Page 29 of Daddy Christmas

We had a full day planned! We just had to run by my place first so I could change clothes and pack an overnight bag.

He eased away to check on the pancakes and the time. “About an hour.”

I could do a lot with an hour.

“Then maybe I should suck Daddy’s perfect cock,” I whispered.

The heat in his eyes turned me on every friggin’ time. He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “Perhaps you should.”

* * *

It was an outrage.

That Wyatt had never had Benny’s Tacos.

“Will you stop huffing at me, boy?”

I huffed.

As soon as he pulled into an empty parking spot, I climbed out of his car, and I huffed again. The man lived in LA—he’d lived here for as long as I’d been alive, almost! Whatever, he’d lived in New York, Boston, and Italy too. Whatever. His car was registered in California. That meant something. And he’d never had Benny’s Tacos.

I slipped my hand into his and nearly dragged him into the joint, which…I mean, maybe it didn’t look like much. It was a hole-in-the-wall without being surrounded by that many walls. Let’s call it a cantina that may or may not have been a run-down diner at some point—it didn’t matter! They had the best quesadillas in the world.

“What’re you doing?” I stared at him, offended, when he pulled out his wallet. “We have an agreement.”

He made a face and promptly tucked away his wallet again.

I might not be flush with cash like he was, but this was my stipulation. If he was paying a decorator God knew how much to add Christmas stuff to his home—primarily for my sake—I was buying him lunch and paying for our activities today. We’d been to the tar pits, we’d had ice cream sandwiches, I’d bought ingredients so I could bake cookies at his place, and I’d bought us two ugly Christmas sweaters!

He’d had the sexiest and, at the same time, humblest grin on his face when I’d picked the sweaters. ’Cause I got the sense that this was as meaningful to him as it was to me, and I never wanted him to think he was rushing too fast or smothering me. To use his word from earlier. He’d literally said, “You have to tell me if I’m smothering you or taking up too much of your time.”

Like, how about no? How about, he wasn’t taking up enough time?

Once we had our combo plate of tacos and quesadillas, I filled our tray with extra salsa and napkins, and he carried our sodas to a table.

“Okay, prepare to be amazed.” I sat down and hauled my hoodie over my head. I didn’t wanna get salsa on it.

He totally was amazed. At the first bite of his shrimp quesadilla, I could tell he was a Bennyliever.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“I know.” I took a big chunk from my chicken taco and went straight to heaven.

And the chips…? Freaking yum.

“Makes me wonder what else you haven’t tried.” I spoke with my mouth full, ’cause that was me. “What if you’ve never had lunch at a food truck? Like, could we even be together?”

He snorted in amusement and picked up a napkin, only to reach across the table and wipe my mouth.

I smiled like a goof.

“First of all, swallow before you speak, sweetheart,” he reminded me. “Second of all, what do you take me for?”

I was gonna obey.

“I’m practically a food-truck regular at corporate,” he said. “This may shock you, but I don’t choose upscale restaurants because I don’t enjoy anything else.”

I circled a finger around my face. “This is my dubious face.”

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