by Anna Martin
True to his promise, as soon as they were done on stage, Chris pocketed his drumsticks and made his way through the packed club toward me. He was stopped every few minutes to exchange a few words of conversation or an offered hand to shake, kiss a girl on the cheek, and flirt outrageously with everyone he came in contact with. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on; it had been tucked into another pocket and trailed behind him limply.
He clearly had a reputation to uphold as something of a rebel and a terrible flirt, and I didn’t mind that part so much. It was more like… he was flaunting it in front of me, this carefree troublemaker persona that he wore with such ease.
“You were great,” I said as he finally sidled up to the bar.
“Thanks,” he said with an easy grin. The bartender let him skip the line and poured him two shots of vodka. The first he threw back, the second he held on to.
I curled my hand around his hip possessively, and he gave me a look that clearly said he knew what I was doing. I didn’t care. Mine.
A breathy, busty, blonde girl flitted over to us and gave Chris a pouty smile.
“Could I get your autograph?” she asked, batting her false eyelashes. She looked ridiculous.
“Sure.”
She presented him with a red marker.
“Oh….” False fingernails flew to her painted mouth. “I don’t have any paper.”
Chris raised his eyebrow, tucked his tongue into his cheek, and obligingly signed her breasts with a flourish.
“Do you want another drink?” I asked him as he handed back the marker.
“Nah, I’m good for a minute.”
The groupies were still lingering.
“Introduce us, Chris,” the girl with his name on her breasts said, clutching at his arm. “Is this your dad?”
He pulled a variety of faces as he tried to hold in his laughter, ending with his lips pressed tightly together. In my head I quickly cycled through the seven stages of grief.
“No,” Chris said eventually. “This is my… friend, Rob.”
“Nice to meet you,” she simpered and gave me a look that clearly said, Fuck off.
“Excuse us,” he said, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the crowd of people. When we were a safe distance away, he caught my eye and burst into laughter.
“Don’t,” I said in my scariest teacher voice. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Daddy.”
“I thought you were being good tonight,” I said, pulling him close. “Are you being a good boy, Christopher?”
“I’m trying so very, very hard.”
“Not hard enough,” I said, playing the game now. “Do you know what happens to boys who can’t behave themselves?”
“Oh, I hope I do,” he said, his voice right next to my ear now so I could hear his husky tone.
“Want to stay awhile?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
Our escape was somewhat hampered by Chris’s insistence that we stop in the parking lot to make out. He made what I decided was a very valid point—that since he didn’t have a jacket, or even a shirt on, he should share my coat. It made walking slightly difficult. Since we weren’t moving very quickly anyway, it didn’t really matter that we stopped to kiss every few paces.
When we arrived home, there was a moment when we silently discussed with a look whether the game would continue. The look on his face begged for it.
“You acted like an outrageous flirt tonight,” I started, giving him an opening if he wanted it.
“Yes,” he said. Averted his eyes to the floor.
“I don’t like you touching girls,” I continued. None of this was part of the game. It was all completely true—and he knew it.
Most of the time I wasn’t a jealous person—I’d never really had anyone to be jealous about before Chris. Now, though… something had changed.
“I’m sorry.” His words were barely more than a whisper.
“And making me feel like an old man did not help your case.”
“I don’t think you’re an old man.”
“Good. But that’s not enough. I warned you what would happen if you couldn’t behave yourself.”
The quickening of his breath was all the indication I needed that he was desperately aroused. Chris’s eyes were locked with mine as he unbuttoned, then slowly drew his pants down, stepping out of them and casting them aside. Standing in front of me, gloriously naked, he cast his eyes down submissively.
The sight of him like that was all I needed—if any confirmation was required—that I was not interested in having a passive, submissive man as my lover. I grabbed his chin and dragged it to my kiss.
“Over my knee,” I instructed.
I was still clothed and he naked; this only added to that delicious spike of naughtiness. I rubbed a cool palm over his arse, warming the area slightly before letting a stinging slap grace one cheek.
“Fuck,” Chris hissed.
“Now, now,” I admonished. “I don’t expect such language from you, young man.”
I slapped Chris’s arse again, letting the heat spread and rubbing the area before spanking again. And again. Chris’s moans intensified as I turned up the pressure and delivered three hard slaps in quick succession, appreciating the way a pink tinge spread across his pretty, round arse.
“Please,” Chris begged incoherently.
“Please what?” I asked, punctuating my question with another thump. “Please spank me harder, Daddy?”
“Please spank me harder, Daddy,” he begged, and I had to fight back my orgasm, which was threatening to break free from those words combined with the friction of my cock rubbing against Chris’s hot body.
“Stand up and turn around, Chris. Hands on the bed. Spread your legs a little bit. I want a nice view for what I’m about to do to you.”
Chris quickly followed my instructions. It was incredible how turned on he was just by being punished. I, too, wasn’t quite sure if it had more to do with my being in complete control over the situation or if it was simply the sexual tension in the room, which almost seemed to coat every surface with our desires. Either way, I knew Chris would do anything I asked of him.
Once Chris was in place, I took a few moments to appreciate the manly work of art presented before me. No one had ever turned me on as effortlessly as Chris was able to do just by standing there in submission.
“Close your eyes, baby,” I said in a breathy whisper directly into Chris’s ear.
Quietly, I undid my pants and let them pool around my ankles, making my cock spring free without the confines of underwear to hold it in place. I grabbed myself and slowly stroked from base to tip, twisting my wrist just slightly near the end to get the friction I so badly wanted, but I knew I couldn’t finish yet. After a couple of minutes of pleasuring myself, I gently started to rub my dick on the backsides of Chris’s thighs and arse cheeks. Chris moaned in appreciation and muttered a quiet “Fuck.”
“No talking, boy. I’m not done punishing you yet.”
So slowly that it was torture for the both of us, I moved my cock up from his right thigh toward where he wanted to be buried deep enough to make us both cry out. I pushed forward just enough that Chris could feel the pressure but never close enough to penetrate like I so desired to do.
Chris was going wild with want. He couldn’t help but scream out a strangled “God, Rob, just put it in already.”
It was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for. Smirking, I quickly pulled my cock back and came down hard with my hand to the left side of his backside. Pleased by the loud whimper that came forth from his mouth, I started rubbing the tender flesh as I had only a few minutes earlier.
“Tell me what you want, Chris, and I might give it to you,” I stated with a calm voice that belied the pent-up tension my body was feeling without the release I desperately wanted.
“You, Rob, I want you in me… now!” Chris was almost pleading
by this point.
“You need to be more specific than that, sweetheart. Turn around and get on your knees. You know what to do.”
With a frustrated groan, Chris fell to his knees before me.
Chris dipped his head slightly and peeked up at me through the hair that fell in his eyes. Giving a wink, he let his tongue come out to taste the precome that had gathered at the tip of my dick. He swirled his tongue around the head before slowly engulfing the entire thing as far as his mouth would allow.
He was quite proud of his ability to deep-throat me like no one else had ever been able to do before. Just as the tip reached the back of this throat, he swallowed, allowing it to go that much deeper. Pulling back just a little bit, he lightly scraped his teeth close to the base, making me fist my hand in his hair to pull him back only to thrust myself into his eager mouth once again.
It was a tango we both knew by now—a give and take we were well practiced in. Reaching up, Chris cupped my arse and started massaging it to the rhythm he set with the back-and-forth sucking motion he’d adopted on my cock. He could tell when his man was close: I would start to lightly chew the corner of my lip.
He ran his left hand up the back of my thigh and gently caressed just behind my scrotum while his right hand was busy furiously pumping his own dick.
“Chris,” I warned, and he hummed, in pleasure or agreement, neither of us was sure.
I came first, shooting hard into Chris’s mouth and moaning in a deep, gravelly tone the entire time. True to form, the hand flying over his cock caused him to follow only moments later, swallowing my come as his own sprayed over the pale skin of his stomach.
Firstly making sure he’d licked off any remaining spunk, Chris sat back on his heels to look up at me from under sex-heady eyes, basking in the glow of being able to turn me on in that way. I leaned down and gently ran my fingers through his blond hair affectionately, my heart still pounding from the ferocity of my release. He grabbed his shirt and wiped off his stomach, then climbed wearily up onto the bed, still naked, but he probably guessed I wouldn’t mind. I pulled on a pair of boxers, then slid into the other side of the bed and pulled my boy in close.
“Jesus, Chris, I can feel how hot your arse is.”
“Yeah, it is,” Chris mumbled sleepily.
“No.” I laughed softly. “I meant your skin is hot. Did I hurt you, baby?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “It feels nice. All zingy. Gimme a kiss.”
I obliged by laying my lips down on my lover’s shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”
“Love you too. Sleep with me.”
Chapter 9
Saturday afternoons had become “our” time, a natural extension of Friday nights, which Chris had claimed as well. My routine, once such a well-worn thing that I barely had to think about it, or even acknowledge its existence, warmed and flexed around him until he was completely incorporated into it. I taught him the pleasures of breakfast tea. One week he made me a “proper” American breakfast with eggs and bacon and blueberry pancakes. The next week it was my turn, and I made him a traditional Scottish fry-up.
The following week, we argued over whose was the best. Then agreed to disagree, and made toast. Toast was one of the few things we could readily agree on—he still grouched about the tea.
Saturday afternoons held less structure. We never showered until after breakfast, usually together, which most often led to some rather intimate groping-type activities. Since Chris tried to work as much as possible on the weekends, whether that was a gig with his band or freelancing, our Saturday nights together were slightly more limited.
Sundays, however, meant different things to the both of us. I had to go over my lectures for the week and make sure all of my notes were together so I could maintain my reputation as one of the best lecturers the university had to offer. Things like that were important to me.
Sometimes, though, I managed to get all of my shit together so that we had time to spend together on a Sunday afternoon as well. When the stars aligned like that, I’d text him, since he never seemed to want to answer his phone when I called, and figure out a time to pick him up.
Chris was waiting on the front steps of the house when I pulled up and beeped at him. Unsurprisingly, he was texting someone on his phone.
“Everything okay?” I asked him as he bounced over to the car and leaned in for a kiss.
“Yeah. Mm. You taste good. Do we have plans?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Why, do you have something you need to do?”
“Well, I’ve just been talking to Chloe. Apparently she’s finished all her homework for the weekend and is bored out of her fucking mind.”
“There are too many things wrong with that statement for me for to even begin to process,” I muttered, pulling away from the curb but heading out toward Luisa’s anyway. “How do you have Chloe’s phone number? Why are you texting her? Why on earth does she voluntarily want to spend the afternoon with me when she doesn’t have to?”
“She gave me her number the last time we saw her,” Chris said reasonably, winding down the window and turning up the stereo. I could never understand why he seemed to want to both freeze and deafen himself while he travelled. And me in the process. “She asks me sometimes how you are, what we’re doing, that kind of stuff. She wanted to come to a gig, but I said you probably wouldn’t be down with that.”
I cast my mind back to the breast-signing incident.
“I am certainly not.”
His tongue was lodged firmly in his cheek as he responded. “But I guessed going out for ice cream was probably okay.”
“The only ice cream place around here is in the mall.”
“Well, fancy that,” he said, mocking me, his voice dripping with pure innocence.
“Fine.” I sighed. “What time is she expecting us?”
“Whenever,” he said with a casual shrug.
I managed to catch up with him about what had happened during both our weeks, the time alone something that was surprisingly welcome, even if it was in a cold, noisy car. When we got to the house, I parked on Lu’s drive and blocked her in, because I could, and just caught sight of my daughter in her upstairs bedroom before she disappeared out of sight. The thought that maybe she was waiting for us, looking forward to spending time with Chris and I, was fairly alien to me. I’d spent too long thinking she hated me. Or resented me for leaving her and her mother alone at such a young age.
I knocked lightly on the door but didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just letting myself in since I wasn’t sure if Lu and the baby were napping or if Chloe would bother answering the door. The house was full of activity, the TV blaring and a baby screaming from somewhere out the back. As I called out, a small purple ball of sparkly material threw itself down the hallway, screaming, “Uncle Chris!” and landed on my partner’s legs.
“Hey, Pumpkin Pie,” he said, catching her deftly and swinging her up onto his hip. “Don’t you look like the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen?”
Cassie beamed at him. Simply beamed.
“Do you intend to charm any and all females and children in my life?” I asked him as Lu stuck her head out of the kitchen door.
“Come in, come in,” she called. “Cassie, leave Chris alone and go play nicely.”
Pouting, Cassie turned to Chris for confirmation that she had to go. He shook his head at her and winked. Of course, since Chris spoiled her, she naturally loved him, and when I turned back to the pair, Cassie had a red lollypop in her mouth and an innocent expression on her face set to rival Chris’s.
“It’s sugar-free,” he whispered to me, as if that mattered or I cared.
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Chloe!” I yelled up the stairs.
“Coming, Dad, chillax,” she told me in a bored voice as she sauntered down the stairs. “Mom’s breastfeeding. I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.”
Both Chris and I cringed, and she smirked before pus
hing through the swinging door into the kitchen. When Lu came out—both breasts covered, thank God—she looked more than slightly harassed.
“Thanks for coming by,” she said. “You wouldn’t mind stopping by the grocery store for me on your way back, would you?”
“Not at all,” I told her. “What do you need?”
She dug a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her jeans and handed it to me. “Thank you, darling, you’re a star. Couldn’t do it without you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You ready, Chlo?”