top of page

Hot Daddy Summer

I’m not as much of a fuck up as everyone thinks I am.


Not enough to earn banishment to a part of New York State where tractors outnumber fuckable men who also fuck men by at least eight to…. well, if I find even one, I’ll let you know. But my parents felt I couldn’t be left “at loose ends” while they went on their big anniversary trip and the next thing I know, I’m helping my cousin’s wife run her farm stand business in Middle-of-Nowhere, NY. Technically here at the Buttermilk Falls Fares and Wares Festival.

It’s not like I don’t want to help. Fiona has her hands full since my cousin Billy got called up to active service. Hell, I even like the making the jam and salsa parts. So I try. I’ve been trying to get things right since I woke up in the hospital. But shit blows up in my face. If my life were a webcomic, pretty much every other panel would just say Chaos ensues.

Like right now. There’s a crowd three deep at the front of our stand and for some reason, Fiona, who is normally totally chill, turns to me and starts shooting off a list of stuff she needs me to do, like I’ve been lazing around instead of working my baggy-shorts-covered ass off peddling her jam and salsa. Of course, everything she needs me to do involves taking the wagon on a long, hot slog up to where the van is parked.

“Jayce.” She sighs. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Her frown smooths out. I know she’s trying to be kind, but it pisses me off when she says, “Want to write it down?”

“I’m fine.” My working memory’s gotten better over the past few years. It’s just the time in and around the aneurysm that’s a little fuzzy. Or, you know, completely and terrifyingly fucking gone. Welcome to your twenties, Jayce. Again. Or for the first time. I might as well be ninety years old.

The heat hasn’t slowed the crowds down at all. They’re squeezing in for samples of jam on bitty oyster crackers like this is all they’ll get to eat today. We’re on our second 6800 count box of crackers, and I swear I’ve personally dabbed jam on 6000 of the damned things. The third box is what Fiona is sending me for, although we’ll be shutting down in another forty minutes or so.

Since she’s got me loading the wagon with stuff we don’t need, her youngest daughter Madison is trying to keep up with the samples alone, while the older one Abby is handling the sales. The jalapeno-enhanced cherry is going fastest, what with Fiona naming it Bing Bam Boom. Mad is turning back to scoop more crackers and Abby’s making change, so I’m the first one to see the little hand reaching up to grab at the sticky red jar on the end of the prep table. The jar currently coated with sugar-crazed yellowjacket wasps.

“Oh hell,” Fiona breathes. “Mad, grab the—”

But she’s only thirteen and too far away. My height gets me there in a step, long arms able to reach over and knock the kid’s hand away.

The kid screams bloody murder, even though I’m the one who gets stung. I lose count after the third stab of burning needle jab into my hand.

“Ow. Motherfucker.” I don’t even say it that loud but the upright, uptight crowd here in Livingston County clutch their pearls in shock.

One, in a sparkly T-shirt yells, “That man assaulted my grandson. Get security.”

And like I said, chaos ensues.

My hand is on fire, and the kid landed on a hay bale instead of the ground, so I’d say he came out the winner.

I’m lucky the whole nest isn’t after me, but apparently their sugar lust is more important. As Fiona tries to calm down Grandma, Mad comes running up to me with a big chunk of ice that she helps me hold on my hand and wrist.

“He was only protecting your grandson,” Fiona explains. “He was going to be—

“He shoved him,” Grandma screeches. The messy blonde bun on her head wobbles with indignation. Sobs continue pouring from the kid clinging to her green capri-clad leg.

“Would you rather he got stung enough to go into shock?” I yank my hand away from Madison and the ice and wave it at her. Fuck that hurts. Yellowjackets can sting as many times as they damned well like. But despite his shrieking grandmother, I still say better me than the kid.

“Jayce.” Fiona says it softly. I know she’s telling me to back off and leave it to her, but the injustice of getting yelled at for falling on a grenade really has me wound up.

“What I want,” Grandma pushes back her shoulders like she’s showing off the glittery lady bugs on her tacky shirt, “is for security to come. And the police. I’m pressing charges for assault.”

A calm but deep voice says, “Where the witnesses will have to report that the child was unsupervised when the Good Samaritan intervened.”

Damn. I feel like I’m in some courtroom drama where the sexy lead attorney has just shredded the bad guy. And when I say sexy, make that AF.

His eyes hit me first. For a second that’s all I can see. His eyes looking at mine, like there’s something he needs, and I want it to be me. Yes please, Daddy. His hair goes from silver at his forehead to gun-metal gray and darker. His cheekbones could cut glass. Under the long slope of his nose his mouth holds a tiny hint of a smile in one corner. I want to kiss it until it widens, feel that dark stubble against my face, feel it burn lower when he—

“Uncle Roman.” Madison squeezes between our tables and launches herself at him.

Uncle? Oh fuck. I’m perving on a guy I’m related to? Wait. No. He has to be on Fiona’s side of the family because I might be missing twenty months of my life, but I can name all of my cousins, and nope, no Romans there.

“Hey, Maddie.”

Grandma Ladybugs tries to get riled up again, but no one’s paying attention to her anymore and security has not appeared. “You need to learn to keep your hands off other people’s children.” She starts dragging the kid away.

“And you need to pay attention to yours.” Not one of my best comebacks. I’m sure I’ll think of something better at about two A.M. tonight.

“Stop.” Roman, aka Silver Fox, aka Do Me Daddy, looks directly at me.

I glare at him. What makes him think he gets to give me orders? I mean, it’s not like he knows the thought of him giving me a different, as in suck-my-cock, order has me boning up. Especially since that part of me is hidden behind the taller display table.

 “I don’t like to be called Maddie anymore, Uncle Roman.”

Normally, I have respect for Madison’s in-your-face style, but I wish she didn’t need to interrupt the hottest eye fuck I’ve had in years. Like we were halfway to boning there.

“Sorry, Miss Madison. I didn’t know.”

“Because you’ve been gone forever.”

I wonder exactly how long that means. My cousin Billy married Fiona and became a stepdad about five years ago. I was at the wedding, or so I’ve been told, but I can’t remember anything about it. Which could be because that was around the time I woke up to find chunks of my life missing, or because weddings are boring as shit when you’re too young to drink, so I didn’t pay much attention while I was there.

Had Roman been at the wedding? Is that why he’s looking at me as if he expects me to say something, besides the Hey Daddy, wanna fuck? I’m only too happy to provide.

I really don’t want to ruin my chances because of him thinking I forgot him, so I lean over the counter. “Jayce. I’m Billy’s cousin.”

His gaze narrows in stern Daddy perfection. “Roman. Fiona’s brother.”

I start to reach out my hand, anticipating a spark when we touch, and then suck in a very unsexy hiss of pain. Feeling stupid, I stare down at the boxing glove of skin at the end of my arm.

“You should take care of that.” He nods.

“I had some ice.”

“Right. I forgot.” Mad tosses me the chunk, but my right hand can’t catch it because, like I said, boxing glove.

“I’ll get you some more.” He strides off.

I watch. Not skinny jeans, but tight enough for me to appreciate his assets. Fuck yeah.

“Mo-om,” Abby complains. “I didn’t even get to say hi.”

“He’s not leaving. And we’re all going to Nana’s for dinner,” Fiona says. “Now start packing up. It’s going to rain.”

“It’s not—” Thunder cuts Abby off.

Fiona smiles at me. “Smashed my elbow falling off a horse at her age. Like a built-in barometer now. Take care of your hand. We got this.”

Must be nice to have a traumatic incident leave you with something useful instead of headaches and two missing years.

Roman the Sexy is back with a baggie of ice and a can of pop. He points at the hay bale that separates our booth and the one next to us selling tasty pickles. I supposed I’d be really obvious if I checked to see how bad my garlic-pickle breath was.

“Jayce, sit.”

Does he know he’s using a Daddy Dom voice straight out of my best jerk off fantasies? Throw in a boy and or else and I’ll be kneeling at his feet. My hand still hurts like hell, but the pain had a different edge to it. If he told me he wanted to watch me suffer, I could roll my swollen knuckles against the hay bale. Forget checking my garlic breath. If I’m not careful, he’ll be able to see my interest despite how loose my shorts are.

He sits next to me and gently pulls my hand onto his thigh. His fingers rest against my pulse point, and he checks his watch.

After a few seconds I say, “What’s the verdict, doc?”

“Fast but strong.” He smiles, but his eyes are sad. “And not a doctor.”

I think about telling him he’s the reason for my racing pulse, but I’m not completely sure he’s queer. Hitting on Fiona’s straight, older brother could make staying with her for the summer really fucking awkward. Instead, I say, “Boy Scout?”


I jump as he rests the ice bag across the top of my hand.

He looks over my shoulder. “Fee, do you have something I can wrap the ice in?”

I duck as a roll of paper towels flies past, smacking him in the face.

His lips twist. “Thanks, sis.”

While he tears off a sheet, I shoot him a look through eyes supposedly lowered to my swollen hand. Fuck. If I’d submitted specs to, and they sent me him, they’d get a five-star review. Broad shoulders under a fitted button-down, rock-hard thigh under my forearm, just a bit taller than me. I give him the blink that usually lets guys know I am 100% interested, but either he ignores it or he’s too busy checking my hand to see it.

“Ever had a bad reaction to a sting? Any trouble breathing?” Now he’s looking at my face.

“No.” I don’t add the cheeky Daddy that would tell me if we’re on the same page, but I give him my cutest smile.

His thumb touches a spot on my hand, and I yelp and flinch.

He holds my hand up to those icy blue eyes behind silver-framed glasses. “Think you’ve got a stinger or two in there.”

He gently lowers my hand to his thigh and reaches into his back pocket. Unfortunately, he doesn’t show me a condom, but comes back with his wallet and takes a thin card from it. Not thick enough for a room key or a credit card. More floppy like my health insurance card that is going to expire at the end of the year since I’m turning 26 and can’t be on my parents’ anymore.

At my obvious side-eye, he holds it up, and it’s a bright yellow Livingston County library card.

Now I roll my eyes and pick up the ice bag. “You have a sudden need for books?” He’s refusing to flirt and now he’s waving a library card in my face? Whatever. I start to stand up. His hand on my upper arm yanks me back onto the bale hard enough that the sharp edges of hay poke my ass in a way that’s not as much fun as it could be under different circumstances.

“This should scrape them out.” He pokes at his phone and hands it over. “Hold the light so I can see.” The thunder clouds have turned the sunny afternoon to twilight.

Wind kicks up the dirt where the grass has been worn down. “Should we maybe help Fiona get the stuff back to the car first?”

“If you’ve got stingers in there, it’s going to keep making your hand swell.”

He tilts my hand back and forth under the beam from the phone as Fiona and Abby tear down the tent marking our market stall. As he sets the card against my skin, I can’t help a little hiss of pain. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes.” Then in a low murmur he adds, “Just like I know how to handle pushy brats.”

My sigh is a little exaggerated, but the relief comes from my toes. “Thank God. I was afraid I was going to have to message you on Grindr.”

“I don’t have an account. And I said I know how to handle them, not that I was planning on handling you.”

He scrapes with the card. There’s a tug under my skin then a hot needle pain as the stinger comes free. I suck in my breath.

He looks up and meets my eyes with a smile, but it’s not a happy one. Someone must have broken his heart, I decide. And right then, I want to help him fix it. Especially if the fixing involves him spanking and fucking my ass. Besides, I am not about to give up on probably my only chance to get laid the way I like it while I’m stuck here in the no-dick sticks for the summer.

I lean closer while he peers at my hand. “Please, Daddy. I promise to be good.”

He flinches, but his voice is calm. “I doubt that.”

I wish there was a little more to work with in his answer. The only thing I’ve got going for me is that he’s still holding onto my hand. He flicks again with the card, and I feel that tug and sting again.

“Thank you.” I give him the blink and the bottom lip flick.

I’d say he’s not interested, except for the way his fingers caress my wrist when he lets me go. My breath catches, and his gaze goes to my mouth. Yeah. This is not one-sided.

“I think that’s all of them.” He tucks the card and his wallet away. “You should probably take ibuprofen or naproxen for the pain and swelling. And an antihistamine.”

I can’t remember seeing anything but off brand Tylenol in Billy and Fiona’s medicine cabinet. If there was something like Bendadryl in there, it was so old I wouldn’t take it on a bet.

He misreads my expression, low deep voice murmuring, “Or don’t, and be stuck jerking off with your left hand for a while.”

“No, I mean, I’m not stubborn. I just don’t have any—that is I don’t think Fiona and Billy have any. I’m staying with them. For the summer. And I don’t have a car. And Fiona needs to get Madison home…”

Great. Now he’ll think I’m a pathetic loser which, while kind of true, is not the way I want him to be thinking of me. Hi, I have no life is a long way from sexy brat in need of taming.

His expression gets stern, and I want to melt all over him, drop to my knees and fucking worship his dick. How does he not see how in sync we already are?

“Is the Walgreens in Honeoye still there?”

I nod.

He gives me the barest hint of a nod back.

I jump up and run over to Fiona.

“How’s your hand?” She slides the canopy into its bag and slings the strap over her shoulder.

I hold it up for inspection. It looks even worse than it feels now that those two stingers are out.

“Ouch. Do you need—”

“Roman says I need an antihistamine. I’m going to ride with him into Honeoye, save you the extra trip.”

She looks over my shoulder, at Roman, and she doesn’t look happy. Not mad or anything. And it’s not exactly worry. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

She must know her brother’s gay. And okay, I can see where people might have an issue with the gap in our ages. But it’s not like I’m a teenager. And despite his gray hair, Roman doesn’t look much older than his thirties.

The far-off thunder vibrates the air again and Madison whines a Mom from where she’s dragged the wagon halfway up the hill. Mad’s afraid of thunderstorms since lightning split a tree right outside her bedroom window.

“Get her home. I’ll be fine.”

She exchanges some kind of look with her brother over my shoulder. Then she shakes her head, grabs the last box, and follows Mad and Abby to the van.

I don’t need her permission. At least I don’t think I do. I might be staying with her, but she and Billy are only twelve years older than me. I’m not sure exactly how the arrangement went down, the one where I was voluntold to come out here to help Fiona work the summer fairs and festivals until Billy’s deployment ends.

Part of it was that my parents weren’t exactly thrilled when I got academically suspended from college in May. Maybe I should be ashamed about it too, but I can’t seem to care. Like whatever part of me that remembered being excited and interested in a communications major had disappeared along with two-years of memories. I shoot a side glance over at Roman, glad that I didn’t forget how fucking hot I found the whole Daddy thing. But porn could only sustain a guy so long.

Roman doesn’t say much as he leads me to the parking lot, and if I thought being a sexy Daddy meant he’d be driving an equally sexy car I am seriously mistaken. It’s a small Nissan pickup, probably from the last century, in an eye-assaulting shade of rusty orange. Not that it was full of rust, it was that color.

I slide onto the gray bench seat and poke at the CD slot. “Is that a cassette player?”

He shoots me a look that makes my balls tingle and my mouth snap shut. For a few minutes anyway.

As he shifts into fourth on the highway, I go back to flirting. “Nice to see you really know how to handle that stick.”

I get a hint of a smile before his jaw tightens. “Save it.”

I let a few hills roll by, lightning flashing on the horizon. After a deep rumble of thunder stops vibrating my ears, I say, “For what?”

He shakes his head. I can’t help feeling like I’ve missed part of the conversation. How did we go from eye-fucking, a comment about handling brats, and the way he stroked the skin of my wrist to him acting like he wishes he could leave me on the side of the road?

We pull into the Walgreen’s parking lot just as the skies open. It’s instantly blinding, winds and rain powerful enough to rock the truck. He parks at the back of the lot, close to where scrub brush starts to climb a hill.

After shutting off the engine, he turns to stare at me. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Does he seriously expect me to go running in for Benadryl right this second? I can barely see the store through the sheets of water. The parking lot is looking like the kind of thing you’re not supposed to risk driving through, let alone walking. “Can I at least wait until it lets up a little?”

He sighs. “No, I mean why are we here, Jayce? You engineered this.”

What the hell? Yeah, I was angling for it, but he’s the one who suggested the trip. I “Well, we’re here because you said I should take Benadryl for this,” I wave my swollen hand. “But if you’ve got any other suggestions, trust me, I’m up for them.” I put my other hand on the crease of my hip, drawing his attention to my dick which has been in a perpetual state of are-we-going-for-this? since I clocked him.

“Damn it, Jayce. What do you want from me?”

His explosion startles me. I turn on the seat, leaning up against the door to face him. “Okay. That’s a bit extreme, man. You are hot as fuck, and I am totally on board for some Daddy-brat play, but—”

It’s the look on his face that cuts me off. Not hungry. I wish. Not like I’m a mental case, thank you, God. But confusion and caring all rolled into the crinkles at the corners of his gorgeous eyes and the lopsided curve of his slightly parted lips.

He stretches a hand toward me, but then jerks it back. “You really don’t remember.” His voice is hard to hear over the rain pounding the roof of his ancient car.

“Ah, shit. I knew it. Billy and Fiona’s wedding, right? Did I make an ass of myself? Oh God. I hit on you.”

“You did.” The lopsided curve became a full smile that rumbled in my chest like the echoing thunder outside.

“What can I say? I have a type. And good taste.” I watch him. “Oh damn. Did we hook up?”

He doesn’t have to answer, I can read his hurt confusion, no problem.

“Man, I am so sorry.” I want to touch him, just a hand on his thigh, but there’s something in that look that stops me. “It’s not like that, I swear to God. I don’t have that many, uh, hook ups, and it’s not that I was black-out drunk.” At least I don’t think I was. I point to my head, then shift the carefully arranged flop of my hair to reveal the scar that starts a little below the hairline above my left eye, then curves almost to my left ear.

He gasps. Yeah, it looks pretty Frankenstein-ish, even without the staples. Definitely not my best feature.

I let my hair drop over it again. “Aneurysm. Makes me sound like some old fart, I know, but…” I shrug.


“It fucked up my memory.” I don’t want to get into the rest of it, the helplessness, the rehab. “It’s a long boring story.” I brace myself against the door and spread my legs as much as I can in this tin can of a truck cab. “Please tell me it was hot, that we were hot together, because I swear this time will be even better and—”

“Shh.” His finger brushes my lips, and that’s enough to spark gooseflesh on my arms in the best way, all shivery anticipation.

His hand moves slowly, like he’s giving me time to shrink away, and then he gently shifts my hair again before his finger trails over the scar. Usually, that skin is numb, but his touch creates a tickle of sensation that tingles across my scalp then down into my shoulders.

“Tell me the story. I won’t be bored.” He waits.

“Okay, well, it’s not much to tell from my side of it. About five years ago, I was in my junior year at U of R. I went home for Thanksgiving, and this thing just popped.” I gesture at the scar again. I go light on the details, that there are two more little fuckers in there, supposedly titanium-coiled into safety mode. I’m looking for hot sex, not a pity fuck. “I hit the floor in my parents’ kitchen.”

Roman nods.

“This is all what they told me, anyway. Because when I woke up in the hospital, I was missing a huge chunk of time. Like I couldn’t really remember much of the other semesters or Billy’s wedding. I lost about twenty months completely.” Lost is one way to put it. It feels more like something stolen from me. All of what was supposed to be my awesome time in college. I swallow back the resentment and check out how he’s taking this. He looks serious and interested, like the type of doctor that actually listens to you when you explain what’s wrong. So no pity fuck. Excellent.

“It’s not like amnesia or anything,” I explain. “I knew who I was and all that, knew where I’d been going to school. I remembered going out there the first time, even the RA I hooked up with at orientation, and trust me, he wasn’t super memorable. And totally not as hot as you are.”

His hmpf says he’s not into the flattery right now.

“But that’s about it for that time. So please don’t take it personal that I forgot what happened at the wedding. Or after.”

His face softens, lips parting a little, and he’s studying me in a way that makes my throat go dry. It’s like he’s deciding exactly what he’s going to do with me. Not in the serious way from before, and not the exasperated way he’d done at the fair, but the super-hot Daddy Dom way from my absolute best fantasies. I hang there, waiting, breath tight in my dry throat, blood filling my dick.

He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, but he’s not rough. I could totally pull away if I wanted to.

“Personally,” he says.

“Huh?” Maybe I didn’t hear him right since the rain is really slamming down.

“Don’t take it personally. You needed the adverb. Your aneurysm didn’t make you forget how to construct sentences.”

A grammar lesson should not be so fucking hot. But the way that grip feels like it’s controlling me, the way his eyes are staring me down like he’s daring me to argue makes me want to dive across the bench and suck his dick as a thank you for correcting me.

“No.” I agree, and why is this so fucking hot? Behind the lenses, his eyes are a bit darker now, the pupils wide so there’s only a small ring of the winter-blue iris before the darker ring at the edge. I’m dizzy, falling into those beautiful eyes, his fingers on my chin the only thing keeping me anchored. The rain, the throbbing from the stings in my hand, the press of the door against my hip fades from awareness. There’s just his attention on me. My skin vibrates from it, lighting me up inside. I’m ready to jump off the cliff, head first.

“And after you got out of the hospital?” His voice is still soft, a vibration just louder than the rush of water around us.


I don’t want to talk. I want to ride this feeling. Damn, we must have set the sheets on fire. No wonder he was so cold when we met. Again.

“You did nothing for five years?”

It sure as fuck feels like that now. And I don’t want to tell Mr. You Need an Adverb that I failed out of community college. What I want is for Roman to make me feel all the ways I’ve dreamed, the way my ex Sam couldn’t because to him it was just a kinky way to get off. The mind fuck Roman is delivering with his stern face and hold on my chin is a next-level high.

“I don’t want to talk about that bullshit. Are we going to fuck or what?” It sounds like a whine, but my throat is too tight to do better.

There’s a shift in his expression that starts up the goosepimples on my arms again. He caresses my jaw, then holds tighter.  “If you were my boy, that would get you into serious trouble.”

“Like what?” I can’t even hear my own whisper over the rain.

But he understands me. “Swearing and being a pushy brat? Maybe I’d soap your mouth before I took you over my knee and spanked you.”

I groan because just like that, all my attention is back on the needy swell of my dick trying to bust out of my shorts.

He goes on. “And you definitely wouldn’t get to come. Not for a long time.”

Oh fuck. At least that’s what I try to say, but what comes out is a desperate moan.

He gives my chin a gentle shake. “But you’re not my boy.” He lets me go.

“I could be. Did we play before, when we hooked up after the wedding?”

He frowns, then nods. “But this isn’t—there’s more you need to know. And I’m not just playing, Jayce.”

My brain has gone into fuck-or-die mode, and all I understand is that amazing, electric promise is slipping away from me. “But we were good, right? So we could be again. Let me show you what a good boy I can be.” I swallow back a Daddy. He said I’m not his boy. But I put everything I’ve got into my next word. “Please.”

He studies me for a minute. “If you say no or stop, we stop. Understand?”

“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes, yes. I can’t imagine saying no to anything that makes me feel this good. And I can take some pain. I like it.

“Take off your seat belt.”

We both do, but we just sit there. Even tucked away in this back corner of the lot, when the rain stops, we’ll be too visible to do anything fun. Though I gotta say, I have never been so turned on by just sitting next to a guy. I think I’m ready to do some serious violence if I don’t get to find out how it feels when we actually do something. His hands, hands that I desperately need to touch me, to deal me pleasure and pain, slide over the steering wheel, making me epically jealous of that cheap piece of plastic.

The wash of sound from the rain softens a bit, signaling the end of our privacy. I finally explode. “Jesus fucking Christ, if I’m just going to sit around with a hard dick, I can do that shit at home by myself.”

He grabs the long pieces of my hair that cover my scar and holds me while he leans toward my ear.

“That would get you a long session with a hairbrush over my knee. Mine is wood. Heavy. I barely have to swing it to make it hurt like hell.” He lets me go.

The smooth deep-voiced threat goes right to my dick, precome pearling up in my slit. I’m so stiff I swear I could drive nails with it, and my balls ache from all this back and forth.

“I think you’re all talk.” I don’t care if I piss him off for real now.

There’s a slight curve to the corner of his mouth. “Will you let me punish you, Jayce?”

“Yeah.” Duh, like we haven’t been talking about that all—

He flicks a fingernail against the top of my ear.

“Ow.” That really stung.

“Be glad that’s all you’re getting right now. That I don’t drag you over my lap in this parking lot.”

Oh fuck. There’s so little blood left in my head I’m dizzy. Hello, new public nudity kink. In the meantime, the pain from where he flicked my ear has turned all sweet in my belly, making a wet spot on my shorts.

He watches me with that hint of a smile. “Would you let me bare your ass right here?”

“Uhn.” I can’t fucking think why not right now.

“Unzip,” he says, finally. Fucking finally. “Keep your shorts on but take out your cock. Don’t you dare stroke it.”

I think about sneaking a stroke in, testing him, but then I think of his fingernail flicking against the head of my dick and behave myself. But my balls are pushing for more. More sensation, even if it’s pain.

God, I am made of want.

I rest my hands on my thighs, so nothing’s touching my increasingly desperate dick, but pleasure pulses under my skin, hot jolts of it making my breath too loud. I want him to take the power I’m offering up, take charge in a way that erases everything from my brain except the link between us.

I shut my eyes, but that leaves me too alone in my head where the itch of anxiety waits. Time’s not guaranteed. I need to—

No. I’m here. Now. I open my eyes to focus on him, the steadiness of his gaze on me. I lean into the way he smells, like sunshine and cotton and sweat, a sharp prickle of menthol on his neck from his aftershave.

“Good boy.”

The praise is warm in my belly but doesn’t take the edge off the need. I shift to squeezing the seat to keep my hands off my dick. My hips rock in a helpless plea for contact and finally, thank fuck, finally, his thumb swipes across my slit. I want to cry with relief, but the pressure is gone already. His hand comes toward my face, and my mouth is already watering.

I open my mouth as he pops his thumb between my lips.


I let him push in, licking the salt, savoring the feel of his skin on my tongue as I swirl it around.

He yanks his thumb free. “No.” His voice isn’t impatient, but firm. “I said, ‘Suck.’”

When he slides his thumb back in, I do. I suck hard, letting him feel the hungry draw, the tight slick pressure from my palate, the squeeze when I swallow.

He withdraws his thumb slowly. There’s a barely-there shiver across his skin. Yeah, Daddy. Let me show you.

Confidence deepens my voice. “I may not remember what we did.” I lick my lips. “But I can tell you five years is a lot of time to practice.”

“And you’ve sucked a lot of cocks in five years?”

“Not as many as I wish I had, but still, I’ve had practice.”

He gives a soft laugh at that. “As much as I’d like to put your experience to the test right now, the rain is letting up.”

A flare of alarm jolts through me. “But—” I look down at my dick, my swollen right hand.

Jesus, my dick hasn’t gone down at all. If anything, thinking about sucking him only made it harder. Right now it’s red, looking as pissed off as I’m starting to feel. Especially because I hear the slack in rain volume and know there’s a time crunch.

“Hm.” He studies my dick. “Looks like you do have a bit of a problem there.”

I push down my frustration and give him my best twink look, working the blond for all I’m worth. “Please, Sir.”

He closes his hand around the shaft of my dick and gives it a firm tug. Pleasure rumbles through me, drumming in my blood.

“I tell you what.” He gives me a few more strokes, nice little twist to them, and I’m sinking into it, loving the friction and the filthy risk of getting a hand job in a Walgreens parking lot in the tractorlands of rural New York. He speeds up then slows back down. “I’ll let you get off. If you’re a good boy and come when I tell you.”

My balls draw up tight. Had I told him back then that this was one of my favorite games?

“And to make it fair, you can take over.” He swipes his thumb across the top.

I am so ready. But when I move my hand, I get a painful reminder of why we’re at Walgreens in the first place.

He reads my wince. “Right. Then you’re really going to have to be a very good boy.” He puts his fingers to my mouth. “Get me nice and wet for you.”

I give his fingers a drooly suck, then lick his offered palm.

His grip is good and tight, and when he first starts, the rush is so good I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold off until he tells me. But the tiny bit of my brain that can still think that is also hearing that the rain is really slacking off and now I’m afraid we won’t get to the money shot.

He speeds up, and I pant a little encouragement, nodding when he adds that extra twist that drags me to the edge.

“Are you close, Jayce?” He says it right in my ear like a kiss.

©Cin Forrester 2022

bottom of page