I’d started out climbing him like a tree. My legs around his waist, clutching at his broad shoulders, he carried me easily to sit me on the kitchen counter. We kissed frantically, groping hands and open mouths, taking tongues and rolling hips. We began to strip right there in his kitchen but ended up in the shower.

The hot water washed away the grime of the day and eased the muscles in my shoulders, but Peter massaged me everywhere, and I was a puddle of desire on his bed.

I was face down―a position that was new for us―and he was straddling my thighs. He’d massaged me, rubbed me down, lubed me up, stretched me, and lay over me with his cock pressing hot and heavy against my crack.

He whispered in my ear, “Is this okay?”

He’d never had me like this. Normally I was on my back so he could hold me, kiss me, make love to me. Lance had often taken me in this position, so it wasn’t a favorite. But this wasn’t Lance. This was Peter. And he would never hurt me.

So, like a test to myself, a final test that Peter could replace all the negative voids in my life with positive light, I nodded. “Yes.”

And I did want this. There was not one fiber in my body that didn’t.

I was warmed all over, limber and relaxed, waiting for him to bury his cock in me. I raised my hips and spread my legs a little more.

Peter pressed his blunt cockhead against my hole, and lying over my back and kissing my neck, he slipped into me.

God, he felt so good. He was twice my size, and he covered me, weighed me down with his body, and he fit inside me like a missing puzzle piece.

I groaned as I took every inch, and he threaded our fingers together. He was slow, tender, just like always, kissing the back of my neck, my shoulder. “Such a good boy,” he whispered.

I whined as he pulled out and pushed back in. “Oh yes, Daddy.”

“Does it feel good?” he breathed.

And I understood, I really did, all those forums and comments where guys said their place was to please their daddies. I didn’t know why or how, but there was something about making him happy that gave me a thrill, a purpose.

Just like his purpose was to please me. Like a good daddy should.

“So good, Daddy.”

He let go of my hand and hooked his arm under my shoulder, lifting my chest, arching my back. If I turned my head, he could kiss me now. So I did, and as soon as his tongue touched mine, I moaned and he bucked.

I cried out and he stilled, so I writhed on his cock. “More, Daddy.”

“Roll over,” he said, slowly pulling out of me. “I need you to come first.”

I did as he asked. Knowing an orgasm was imminent, I didn’t need telling twice. I spread my legs wide, lifting my knees to my chest, and he smiled before crashing his mouth to mine as he sank back inside me.

I took him, all of him, and he took my cock in his hand, stroking in time with his thrusts. We’d done this enough over the last few weeks that he knew which buttons to press, and he never failed. His experience and patience were a gift that he gave me every time we made love.

He stroked me as he hit the perfect angle, and I soon unraveled underneath him. But he contained me, held me, strung out every nerve of pleasure as I came. And only when I was a sated mess did he let loose.

I was so much more malleable, so boneless, he bent my legs and took hold of my hips and filled me. “Come in me, Daddy,” I urged him.

His eyes shot open, dark galaxies of lust. “God, Yanni,” he cried out, stilling and surging deep inside me.

There was nothing like it. Nothing on earth felt like it did when he came inside me. He made me his, in ways no one else ever would. I felt smug knowing he’d never given that to anyone else. Only me.

“God, Yanni,” he murmured into my neck. He slid his arms underneath me, around me, and I tightened my legs around him. He shuddered inside me, making both of us groan. “You are so incredible. You’re all I will ever need.”

I kissed his temple and rocked my hips a little. “And you’re it for me,” I declared. “You’re all I’ll ever need too.”

He pulled his head back so he could kiss me. “Still want me to order in Chinese food?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said playfully.

“Are you being cheeky?” He asked with a grin. “Naughty boys don’t get two rewards in one night.”

I laughed. “No, I’m a good boy.”

He grinned and kissed me. “Yes, you are.”

* * *

My appointment with Patrice was pretty full-on. My reaction to the men fighting at the soup kitchen was an important step in my healing process, Patrice had said. Not only did I not freeze in fear, but I acted to protect someone else.

Pair this with my waiting for permission to eat at Peter’s dinner party, and Patrice reminded me of the ebbs and flows she’d talked about. There would be huge steps forward and small steps back, and it was okay.

It was okay to stumble, and it was equally important to recognize that it was okay to be happy.

“It’s okay to be happy,” she’d said. “Repeat that for me.”

“It’s okay to stumble. And it’s okay to be happy,” I said.

She smiled like I’d crossed some invisible line of psychological fortitude, and maybe I had. I certainly felt better. Lighter, somehow. I recognized my misstep at Peter’s dinner party, that I’d waited for permission to eat, but there was no meltdown, there was no downward spiral, no guilt. I simply saw it for what it was and shook it off, and that, according to Patrice, was kinda huge.

As the appointment drew to a close, she told me to enjoy my dinner with the Landons―as I did every Wednesday night after my session with her―only this time it wasn’t Mr Landon waiting. It was Peter. He stood up from his chair in the waiting room and wiped his hands on his thighs. “All done?” he asked.

He was a little nervous about waiting at my appointment, probably unsure if I’d come out quiet or crying or even angry. I guess I’d only spoken to him on the phone a few hours after my appointments, long after I’d had time to decompress, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.

But today had been a good session. “It was good. Productive.”

He smiled, relieved. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.” We walked out to his car. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Dinner with the Landons is always entertaining, if not hilarious. And given Spencer and Andrew will be there, it’s sure to be fun.”

And it was. We were met with hugs and warm hellos and a mountain of food. Mrs Landon said it was thanks for all our help on her gala day, but truthfully, I think she just liked to make sure people were happy and well-fed.

However, I got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t telling me something or that she was waiting for the right time. I knew she’d tell me eventually, so I put it to the back of my mind and enjoyed my evening. We talked and laughed through dinner, and when Mrs Landon mentioned dancing and I admitted that Peter and I had never danced, it was decided right then and there that we would.

Mr Landon pushed the coffee table out of the way, and Andrew raced over to the sound system. “I’ll choose the music,” he said.

“Oh God.” Spencer gave us a serious look. “Be prepared for anything.”

Andrew shrugged. “Normally I would agree, but given I only have my parents’ music selection to choose from…” He waved his hand as the music started to play. “I present ye with the musical score from The Great Gatsby.”

“Great choice,” Mrs Landon said, holding her hand out daintily for Mr Landon to take. He obliged, of course, and soon they were waltzing elegantly across the living room floor.

Spencer held his hand out to Andrew. “Last time we danced right here, I almost died, so please be gentle.”

Andrew laughed as he spun Spencer around. “I’d rather never live through the anaphylactic shuffle again, thanks.”

Spencer threw his head back and laughed, and they slid against each other seamlessly and began to dance.

Peter held his hand out to me. “May I?”

I place my hand in his. “Well, you probably can, but I can’t dance. Actually, give me electronic pop and I’ll be your personal go-go boy, but classic old-style from the 1920s is not my first choice of dance music.”

Peter chuckled. “My own personal go-go boy?” he asked, definitely interested.

I shrugged one shoulder. “I used to like dancing.”

“Then we’ll have to go sometime.” He put my hand on his waist and pulled me close. “But for now, we’ll do it old-style. Just feel the beat and follow my lead.”

We did some kind of poor attempt at a waltz, which I’m sure I butchered, but no one seemed to care. In fact, Peter seemed to really like it, and I wondered why we hadn’t danced before now. “We should do this more often,” I said, as I leaned against his neck. “Not clubbing but just dancing. This is nice.”

The song changed and the music was a little funkier, and Mr and Mrs Landon started to swing dance. It was awesome!

“Show-offs,” Andrew called out. Then he and Spencer interrupted us, and I danced with Andrew for a bit, while Peter and Spencer danced, then Mrs Landon cut in, and I danced with her, tripping over my own feet half the time and laughing.

But then I noticed that Peter was still dancing with Spencer, both talking and smiling, and something stirred inside me. Was it jealousy? Longing? I wasn’t sure.

Mrs Landon whispered in my ear, “Go get him,” then twirled me off in their direction.

I tapped Spencer on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, I believe he’s mine.”

Spencer grinned and gave me a mock bow, and he stepped aside. Peter quickly pulled me close, closer than he’d danced with Spencer. “Yours, huh?”

I settled my head against his neck again, feeling like all was right with my world. “Yes,” I said simply. He replied with a smiling kiss to my head.

But soon the dancing was over and we all fell onto the couches, talking about music, and after Mrs Landon shot Andrew a pointed glare at her watch, Andrew and Spencer declared they had to go. It was a poorly disguised reminder that she needed to speak to us alone.

“Well, we better be off,” Andrew said, and they were still arguing over which of Jeff Buckley’s songs was the best―after “Hallelujah,” of course―as they were leaving. “It has to be ‘Eternal Life,’” Spencer said.

“Nope. It’s ‘Last Goodbye,’” Andrew argued as they walked outside to their car. “Everyone knows that.”

“More copies were sold in Australia―”

“But Australia doesn’t count.”

We all heard Spencer’s audible gasp, and we were still laughing at them as Mr Landon closed the door. “Everyone knows it’s ‘Grace,’” Mr Landon said to us. “But I wasn’t getting in the middle of that.”

Mrs Landon smiled at him. “How long do you give them?”

“Until they’re married?” He sighed. “A year.”

She laughed contentedly. “I was going to say living together, but married works.”

I settled into the sofa next to Peter and looked at Mrs Landon. “Did you want to speak to me about something?”

She smiled sadly. “Am I that obvious?”

“A little.” I took Peter’s hand with the feeling that this news wasn’t going to be good.

“I had a phone call from Detective Hernandez. Lance’s first court hearing is next Monday.”

Oh.

“His lawyers kept deferring, but the judge has called it in. The case is pretty solid. They’re just trying to buy time, that’s all.”

I nodded, and I could feel Peter’s eyes on me, so I turned to him and gave him a smile before I looked back to Mrs Landon. “Have they said what he’s looking at if he’s found guilty?”

“The detective said she thought he could get eighteen months to two years. It will depend on the judge though.”

“Do I have to be there?” I asked.

“Only if you want. This isn’t a trial. If he wants to fight it, or more to the point, if his lawyers think he has a chance, it could go to trial. You’d have to take the stand then, but that’s a long time away.”

I took a deep breath. Peter squeezed my hand.

“But they’re thinking he’ll take a deal.”

“What does that mean?”

“That he’ll plead guilty to a lesser charge.”

I nodded slowly. “You know what? I’m okay with it. Whatever the outcome. I mean, I want him to be convicted, and I want the world to know what he did and what kind of man he is. But he’s been charged, and that will follow him forever. His friends and family will know, the people he works with will know. If he hasn’t been fired already.” I shrugged. “I’m okay with whatever happens.”

Peter put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in so he could kiss the side of my head. Mr and Mrs Landon both smiled. “You’re a good man, Yanni,” Mr Landon said.

“Well, Patrice said I’d turned a corner. But I have to say, I couldn’t have done any of it without you three.” I looked at them in turn, Mrs Landon, Mr Landon, then finally Peter. “I really am very grateful.”

Mrs Landon gave me a teary smile. “Oh, Yanni.”

“I keep telling him he’s the one doing all the hard work, not us,” Peter said with a fond smile. “But he’s still not great at taking compliments. We’re working on it.”

I sighed loudly and deflected his comment. “Well, I’d still be living rough on Skid Row if it weren’t for Spencer and Andrew, so…” I shrugged because if weren’t for any of these people, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Physically or emotionally. “You know, you could have told me in front of Andrew and Spencer,” I added. “I wouldn’t have cared.”

Mrs Landon smiled. “Some things are best heard in private. I’d have hated for the news to upset you in front of anyone else.”

I was grateful for her consideration, but I wasn’t upset. In fact, I was looking forward to the whole thing being over. Regardless of the outcome, it would be over and I could really move on with my life.

“And,” Mrs Landon continued, “speaking of Skid Row, that reminds me. Collin, the red-haired boy you got to come in to meet us, he’s now working with the caseworker. And we’ve found him a place to live.”

“Oh, that’s excellent!” I cried. “Thank you!”

“Thank you, Yanni,” she replied.

We chatted a little more but it was getting late, and after a round of hugs and thank yous, Peter drove me home. I leaned over the console in his car so I could kiss him goodnight. “I wish you could stay,” I whispered.

“Mmm, me too.”

“Call me when you get home.”

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

“Never.” I kissed him again. “I’ll be in bed waiting.”

He groaned. “With that visual, it’ll be the longest drive home ever.”

I laughed and opened the car door to get out. “Don’t speed. I’ll wait up, I promise.”

He stayed parked until I was safely inside before he drove off. I said a quick hello to George, who was still up watching TV―who told me his persistence with Ajit’s mother was beginning to pay off―before I raced upstairs and got ready for bed.

Not long after, my phone rang and Peter’s name lit up my screen. “Excuse me, sir,” I said. “But if you’re already home, that means you exceeded the speed limit.”

His throaty chuckle in my ear warmed me all over. “Apologies, officer. But my boy was in bed waiting.”

I laughed and snuggled down in bed. “Yes, he is. Though he’s cold without his big teddy bear to keep him warm.”

“Teddy bear?”

“Daddy bear,” I corrected. Then I mimicked a high-pitched voice, pretending to be Goldilocks. “I tried the others, but the Daddy bear was just right.”

Peter laughed at that. “Are you really cold?”

“No. Well, a little. My bed’s cold when I first get in because you’re not in it. I wish it wasn’t a house rule that people couldn’t sleep over. I mean, I get why not, but still… everyone here likes you.” I sighed. “If anyone was even slightly hesitant or uncomfortable around you, I wouldn’t even consider it. But everyone here does like you, and they trust you. I’m sure if you just happened to fall asleep here one night, no one would care.”

“Oh, Yanni. I know, believe me. I wish we could spend more nights together too, but we can’t violate their trust like that. Imagine if I got up to pee in the middle of the night and ran into a half-asleep Jordan in the hall. I’d frighten the life out of her. Yanni, I can’t do that.”

I sighed again, long and loud. He was right and I knew it. I just selfishly wanted him in my bed. “I’m pouting right now, just so you know.”

“The image of your lips will be sure to play in my dreams tonight.” His voice was husky, the way it croaked when he was tired. I could almost feel his arms around me.

“Tell me what you’ve got planned tomorrow,” I said. My blinks were getting longer and longer, and the sound of his voice, soft and low in my ear, lulled me to sleep just like it did every night without fail.

* * *

I walked Jordan to the bus stop like always, then sent Tyler a quick text.

Hey, it’s Yanni. Not sure if you know already, but the court case starts next Monday.

His reply came through just as I was walking into school. Will you be there?

That was a loaded question and one I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer. Not sure I’m ready to see him again. I want to look him in the eye so he knows he didn’t beat me in the end, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough.

I read and re-read what I’d typed out, not sure whether I should hit Send or Delete. I hated admitting fear, but if anyone would understand, it would be Tyler. I let out a breath and hit Send before I could change my mind.

His reply came through five minutes later. Yeah. I’m hearing ya. Then another one right after. I’ll go if you do.

Well, shit. Then I kind of had to go. I couldn’t say yes and then bail on him. And being there with Tyler would be better than going alone, but there was no way I could go without Peter.

I checked the time. He would already be at work, and I hoped he didn’t mind the interruption. I sent him a message. Will you come with me to the courthouse for Lance’s hearing? I don’t know what time it is yet, but will let you know ASAP.

His reply was immediate. Of course I will. And don’t worry about the time. I’ll take the whole day off work.

Oh God, he was perfect.

Thank you.

Everything okay?

I smiled at my screen. It is now. I love you.

Love you, too.

I considered hugging my phone but the other students walking by might think me a bit weird. So I sent Tyler a quick reply instead. Yes, will be there. Will send you more details when I have them.

I read his response at lunchtime. Sweet.

And the days leading up to the court case were both good and bad. On one hand, I was excited to get it over with, and on the other hand, I was dreading seeing Lance again.

Patrice spent our session talking about the transfer of power and how it was now me who was in charge. Not in charge of him but of myself. He held no power over me. It was okay to be nervous. It was okay to be scared. It was okay to be worried.

Coming face-to-face with my abuser was a scary thing. A huge thing. I would be sitting in the same room as him, and he could react a number of different ways. He could sneer at me, smile at me, laugh at me. He could plead not guilty. He could call me a liar and tell the judge I asked him to hit me. He could tell the court any number of different things, and I needed to be ready.

I also needed to be prepared for the case to go to trial. I needed to know that the photos of me in my police report could be provided in evidence and that other people might see them.

I needed to be prepared for any possible outcome.

“Abusive people are great manipulators,” Patrice said. “They believe the lies they spew because they justify reasons in their own minds. So no matter what he says or does, you sit there with your head held high. You’re a survivor, Yanni.”

I left that appointment and felt anything but a survivor.

I felt hugely inadequate to deal with what was coming.

Mr Landon took me back to their place, and Mrs Landon took one look at me and gave me a crushing hug. “How about we have pizza and ice cream?”

Mr Landon did a fist pump behind her back, making me almost smile. We watched him race out of the room before Mrs Landon continued with her caring-mom face. “Then I can drive you home or to Peter’s. How does that sound?”

Everything in me screamed Peter’s, but that came with a wave of guilt. “I rely on him for everything,” I mumbled. “Like I rely on you guys.”

“Hey,” Mrs Landon said softly. She waited for me to look at her. “I know you feel a bit lost and out of your depth.”

God, she nailed that.

“But if you need to rely on Peter, then you go right ahead. Something tells me he won’t mind one bit.”

“He wouldn’t mind,” I mumbled. “He likes taking care of me.” I left out the whole like a good daddy should part.

Mrs Landon gave me a look that told me she knew anyway. “You know, when I was going through what you are, Allan was my Peter. And I relied on him for everything. God, some days I swore I couldn’t even breathe without him. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some days I could take on the world by myself, then some days I’d want to crawl into his lap and never leave.”

My cheeks heated with embarrassment, like she knew how much I loved to do exactly that. “Me too.”

“And you know what?” she asked. “There’s nothing wrong with that either.”

“You sound like Patrice.”

“She’s a very smart woman.”

I finally smiled, feeling a bit better. “Thank you.”

“You’ll get through this, Yanni. I know you will. And we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Mr Landon suddenly appeared, looking very pleased with himself. “Of course Yanni’ll get through this,” he said, putting his arms around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “No matter what happens on Monday, you’ve still got us, and you’ve still got Peter. And your roommates, and your friends at school, the people you work with. We’re all on your side.”

Mrs Landon eyed him for a moment. “You went and ordered pizzas already, didn’t you?”

He grinned without shame. “I wasn’t letting that opportunity slip me by. You suggested it, dear. I just implemented it.”

“Mm hmm,” she hummed. “You ordered the healthy-heart option, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he answered. Then he looked at me, shook his head, and whispered, “Like hell I did.”

“What was that?” she asked.

His reply was quick. “It’s being delivered.”

Mrs Landon sighed and looked at me. “The worst part of marrying an actor. They’re so damn good at acting.”

I laughed, and the heaviness on my heart let up just a little. We ate our pizza in front of the TV answering Family Feud questions, and when it came time to leave, Mrs Landon asked if I wanted to go home or to Peter’s.

“Home,” I answered. Knowing I’d be calling him as soon as I got in helped. As much as I wanted to be with him, I knew standing on my own two feet, even for just one night, would do me good.

I did feel a bit better, but as soon as I was in bed and called him, the tightness in my chest eased. He’d no sooner said hello than I sighed. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Everything okay?”

“I just missed you today, that’s all. I had a pretty shit session with Patrice, and I thought about just going straight to your place, but I’m trying not to rely on you for everything.”

“Oh, Yanni, you can count on me anytime. Do you need me to come get you?”

I closed my eyes and snuggled down in my bed, rolling onto my side and pulling the blankets up. “No, I’m okay. Just talk to me, please.”

And he did. About a funny, long lunch he’d had with Rob and Mike in the city, and how a lady at work was finally having a baby after years of trying, and how Neenish somehow managed to lock herself in the laundry room, and how that was a nice mess to clean up when he got home. He spoke about all the little day-to-day things that would have been inconsequential to anyone else, but not to me. I just loved listening to him speak.

“You still awake?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

“Yeah. Just listening,” I said sleepily. “You have a cadence to the way you speak that I just love. It’s melodic and relaxing. I should write my thesis on the power of your voice. I would call it The Intonation of Peter Hannikov. I’d get an A+.”

He chuckled, low and throaty in my ear, and it felt like he was right here with me. “I would happily be your muse.”

“You already are.”

“I should let you get some sleep,” he murmured.

“Mmm. I can’t wait for Friday.”

“What’s on Friday?”

“You’re picking me up from work, and I’m not leaving all weekend.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Just thought you should know.”

He snorted quietly. “Thanks.”

“’S okay.”

“Yanni?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait for Friday either.”

I fell asleep and it wasn’t until morning that I realized I’d slept with the light off. And I couldn’t remember if I’d had the light on or off the night before or if my door was locked or the window… I sat on my bed and stared at the offending lightbulb and door, waiting for panic to crash over me.

It never did.

And just like that, another demon lay dead at my feet.

* * *

I wasn’t kidding about not leaving Peter’s place. I’d already explained to Jordan that our usual laundry date would have to be another day. I’d explained I had this goddamn court case on Monday, which I was freaking out about, and she understood. So did my boss, who thankfully got someone to cover my Saturday shift.

So when Peter picked me up from work on Friday night, I had enough clothes for three days and my toothbrush in my backpack, some cash in my pocket, and no intention of leaving his arms.

Peter sat on the sofa and pulled me to him for some daddy/son time, so I crawled into his lap and buried my face into his neck. He wrapped his arms around me, stroking my hair, rubbing my back. “I missed you this week,” I mumbled.

“Missed you too,” he replied softly. “Did you want to talk about what happened with Patrice?”

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head no. “No.”

“Okay.”

Apparently I did want to talk about it. I sat up so I could see his face when I spoke. “She just explained what to expect on Monday. Lance might plead not guilty and fight all charges, which means it could go to trial. Then every single thing he did to me gets told in public and I’d have to testify and I’m not strong enough for that. Or he might not even show up on Monday; just get his lawyers to talk on his behalf. Like he couldn’t be bothered because the whole thing, me and Tyler, are nothing but a joke to him.”

Peter put his hand to my face. “Oh, my sweet boy. We’ll deal with Lance when we know what we’re up against. If he’s there, if he pleads not guilty, or even if the judge throws the case out or throws the book at him, whatever happens, just remember how I feel about you won’t ever change. I love you.” He kissed me softly. “And we outnumber him now. You and me together, okay?”

Fighting tears and swallowing past the lump in my throat, I put my hands to his face and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“I wish you could see how strong you are,” he said, brushing my hair off my forehead. “You say you’re not, but Yanni, you’re the strongest person I know.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I put my face back in his neck and let him hold me. He continued to rub circles on my back, and even though the rise and fall of his chest should have calmed me down, it didn’t. I was distracted, antsy, anxious, and stressed.

I kissed his neck. Warm, scented of everything Peter, and it felt like home. “Make me forget,” I whispered. “Take me to bed, unravel me, wear me out. I don’t want to think of anything but you.”

“It’s late,” he murmured.

“Please, Daddy.”

I felt his cock throb under me. Magic word, that. He maneuvered me effortlessly so I could wrap my legs around him, and he carried me to bed. He did everything I asked him to do. He devoured me, filled me, until there was nothing but him. Hours of agonizing ecstasy later, we slumped into the mattress, exhausted and spent. Peter simply lifted the blankets over us, and we didn’t move again until morning.

* * *

The best thing about waking up midmorning as Peter’s little spoon was the weight of his morning wood pressed against the cleft of my ass. And the even better part about falling asleep last night without getting cleaned up, was that I was slippery where he’d been inside me the night before.

I wriggled back onto him, and he groaned. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said gruffly.

“I’m very awake now.” Lifting my top leg, I reached under and behind my balls to my hole, feeling the slickness there. So I squeezed his balls and tugged on his shaft, trying to align him with my entrance. It was awkward, but I got my message across just fine.

Peter’s fingers gripped my hip. “You’re not ready,” he ground out.

“Yes, I am. I’m still covered in lube from last night,” I said breathily. “And I’m still full of your come.”

Peter’s fingers dug into my hip, his forehead rested against the back of my neck, and he rubbed his length through the crack of my ass. “Jesus, Yanni. You shouldn’t say those kinds of things to me.”

I smiled, loving how I affected him. I pulled my leg higher, giving him all the room he needed, and arched my back. “I want you inside me again. All day, all night.” He still seemed hesitant, so I moaned for him. “Have I been a good boy, Daddy?”

He pulled me close so my back was pressed against his front, his lips at my ear. “You know you have.”

I writhed against him, trying to press down on his cock. “Good boys get rewards, right?”

“You know they do.”

God, yes. I almost had him. His breath was harsh, his cock was hot and swollen, and so, so close to where I needed him. “Then give it to me.”

Peter pushed into me, slowly, perfectly. He caged me in his strong arms and held me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear like I was the answer to all his prayers. He was at the perfect angle inside me, brushing against my sweet spot every time he moved. I was helpless, impaled on him and completely at his mercy, yet cradled and secure, loved and adored.

I begged him to never stop.

Peter buried himself to the hilt inside me and stayed there. “Be a good boy and come for Daddy,” he said, his voice strained and tight. I stroked myself to climax, full of him in every possible way. And only when I’d sagged, spent and sated, did he start to move again. With his hand on my hip, he thrust into me until he stilled and roared, spilling his seed inside me.

With me still in his arms, him still inside me, we dozed off again. Later we showered and we ate, and when Peter suggested a movie, I crawled straight back into his lap again. We ended up spooning on the sofa, and by the time dinner was delivered, we were almost half-naked again. I made Peter get the door because his jeans hid his arousal. Mine did not.

On Sunday, I didn’t even bother with clothes. I just wore the silk gown and briefs around his house all day. And he loved it. He couldn’t stop touching me, kissing me, eye-fucking me. I bent over to grab us some water out of the fridge and Peter groaned, palming himself. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

I turned around and shut the fridge door behind me. The gown had come open at the front, so he had a great view of the bulge in my briefs. “Exactly how would you like me?”

He let his head fall back with a groan. “I can’t decide if you’re being a good boy or a naughty boy?”

I laughed and put the bottled waters on the counter, turned, and leaned against the cupboard. “That depends. What prize does a naughty boy get?”

He stepped in front of me, his body almost touching mine, and looked down at me. “Well, they certainly don’t get my reward,” he answered gruffly.

I pouted, disappointed. “Oh.”

He ran his hand down my stomach to my half-hard dick. “Maybe I should take a reward from you.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but the tone of his voice and the heat in his eyes made me very interested. “Like I said, exactly how would you like me?”

He spoke against my lips. “On the sofa, feet on the floor, legs spread.”

Holy shit. I walked out of the kitchen to the sofa, my legs shaking with anticipation. Things were so different with Peter. I was different with Peter. I trusted him. I trusted he would never hurt me, never humiliate me.

And so God help me, he didn’t. He loved me. He adored me, worshipped my body, my mind, my soul.

He knelt between my legs, and my heart thundered in my chest. He ran his hands over the silk, caressing my thighs, my stomach, my chest. He pulled my briefs down and licked me from base to tip. “Oh yeah,” he said roughly. “I’ll take my reward.” He took my cock in his mouth, and with his hands under my ass, he lifted me closer, taking me into his throat.

He took his reward all right. He sucked it right out of me.

But if his goal was to keep me distracted all weekend, then he surely succeeded. Because Monday morning came around way too soon, and before I knew it, I was dressed in my fanciest clothes waiting in front of the courthouse, trying not to have an anxiety attack. Or vomit. Or both.