Chapter 9

Seeing a delicious man who towered over me with bulging biceps and rock-hard abs blush might be my new favorite thing in life. He looked bashful and sweet and so damned sexy. I wanted to lick every inch of his delectable body, then start over and do it again.

It was adorable how fast he talked when he was nervous. I shook my head at the thought of this guy who wore a uniform and a gun being adorable, but that was where we landed.

Once in the kitchen, I set the shopping bags I'd brought on the well-used, probably from his grandma's time, butcher-block counter.

When I'd stayed with him after the burglary mishap, he told me he had no food allergies and was willing to try most things. I took a chance on a thick Irish stew with a loaf of rustic bread from the market. I usually made my own, but that took a few hours of rise time, and I'd had no time to spare today.

I started to pull ingredients out when I spied Beckett tidying in the already fastidiously clean living room. A scowl stayed firmly planted on his face as he ruthlessly creased the extra throw pillows with a solid karate chop down the middle. If those pillows knew what was good for them, they wouldn't dare get out of line.

I was more than a little proud of being able to translate some of his facial expressions already. The scowl that looked like he was ready to full-on murder someone wasn't anger. It was nervousness. I felt terrible that my being here made him worry, but I didn't understand how a man so confident in uniform could feel so inept out of it.

"Beckett, can you please help me in the kitchen? I need to know where your pots and pans are." The look he gave me said I wasn't fooling anyone since I'd been fine by myself in the kitchen last week.

"What do you need? I hope I have it." The worry was back. Lordy, this man was going to give himself a heart attack before he was forty if he didn't learn to relax and let go of some of this anxiety.

"Sweetheart, how about you just sit with me and tell me about your afternoon?" Beckett looked up quickly at the endearment but didn't scoff, roll his eyes, or do any of the things he'd have done last week.

Seeing the difference between public and private him still caught me off guard. I'd guess it would take a solid fifty years, give or take, to get used to it. A part of me already knew that was a possibility for my heart. He followed instructions and sat at the small kitchen table to keep me company.

I laughed when Beckett started explaining the epic love story of Duckie and Schotze. "…Mrs. Schmidt might make Duckie leave the state if her baby gets knocked up and they look like him."

His smile was easy and quick when he told me the story. I wanted all his smiles to be just like that one.

The stew came together quickly thanks to adding a can of dark beer to move along the flavor, and it wouldn't be long before we sat at his table near the front window with our bowls and warmed slices of bread.

I knew we needed to discuss the subject we'd carefully avoided. A jump directly into the deep end seemed the quickest way. While I waited for the stew to finish, I joined him at the table.

"Thank you for having lunch with me today. I hope we can find time to do it more often." Beckett looked at me, and I saw a faint blush on his cheeks. So. Damn. Cute.

"I liked it too," Beckett responded quietly, his gaze still trained on his lap.

"Do you know what I liked best?" Beckett looked up when I asked and shook his head. I reached across the table and took his hand in mind. I laced our fingers together and squeezed softly. "The best part was when you called me Daddy. I liked it a lot." I sat back in the chair to give him some space because I'd already figured out he needed room to process his thoughts, including the physical kind.

Beckett leaned toward me and retook my hand. I could see the immediate tension that stiffened his shoulders and the worry that creased his forehead.

"Do you mind if I call you that when it's just us? I know some people only do the Daddy thing in the bedroom, but I like calling you that, and I want to call you that all the time." His words whooshed out in one breath, and the tension was more pronounced than ever. I think dinner would have to wait.

I stood from the table and pushed back my chair without letting go of his hand. "C'mon, sweetheart, let's sit in the living room and get comfy. We need to talk."

Beckett's eyes widened at my words. Shit. "Whoa, hold on. I know that in the history of the world, no one has ever heard that phrase and didn't immediately think it was bad news. It's not code for anything. All I want to do is discuss some ground rules that cover both of us. There's no way I'd blindside you like that. I'm sorry I used that phrase."

Dammit, I should have known better than to use such a loaded phrase with someone whose anxiety was as high as Beckett's. This conversation had gone off the rails before it even began. With his hand still firmly in mine, I led him to the sofa and nodded for him to sit. He sat but was as stiff as a board.

Get your shit together, Will.

"Let's try this again," I said. "I want to put it all on the table so it's clear where I'd like to see this go. It's not a secret that I'm interested in you, even though my cinnamon roll flirting was a colossal bust. I've never been a Daddy, but I'm interested in that too. I like the name, but we need to figure out what it means since I've never been one and you've never had one. Same page so far?"

Beckett had relaxed a little while I was speaking. I made a note to myself to be direct with him. He wasn't a man who needed to speak in codes and innuendo. Since he'd ceded the floor to me, I plowed ahead.

"The first nonnegotiable for me is that while exploring this dynamic, it means we aren't sleeping with anyone else. I'm not asking you to pledge your undying devotion to me, but I need exclusivity. I'm on PrEP, and I'm guessing you are too." Beckett nodded in quick agreement.

"The second thing is that I need to know what you need. It's not always easy, but I need you to tell me if something about me or us is bothering you. If my job as your Daddy is to care for you, I can't do that if I don't know about your struggles." This time, his agreement was a little slower. He looked concerned, and I quirked my eyebrow.

"Wil—I mean, Daddy, I'll try to do that, but I'm not going to pretend I'll be good at it. Despite what my dad thinks, I know I'm a decent enough cop. Putting my uniform on is like a shield. I can be this other person. When it comes off, then the real me shows up, and all that shit goes out the fucking window."

Given what I knew about psychology, I wasn't shocked to hear his remark about his dad, but that was a conversation for another time. Anyone who'd seen Beckett on the job knew he was damn good at it. He was attentive, thorough, and a consummate professional. I'd seen it myself in the ER. People trusted him to be honest and not blow them off when he took their statements. He was unfailingly polite if he needed to arrest someone, no matter how rowdy they got with him.

My first instinct was to get pissed at this faceless man who couldn't see how good Beckett was at his job. Why would any father not build up his kid? It made me think of my dad and how much he would feel a kinship to Beckett.

Of course they didn't look anything alike, but in terms of personality, I could see a lot of my dad in him. They were both painfully shy. But their work was everything to them. My dad was an accountant, the non-spicy kind, but the principle was the same.

Working out all this in my head helped me figure out some missing pieces that explained the authentic Beckett. I already knew his brusqueness was a defense mechanism because of his terminal shyness. But I hadn't considered until this moment how much of an introvert he truly was. He used all his spoons with the public and had nothing left for his coworkers.

In the places where he might recharge, like with his family, they put so many demands on him for interaction that it was constant work. I wondered if Beckett could see the lightbulb flashing over my head. All of it made so much more sense now. I also knew he was skittish, and treading lightly would be required.

"Baby, I know it won't be easy, but I hope it will be worth it." Watching this man melt with an endearment would never get old. Ever. "Can you tell me something you need from me?"

Beckett turned his face so I couldn't see his expression. Instantly, his shoulders were bunched up to his ears and his posture was back to being stiff. Talking about anything personal tore this man up. It sucked for him that nothing made a social worker happier than talking and then talking some more. And talking about feelings? That was pure gold. I swallowed my smile and tried to be patient while I waited for him to speak.

"I need to be taken out of my head." He hesitated but continued after a few deep breaths, "And, umm, I don't want to be in charge when I'm with someone. When you are a cop, everyone expects you to make the calls. I mean, yeah, plenty of cops do like to do that, and it's cool for them, but I get so fucking sick of it. I just want someone else to decide and handle it, and unless it's something horrible, then it's cool, but why would they want something horrible? So it probably wouldn't be horrible, and fuck me, I don't know what I'm trying to say." Beckett's words tumbled out in a rush, and the worry on his face broke my heart.

If I could create the perfect world for his precious man, it would involve him being wrapped in snugly blankets with an unending supply of books. Since I couldn't do that, I could at least do what he'd asked. I knew we were supposed to be having a serious discussion, but the urge to kiss him was just too much.

I needed this man like oxygen.

Beckett was sitting too far away from me on the couch. I scooted closer to him, and he looked at me with that shy grin and his peekaboo dimple, and I responded with my own. "Consent is cool, and I really, really want to kiss you."

Beckett's eyes widened and a burst of unexpected laughter erupted from him. I was taken aback in all the best ways at the surprising sound. It sounded rusty and unused, which, I supposed, it was.

"Yeah, consent is cool. Consider this your blanket invitation."

That was all the invite I needed to hear. I swung my leg over the top of Beckett and straddled his lap. A startled yelp snuck out, but he must have been okay with it because he immediately grabbed my hips with both hands to keep me firmly planted there.

"Sweetheart, keep your hands there. Don't move them unless I give you permission. Can you do that?" Beckett nodded and flexed his fingers. My cock began to thicken, and I knew it would be leaking soon.

My arms snaked around his shoulders and my fingers went directly to his scalp. I began rubbing his temples and skimming my hands over his shorn hair. Beckett closed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest it on the couch. A soft hum escaped his lips.

With his head tilted, I had perfect access to his delicious neck. I leaned forward and darted out my tongue to lick the sensitive skin at the base of his throat. It tasted faintly of soap, cologne, and something uniquely Beckett.

I needed more.

I returned to the spot and used my tongue to trace the corded tendons that appeared when his muscles tightened. He whimpered this time and turned his head to give me greater access.

My tongue continued to trace, but I interspersed that with nips and softly placed kisses. Beckett arched his neck, and I could feel his cock hardening beneath me. His moans became louder. It surprised me that he was vocal as he was, but damned if I wasn't here for it.

"Please, Will, I need you to kiss me," Beckett said as he lifted his head and tried to find my mouth. Yeah, no, that wouldn't do.

"Sorry, baby, that's not how you ask for things you want. I'll let you try again." I continued to nip and lick and suck my way along his neck. I gently bit his earlobe and sucked it into my mouth. Beckett shivered and rolled his head on the back of the couch.

"Daddy, please kiss me." I smiled against his skin and took one last nip.

"That's right, sweetheart. That's how good boys ask for what they want." Beckett's whole body shuttered at the phrase, and he took in a sharp intake of breath. I continued kissing his neck while my hands held his head steady.

"Please, Daddy, please. I need you to kiss me."

His pleadings were raspy and needy. All the while, his hips rocked up against mine. Beckett's hands were like vices on my hips, and he kept me firm and tight against his body.

"Baby, I'm not convinced you really want a kiss. You are my good boy, though, aren't you? Maybe you should ask again," I teased.

I pulled away from him to sit up straighter and look down into his eyes. His pupils were already blown and his breathing was shallow. At my question, he frantically nodded while staring at me through hooded eyes. I could feel how much he wanted this moment in every look and every touch.

His erect cock pressed into my ass as I straddled his rock-hard thighs and ground myself against him. My cock had begun leaking precum, and I wanted his to do the same.

My hands moved down his torso, and I felt his abs quiver beneath my exploring fingertips. I offered a quick thanks to whatever power in the universe had given this man a love of working out. I didn't want to do it myself, but I would never not be grateful he did.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, please kiss me."

"Who are you?" I looked straight into his eyes with both hands gripping his skull. My voice was firm and steady. I sounded much more confident than I felt, but there was no way in hell I would share that with Beckett.

"I'm your good boy, Daddy."

My self-control vanished at those words, and I slammed my mouth onto his with a growl deep in my soul. My tongue demanded entry, and Beckett opened immediately to allow it. There was no battle for control.

From the first touch, Beckett surrendered. His fingers flexed on my hips, and his hips ground against mine again and again. Beckett's firm lips pressed to mine while my tongue plundered his mouth. I explored every spot I could reach. His whimpers and moans fueled my need to possess him.

I would never get enough of this man.

My need for oxygen finally broke through the fog of our kiss. I pulled back just far enough to draw in a ragged breath. Our foreheads were still touching and our panted breaths came out synced.

My cock was painful, but I couldn't bear to move. Making out on Beckett's couch while he called me Daddy was everything I hadn't known I wanted a week ago. It blew my mind that this man who'd avoided my overtures for months was holding on to me for dear life.

We were still sitting on the couch, trying to catch our breaths, when Beckett's stomach rumbled and mine responded in kind.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get ourselves fed." I laughed and then maneuvered myself back onto my feet and put my hand out to help him up. We were a pair—cockblocked by our stomachs. It didn't seem fair, but getting him fed was best for Beckett.

The stew had been simmering during our make-out session, and the bread was still warm in the oven. I grabbed some potholders—crocheted style—and pulled the crusty bread out of the oven. While I sliced it, Beckett grabbed the butter crock and some bowels from the upper cabinets. He put them on the table before fetching the silverware. We worked in comfortable silence, and I liked the domesticity.

Beckett oohed and aahed over the stew. It was probably overkill, but I appreciated the thought behind it. Dinner passed with more random conversation. He'd finished the book on the Netherlands' land reconstruction and moved on to a book about plant hardscapes being an integral part of urban development and their influence on the changing neighborhoods.

Beckett's reading habits blew my mind. He could go from smutty romance to engineering with a stop at a serial killer. One of Beckett's favorite books was about a serial killer's smutty romance with his stepbrother.

The killer was obsessive about his targets, always bad guys who deserved their fictional deaths, and created the dead guy's favorite dish as love letters to his stepbrother. I wasn't sure how all that could be rolled up in one book, but he assured me the author was a genius who could write anything. Beckett waved his hands while describing his favorite characters from the book and somehow got me to promise to read it. It was beyond me how anyone could resist a pitch like his.

After dinner, Beckett seemed antsy. Based on our make-out session, I knew Beckett wanted me there, but I could also see the signs that he was peopled out. It was time to flex that Daddy cred of mine that didn't exist yet.

"I will finish cleaning up dinner. How about you go upstairs and get going on your book?"

"You cooked, so I should clean up." Beckett immediately stood and began stacking bowls to clear the table. Nope, that wasn't going to work. I laid my hand across his and stood too.

"Sweetheart, who is the Daddy here?" I could see the wheels turning in his head.

"You are."

"And who is supposed to step in to make the decisions?"

"You are." He looked a little chagrined.

"I'm not asking. I'm telling you I will clean up the kitchen, and you will go upstairs to get a head start on your reading. When I'm finished, I will come upstairs and say goodnight. I know you have an early shift tomorrow, and I have an early meeting."

My instructions phrased as a question had been a mistake on my part. When I changed it to a command, it made all the difference with Beckett. The tension melted from his eyes like snow and his peekaboo dimple returned.

"Okay, Daddy."