Daddy christmas, p.5
Daddy Christmas, page 5
If my smile was half as goofy as I suddenly felt, I was in trouble. Talk about full-blown crush in effect already.
I detected a hint of tentativeness in him, however.
That was nuts.
“I’d love to.” I unzipped my jacket because it wasn’t that chilly. “The cupcakes are my favorite after snickerdoodles.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” He smirked a little. “You eat the frosting first, don’t you?”
“How else do you eat a cupcake?”
He rumbled a chuckle. “As long as there’s room for food. Dessert comes afterward.”
The way he said it made it sound like he was testing me for my response. Because it went without saying that I disagreed with him. Cupcakes were a perfectly fine dinner alternative. And for dessert, you could have ice cream, maybe.
“If you say so.” I scrunched my nose.
His eyes held a tone of severity that drew me in. “I do.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek and stared at him. He was testing me. Or feeling me out.
This stuff was gonna get me horny before we even arrived at the lunch place.
Mr. Abrams took me to a restaurant owned by a friend of his, a man who just happened to be a celebrity chef, and I was immediately excited when I saw the interior and got a sense of what kind of place it was. It was called MAT, and it was all Southern cookin’ in a cozy yet exclusive setting. Okay, I didn’t care about the exclusive part, but the hot chicken and mac and cheese, on the other hand!
We were seated in an intimate, circular booth, and it didn’t escape my notice that he chose to sit beside me rather than across from me. Our knees nearly touched, and I paid attention to such things. I mean, I couldn’t not. I was running on a crush here.
I didn’t open my menu until he opened his, and even then, I couldn’t help but glance over to see what he was doing. More than ever, I needed to read him, to understand his reactions, to anticipate his needs and next move.
“There he is.” Mr. Abrams’s eyes sparked with friendly recognition as a handsome gentleman walked over, and he didn’t need a chef’s outfit to let anyone know it was his restaurant. Holy crap, August King was famous. Cam must’ve sent me dozens of his recipes. “It must be my lucky day to catch you on an LA trip. It’s been too long, my friend.” He rose to greet Mr. King, and the two hugged.
“You know you’re always welcome to visit us in Nashville,” Mr. King replied. “It’s mighty good to see you, Wyatt.”
Would ya look at that, Mr. Abrams actually had friends. Funnily enough, they reminded me of each other. Kind grins—now that I knew Mr. Abrams was capable of smiling—plenty of silver in their hair, similar builds. They looked to be similar in age too.
“I want you to meet my date,” Mr. Abrams said and sat down again.
I perked up and felt a smile tug at my mouth. He wanted his friend to meet his date. That was me!
“How I’ve waited to hear you say those words,” Mr. King commented with a wry smirk.
Mr. Abrams chuckled and rested his arm behind me along the back of the booth. “August is a dear friend of mine, though we don’t see each other often anymore. Parker works for the company and spent last week turning my world upside down.”
“Only from Wednesday,” I felt the need to clarify. My stomach did a little flip at his openness too. “Nice to meet you, Mr. King.”
“Likewise, Parker. Likewise.” Mr. King sat down next to Mr. Abrams.
I felt Mr. Abrams’s hand along my neck, his fingers rubbing my skin slowly, and it drew a shiver from me. It also had the weirdest calming effect, and I sent him a sideways smile and scooted a few inches closer.
“I actually spoke to August yesterday,” he admitted to me. “I asked when he would be in town next time, and he said he was already here to create the spring menu with his chef.”
Okay…?
Why did I feel like I was missing something?
“I didn’t know you needed a chaperone, sir,” I joked.
Mr. King found that funny.
“I told you he was a brat.” Mr. Abrams slid his buddy a smirk.
We were interrupted—or saved, maybe—by a server who asked about our orders. Mr. King let her take our drink order, but he wanted to handle our lunch himself. It wasn’t every day that happened, so I wasn’t going to complain!
While he stood up and spoke quietly to the server, I leaned closer to Mr. Abrams.
“If this is a date, can I start using your first name in my head now?” I asked.
His forehead wrinkled with a bit of confusion, but his expression held amusement too. “What have you been using so far?”
“Mr. Abrams, of course.” Duh. Then because I was me, I had to ramble about it. “It happens naturally when I’m around men who give off that sexy, dominant vibe. Aside from work-stuff, obviously. Every Abrams in the company is Mr. and Ms. Abrams to me, but to tell them apart, we have to use your first names too. I just wouldn’t address you by your first name to your face.” It was one of those few things that would’ve embarrassed me.
Maybe it was how I’d been raised, I didn’t know. My mom’s side of the family was strict on labels and formal stuff. I’d called my great-grandfather the Major until he’d died when I was ten.
“Sexy, dominant vibe,” Mr. Abrams echoed. With a slight grin tugging at his lips, he closed the distance between us and kissed the corner of my mouth.
I wasn’t prepared for that! I was a little unsettled, to be honest. I needed to know protocol.
“I’m only Mr. Abrams at work,” he murmured in my ear.
I shuddered and swallowed dryly. Could I kiss him? I wanted to kiss him. “Okay.” I tilted my face toward his an inch or two and tested a smile.
He did the same right before he pressed a kiss to my mouth—and that right there, that was the stuff.
I wasn’t going to get ahead of myself; we were in a public place, but I craved a small taste. I moved my hand to the curve between his neck and shoulder and angled myself for a deeper kiss. He smiled at that and swept the tip of his tongue against mine, and that was all. It was the fuel I needed. Then we broke the kiss with an unhurried one and rested our foreheads together.
“I hate to interrupt.” Yet, Mr. King was interrupting. “I just wanted to say lunch will be out in ten minutes. We’ll catch up soon.”
“Thank you, August.” Mr. Abrams—Wyatt—sent him a quick, polite smile before returning his attention to me. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me once more. “I hope you don’t mind I told him a little about you.”
“I don’t mind. I just can’t imagine what would be interesting enough to discuss.”
“I can think of countless things.” He sat back as our drinks arrived. “But the reason I went to him is because he shares a Daddy/boy dynamic with his partners. Two Daddies and one boy.”
Thank fuck I hadn’t taken a sip of my Sprite yet! I would’ve choked.
I gulped instead, and my eyes widened.
He eyed me carefully. “I didn’t mean for that to sound…drastic. Or sensational. I’ve picked up on some of your traits, and I wanted to be prepared.”
Prepared for what? I wasn’t some advanced kinkster. I’d dabbled, I guessed. I’d had a couple relationships with elements of that kind, and I knew I was a sub. I had fantasies and what I supposed I would call a core fetish, but I’d never met anyone I’d felt comfortable with enough to explore it all to the fullest. It’d been one thing or the other. Romance or playtime. Casual with kink components or regular relationship, never both, never at the same time.
To be honest, the topic made me a little uncomfortable because I didn’t know Wyatt’s agenda. Did he want to date me or just play with me?
Maybe I should call Cam. He was much more involved in that lifestyle. Like, he was part of a community and everything.
While we waited for our food, I did my best to explain my brief experience with Daddy/Little boy kink, with emphasis on how insignificant fantasies were if the chemistry wasn’t right. And that wasn’t the full extent of it. I could have blazing chemistry with someone and still feel like that kink part of me was dormant.
“It’s as if I’m two people sometimes,” I said. “The man I am and the boy I am. Both have to connect with the man in someone else, as well as the Daddy in them. Does that make sense?”
“Very much.” He gave my knee a squeeze. “Dabble is a good word for my own experience. It was cut short when I met my ex.”
That was interesting. I tilted my head. “So you were a Daddy Dom to someone before you got married?”
“That’s a stretch. But I did meet August at an event for Daddy Doms and Littles back in the day—it was how we came to know each other. I…I felt a connection to a part of myself I had barely acknowledged.” He dropped his gaze to his beer and brushed a finger over the foot of the glass. “Nothing went beyond casual, though, and I met Tom shortly after.”
Tom had to be the ex-husband.
“Meeting you is reawakening something I thought I’d buried for good,” he admitted.
I made a face. “If you bury living things, they tend to come back like zombies, sir.”
He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to my temple. “They do, don’t they?”
I nodded and took a big swallow of my soda. It made my nose tickle, so I rubbed it vigorously.
For some reason, that made him cup my face and kiss me hard. A hard, swift kiss. “How you act—how you speak, how you carry yourself, the things you say—I need a bigger dose of you, Parker.”
Gah! He was draining every ounce of discomfort from before when he talked like that. I felt my body and mind gravitate toward him.
It hit me that maybe he didn’t have an agenda. Maybe he was just open about the questions he had, the preferences he’d once buried, how they were now returning, and that he simply wanted. But the exact route and pace, we could decide together.
“We should have dinner together too.” I found a quick hiding spot when I kissed his neck where he smelled fucking incredible. “They last longer than lunches.”
“Mm, it’s a good start, at least. Are you free tomorrow?”
“I—” Fuck. I actually wasn’t. “Kim and I squeezed in an extra rehearsal with a few others in our dance squad. What about Wednesday?”
“I’ll move some things around.” He nodded once. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about your dance hobby.”
I was looking forward to showing him my moves in the bedroom, first and foremost.
DECEMBER 7
Texting time!
Ask me what I did while you worked up a sweat.
I grinned and collapsed on my bed, not even bothering to remove the towel around my hips, and I responded to Wyatt’s text.
What did you do while I bounced my booty off?
I would’ve hoped to have seen him more often around the office, just a stolen glimpse here and there, but work was busy, and he wasn’t in Culver City all week. He’d been downtown today, for instance, and I was learning that he had a packed schedule that went beyond office hours. Work-related dinners, late meetings, and business trips were already making it difficult to find time for dates. We had dinner to look forward to tomorrow, but after that, no idea.
It made me happy that he texted me quite a bit instead, and I didn’t have to feel bad about flooding his inbox throughout the day.
A picture popped up in our conversation, and I laughed under my breath. It was my gift basket to him. He’d brought it home with him, and there wasn’t a whole lot left. The snickerdoodles were gone, as was the peppermint bark, I couldn’t see any fudge either, and out of four cupcakes, one remained. The Christmassy sugar cookies seemed to be an exception; he had what looked like three stacks of ten left, but I’d also made him twice that.
I’ve consumed more sugar in the past twenty-four hours than I have in the past decade combined. I couldn’t even stomach going to dinner.
I gasped and quickly wrote a reply.
You had cookies before dinner?!?!?!
That earned me a wink emoji.
I chewed on my lip.
Daddies didn’t follow rules. They provided them.
It was so unfair.
Wyatt changed the topic shortly after and asked about my dance hobby. He said he couldn’t wait till dinner tomorrow to ask, and I liked that bit a lot. He was eager to get to know me and showed interest. Not that this story was particularly exciting; I’d picked dance because going to the gym was fucking boring, and my cousin had introduced me to break dancing. He was crazy good.
It’s possible I found your dance squad’s YouTube channel. It’s also possible I’ve watched all the videos. You’re an incredible dancer, Parker. I hope I get to see a show one day.
Oh man. I grinned and squirmed around in the intensifying infatuation until I ended up on my stomach. Only thing missing was my ankles crossed in the air.
We have an outdoor thing on New Year’s that we’re rehearsing for. It’s in the middle of the day, so if you don’t have plans, consider yourself invited, sir!
Was that too soon? I bit at my thumbnail as I watched him type.
I wouldn’t miss it. Get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow I finally get to take you out again.
Jesus Christ, he was making me walk on clouds.
DECEMBER 8
“It’s okay to check your phone,” he said with a knowing little grin.
I shook my head. “It’s just Mya. She said she wouldn’t give up until I told her what’s going on between us.”
And she would have to wait because I barely knew yet myself.
Wyatt chuckled.
This French restaurant could not be more romantic, from the candles and white linen tablecloths to the intimate setting and dessert menu with items meant to be shared. It was also crazy upscale, and I’d accidentally swallowed my chewing gum when I’d first seen the prices on the menu.
I had more gum for later, though. I wasn’t ending this evening without having my minty-fresh breath kissed out of me.
Either way, I didn’t need Wyatt’s clarification that this was a date. The restaurant made that abundantly clear. So I guessed we were dating—that was the correct term. And I’d tell Mya that eventually, when I could also answer whether it was more than just dating. Since she knew what type of men I was drawn to and what fetish I had.
A server appeared to take our dessert order, and we’d settled on two dishes because we did not share the same taste in sweet stuff. Because he didn’t want much sweetness to begin with! He ordered something called éclairs with a coffee- and rum-flavored-mousse filling with the darkest of chocolate, and I wanted a French vanilla sundae with brown sugar meringue and caramel sauce.
I was so full from an amazing dinner, but I couldn’t resist dessert. I hadn’t pulled out my nicest threads for anything less than two tons of sugar. But unbuttoning my vest wouldn’t hurt. I glanced around us and hoped to see loosened ties, untucked shirts, and…yeah, no. Wearing a suit just wasn’t for me, but I did own a pair of nice charcoal pants with a matching vest that were fancy enough. As long as I didn’t spill on my shirt or apparently unbutton my vest.
“How full are you, Parker?”
Yikes. Okay, he didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand I was a bit uncomfortable. I was tugging on my vest and wiping my forehead. The meat sweats weren’t a myth.
“Moderately,” I lied just a tad.
The mirth didn’t leave his eyes, but his eyebrow went up a fraction. “Is this a good hill to die on, boy?”
I swallowed. “If the hill is made of sugar, then yes.”
He coughed a chuckle and shook his head at me.
I smiled goofily. He couldn’t pretend to be stern with me yet!
Without the strict Daddy façade, he reached across the table and gathered my hands in his, and he brought them to his lips. “Sweet Parker, there are options. We can get the dessert to go.”
“But then the meringue will be soggy,” I protested.
“Not if it’s stored in a separate container. You stay here—I will go talk to the server.” He pressed a kiss to my knuckles before he stood up and left the table.
I grimaced. I wasn’t a fan of this. We’d had such a great time tonight—I didn’t want it to end because I was too full for dessert. I’d learned a lot about his family and childhood. He had two sisters and one brother, though none of them was involved in the corporation. Maybe that was why I’d thought he was an only child. But regardless, I still had questions, and if we left now—and took our desserts to go—chances were, we’d end up eating them alone. What if he just dropped me off at my apartment?
Developing a crush on a man I knew essentially nothing about had turned out to be a gamble that so far worked bizarrely well. After all, I’d only viewed him as a grumpy grinch before. Now I knew he had a lake house that he hosted family reunions at every summer. I knew he liked to golf and swim. I knew he preferred classical music and blues and that he loved to drive up the coast in an old car I’d already forgotten the name of. I knew that he missed the East Coast sometimes, especially during fall and winter.
I was peeling off layer by layer.
He was doing the same with me.
I checked the time on my phone. Almost ten PM; hot damn, we’d been here nearly two hours already. So this wasn’t entirely awesome. Ten PM was a reasonable hour to wrap up our first dinner date, and if there was one thing I was learning about Wyatt, it was his traditionalist way of dating. He didn’t strike me as the type who would suggest we move this date back to his place at this hour.
Dammit.
I was right. He was taking me home.
