Page 45 of Daddy Christmas

I was a fan.

Once he was done, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his hips. And he lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the tub.

“Just how much soap did you pour in there?”

I glanced around me. “A healthy amount? In my defense, the jets keep creating the bubbles.”

I’d amused him again!

He came over to me and reached for the showerhead. “You ready to wash the airplane smell out of your hair?”

“Yessir.” I scooted closer to the edge and got up on my knees before him. “What do airplanes smell like, though? I didn’t smell anything yesterday and today.”

“Hm. I suppose it’s just a saying. It sounds better than let’s wash off the travel sweat and airport germs.”

That made me laugh, and I peered up at him and planted my hands on his hips. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

“You must be drunk,” he chuckled. He angled the showerhead over me, and I closed my eyes.

Drunk on loooooove.

Not to mention pleasure. Bath time had quickly become a favorite of mine—Daddy’s too. It was a moment that sort of defined our dynamic and showcased the balance between littleisms and submission. He wanted me to be the goofball who loved the bubbles and splashing water around me, and then he also wanted me to obey him when it was time to get out of the tub. It simply made me super happy. And it felt so good with his fingers in my hair.

I hummed a Christmas tune to myself as he started massaging the shampoo into my hair, and it was tough to stand still. I had ants in my no-pants.

“You don’t look exhausted anymore,” he noted.

“Nope,” I snickered. “I have hotel energy.”

It was a thing. Because it was such a relief to be able to close myself in with my Daddy after all that traveling, and knowing that our only plan for the evening was to eat pizza in bed filled me with jolly joy.

I opened my eyes and brushed my fingers over his towel, and it was his fault because that perfect bump was right there in my face.

“Daddy?” I inched closer to where he’d tightened the towel around himself.

“Yes, baby.”

“What would you say is a more apt name for your cock—pacifier or throat scratcher?”

He coughed and stared down at me.

I smiled sweetly.

I could practically read his mind. He never knew what I was gonna say, and it made me giggle.

“Jesus Christ.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, eyes flashing with mirth. “Never change, Parker.”

Okay, but I hadn’t gotten my answer!

I guessed it didn’t matter. Both were accurate, and I wanted me some throat scratching.

He didn’t say anything when I tested the waters and loosened his towel, though I sensed he was watching me.

“Do you need something from Daddy?”

I nodded and took that as a green light. The towel landed on the floor, and I leaned in and nuzzled his perfect cock. It was all warm and soft and slowly growing thicker and harder. I captured the head with my mouth and lifted my gaze to his, and his fingers slowed down in my hair.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “Go on, suck on Daddy.”

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