me know he's here with me, and I'm not in this alone. With his back to the crowd, his massive body hides me away from their prying eyes. "Are you ready?"

I look down at him and give a goofy grin. "You're not going to leave are you? "

He slowly rises from his knees to stand in front of me before kissing my lips. "I will never leave you. Not unless you ask me to ... and even then, there are no guarantees."

His words are all the comfort I need. They wrap around me, clinging tightly, just like I want to cling to him.

I stroke myself while he watches before offering a nod. "I'm ready."

With the words out, Abi slips to the side and walks toward the stage's side entrance, leaving me alone, just like he said he wouldn't. I start to panic because every jaw in the audience has hit the floor, and everyone's staring at my fully exposed cock. It makes me leak a little, but I'm too worried about Abi's absence to pay my pre-cum much mind.

"Continue," he commands, his voice booming from the side of the stage. "Stroke it."

I wrap a nervous hand around my shaft and give an exploratory tug, my nervousness fading when it earns me applause and a few thumbs up. While he's doing Goddess knows what, I continue to pleasure myself for their viewing pleasure. The crowd's applause flips a switch inside me, and the shame I was just feeling has evaporated, leaving me dazed and unbearably erect. The way they stare at it, almost enthralled by the mere sight of my dick, makes me feel like a god in my own right.

Someone moves behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, Abi's setting the wooden stool in place. He sits on the stool and opens his arms, welcoming me in. I back up until my back is against his chest, and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. Gently, he brushes my hand away from my cock and assumes responsibility for my unwavering erection. I'm already close. His grip is relentless. An almost unbearable pressure that has me seeing stars as I dig my nails into his thighs.

My eyes catch sight of Scotty. He's staring right at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Make him come," he shouts, then he shouts it again. I don't realize what's happening until everyone in the audience is chanting, "Make him come. Make him come," like fucking fratboys.

"You're close," Abi whispers into my ear.

"You don't know that," I answer, but my voice sounds a bit breathless, so I don't think I've got him convinced.

"If there is one thing in this world I know, little one, it is your body. I know how it ticks." He licks my earlobe, making me cry out. "You make this little noise when you're close. Did you know that? This tiny clicking sound in the back of your throat."

"Do not," I argue.

He kisses my neck. "Do so. I can hear it right now. Click-click-click. That is good. I want you to come for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?"

"Fuck. Abi."

He's stroking me faster than before, each tug done with purpose. This is the moment where ejaculation and heart palpitations mix in concert, and it's when I feel most alive. Every lurid want and desire rises to the surface like milk boiling on a stove. It makes way for dangerous choices that I'll never be able to take back. Choices I'll surely regret once I'm recoiling in post-nut clarity. Oh-fucking-well. That's something I can worry about later.

I reach for the mask, wanting nothing hiding me away. With Abi behind me, dragging me kicking and screaming toward completion, I lose any semblance of decorum, and I pull the fabric up and away from my face, tossing it over my shoulder. It takes me a moment to realize no one in the crowd seems shocked by the big reveal. Have they known all this time? And why does that realization have my hips arching forward into Abi's hand, and my lungs gasping for air.

"I'm so close," I say, meaning it just for Abi, but apparently, I've failed to control the volume of my voice, because everyone in front of me is clapping their hands and cheering me on. It honestly doesn't even feel sexual. It feels like acceptance. All my friends know I need this, and they want me to have it, because that's what love is about. Supporting your rainbow-wearing brothers and sisters, no matter how ridiculous their kinks.

"Get in front of me," I urge Abi. "Let me come on your face." His head pops around my side like a cartoon character with his wide, puppy-dog eyes. "If that's something you want."

He nods emphatically. "I would like that very much." He hobbles around on his knees, and I turn to meet him halfway. With him in front of me, the audience is at our sides, leaving no inch of me unseen. I have to use my left hand so as not to obstruct their view. It's less than ideal, because I'm right-handed, but I push past the unfamiliar grip. Fuck it. Righty Tighty can have the next round, because Lefty Loosey has this load covered.

Abi's staring at me, his mouth open, awaiting his prize. Each stroke brings me closer to him, and I can feel my balls draw closer to my body. "I'm gonna come," I announce to the room, only to be met with a standing ovation. I turn, watching them as they watch me, every eye locked on my rapidly moving hand.

In the crowd, Scotty is beaming brightly at me, and the sight of my biffle without an ounce of shade or sass on his face feels like total acceptance. He nods, shouting, "You've got this, Tater Tot!" at the top of his lungs. Next to him Brody's looking everywhere except at me. Beside him, Benji and Bennet are holding hands, Benji's head on his friend's shoulder, watching me supportively.

"Little one?" Abi says. He waits for me to look at him before saying, "Come."

It's like a nuclear bomb detonates inside me, and my hand rises one final time before shot after shot jets out, coating Abi's face. A spurt lands on his cheeks. Another against his forehead. I press the tip of my dick on top of his closed lips, moaning obscenely when my load drizzles out across them like lip gloss.

I fall forward, too lost in pleasure to hold myself upright. As expected, Abi's there to catch me, letting me borrow a bit of his strength while my reserves have been depleted. As I struggle to catch my breath, he catches me and pulls me down to the stage, cradling me in his arms like a newborn being swaddled.

It hits me all at once. What I've just done. What everyone just saw me do. The applause hasn't even died down, and I'm already flooded with regret. The way I've just behaved is positively shameless, but there's no shame in Abi's eyes. Only love. There's something touching my cock, and when I look down, Abi's shielding it from sight with his hand.

"You know what to do," Abi announces to the crowd. I have no idea what he's talking about at first. Behind me, there's the sound of glass shattering and metal clanging, and when I look over my shoulder, I see them.

Brody is gunning down unsuspecting bottles of liquor on the shelf behind the bar. Scotty has a hammer in his hand, and he's using it to smash picture frames. Fee—who I didn't even realize was here—is standing at the entry door, her arms folded over her chest, silently daring any of the partygoers to attempt to flee. The rest of the group seems on edge, and they're huddled around a large selection of blunt objects piled on one of the tables.

"Grab a hammer and start smashing shit," Brody shouts. Slowly, each man at the party picks up a hammer, pipe, or wrench, and scatters throughout the bar. I watch as a twink takes a wooden doorstop and uses it to break a strobe light on the wall. Another man has a razor blade, and he's using it to tear through various signage. Bennet and Benji are huddled together in a booth near the back, looking extremely uncomfortable—but I don't miss the sly smile on Bennet's face. Through it all, Abi's right in front of me, refusing to look away from me.

As the crowd destroys Benito's cherished bar, Scotty tosses his hammer over his shoulder and skips toward us, grinning like a kid on Christmas. He doesn't stop at the stage, just hoists himself up despite the fact there are stairs literally three steps away from him. Once he's on stage, he shoves Abi, sending him toppling onto his back. Scotty's arms open before pulling me tight against his chest.

"I'm so proud of you, Tatum," he says, and he sounds like he meant it. "I've been waiting for you to let out your inner freak for years." Pulling away, he stands on his tiptoes and kisses my forehead. "Love you, biffle."

I flash a nervous smile at him. "Love you, too."

A gun fires near the entrance, and when I look up, Brody's got an assault rifle in his hand, and it's aimed directly at me. "What did I tell you about touching my boy?"

I roll my eyes, because I'm too cum-drunk to argue with this man right now. "He hugged me first. Fuck off, Brody."

Brody's eyes inspect Scotty's body, and his brows meet in the center of his forehead when he looks at my friend's chest. His face turns red, and he's clenching his jaw so hard, I'm surprised he hasn't cracked his teeth down to jagged shards. "You just came on my boy." His voice is like a thunderstorm, echoing off the walls and permeating through the room. "No one ejaculates on Freakshow but me, you fucking queer."

Scotty stares down at his shirt, his eyes bulging. When I look to see what's got him so surprised, I audibly groan. There, slathered across his shirt, are the final remnants of my load. Apparently, some of it landed on my stomach earlier, and I transferred it to his chest when we hugged. I worry Scotty's going to be sick or reprimand me for unintentionally ruining his shirt, but he just breaks into a fit of giggles. I watch in horror as he slides a finger through my leftovers and looks over at Brody.

"He came all over me, Daddy." Scotty's forcing a frown, but the teasing tone in his voice is undebatable. He's playing it up for reasons I don't quite understand. "I think he claimed me." His bottom lip pokes out in a pout as he stares at my cum on his fingers. He touches his thumb and forefinger together, creating a strand of semen when he pulls them apart. "Sorry. Guess you gotta find a new Freakshow. He owns me now."

Below me, Abi is closing his eyes and shaking his head in annoyance. Brody looks angrier than I've ever seen him, though, and I'm genuinely concerned for my safety.

"Wipe that shit off your finger. Right this fucking second. You hear me?"

Scotty brings his finger closer to his face and sniffs, making my stomach churn. Why is he so fucking weird all the time?

"I think he's expecting me to eat it, Daddy. Don't wanna. Don't wanna taste no one but you." He shrugs. "Too bad, so sad." He brings his finger closer to his mouth.

"Don't you dare eat his cum! I swear to fucking God, Scotty, I'll slit your throat when you go to sleep. I'm not fucking playing with you."

He pokes his tongue out and moves even closer. His tongue doesn't touch my cum, but he pretends like it does, feigning a look of pleasure. "Oh my gosh, Tatum. You taste so good! Why didn't you tell me before? I could've been snacking on you for years."

"Don't swallow it," Brody pleads, his usually hardened voice now flooded with worry. "Ah, fuck, baby. Please don't swallow him. I'll give you all the cum you want. Just don't eat any more of his load." There are tears in his eyes, and the sight of them snaps Scotty out of his bratty headspace. Immediately, he wipes his fingers on his shirt and runs toward the end of the stage, jumping up, up, and away from us and into Brody's arms. He clings to his fiancé like a cuddly koala, apologizing over and over, telling him it was just a joke.

Personally, I'm over all of this foolishness. I've just shot the biggest load of my life in front of everyone I've ever loved—family aside—and now my biffle and his stupid soon-to-be husband are ruining my post-coital buzz. "Make it stop," I plead with Abi when I see him standing up. I hold my arms out to indicate I want him to pick me up, and thankfully, he's in a much more cooperative mood than our friends, because he lifts me up and holds me against his chest.

"Brody," Abi says. He runs a finger through some of the cum still covering his face, getting it nice and wet for me. His finger finds my crack, then my hole, and he holds it there. Brody finally tears his attention away from Scotty and looks at Abi. "Leave us. I would like to speak with the little one."

Brody just shrugs him off and carries Scotty toward the door, complaining, "You're taking that shirt off when we get to the car. I don't want that motherfucker's cum on you again. Swear it."

"Yeah, Daddy. I promise," he says before turning his attention back to the crowd of madmen currently destroying the bar. "Alright, everyone! That's enough. I want to go home and fuck my future husband's tight hole." Brody groans, but doesn't correct him. Once they're all gone and I'm in his arms where I belong, he stares at me like I've just given him the world. Behind us, the barkeeper is counting down his register, not paying us any mind whatsoever.

"Did I do okay?" I finally manage to ask. I lean closer and lick a stripe of cum away from his cheek, making him curse under his breath.

"It was the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed. Deep breath now, love. Here it comes." I close my eyes and inhale deeply, readying myself for his finger. It enters me with ease, twitching and tickling my prostate. "I couldn't be prouder of you."

I smile, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I didn't look like a fool?"

"Never like a fool. Touch my cock."

The request is abrupt and kind of pulls me out of the moment, but Daddy wants me to touch his cock, so I'm going to touch his cock. I slide my hand down, arching my back to create enough space between so I can reach. I was expecting to find a stiff erection below. Instead, I feel his drenched denim jeans. "You made me come. I didn't even touch myself. It was because of you. The way you let your guard down, simply because I asked." He shakes his head, looking wonderstruck. "Tatum ..."

"Daddy," I say quietly, inching closer .

He stares at me intently like he's trying to read my mind. "You've called me that a few times these last few weeks. Is that what I am to you? Your daddy?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I mean, not in an age play sort of way, but yeah. Kind of."

"Good. That's what I wish to be. Your daddy. The one who takes care of you. I want to take care of you for the rest of our lives. What I was saying earlier in the wooden cake—I meant it. I want this with you. Forever."

My heart flutters faster, and all I can do is nod. I can't handle the intensity in his eyes, so I break contact, looking over my shoulder. The bartender doesn't seem terribly upset that a gaggle of gays destroyed his workplace.

"Do you want to tell me how you convinced the bartender to let you demolish this place without him calling the police?"

"It would appear Benito's new boyfriend was in a committed relationship when they met. Suffice to say, the gentleman at the bar is not a fan of Benito Blankenship."

"No surprise there." Leaning closer, I peck his lips, offering him a quick, chaste kiss. Apparently, it's not enough for him, because his lips press firmly against mine as he assaults my hole, making me writhe around against him. The kiss goes on for ages, only ending when the bar's lights flicker on and the bartender screams, "Last call!"

He gives me a final kiss on the forehead before placing me back on the ground. "Tomorrow, we have our wedding rehearsal."

I nod. "I know."

He cups my cheek. "I'm afraid I will not get to spend the night with you."

My eyes widen, because the thought of spending a night without him next to me feels impossible. Illogical. "Why not?"

"I cannot see you before the rehearsal. Tradition, little one. It's bad luck."

"That's not a tradition. "

"Perhaps not, but after everything we've gone through to get here, I do not wish to take any chances." His lips touch mine, and I can taste remnants of myself on his tongue. When he breaks the kiss, he kneels in front of me, kissing my cockhead. "I will miss you, my little one's little friend. Be a good boy for me and do not ejaculate again." He looks up at me. "Tomorrow night, I will make you come again, but not a moment before. Understood?"

His request is ridiculous, but that doesn't stop me from saying, "Yeah. Okay, Abi."