Page 24 of R for Rough

It was definitely one of the smallest loft apartments I’d seen outside of New York, but I reckoned that was a good thing for a Little who wanted all the coziness. The living room had enough space for both a small seating area and a dining table for four. And then one tiny bedroom—and a kitchen neither of us could be very happy in.

He held my hand as he showed me around, and he pointed to his favorite features, like his new food processor, the marble pastry board on the counter, and his knives.

He was tidy, and I liked that. Both in and out of the kitchen. He hadn’t expected guests tonight, but he may as well have. While he rambled adorably about his next cooking class, I scanned the living room area again. The basket next to his couch held stuffed animals and extra blankets, I saw no signs of him sleeping on the couch, and there wasn’t much scattered on the coffee table. A couple of coasters, a stack of magazines, and two remotes.

Some pictures hung on the exposed brick wall above the couch—only from travels. Atlanta, New York, London, possibly Savannah, and a few others.

“Where are all the family pictures, squirt?” I planted my hand at the top of his head, and he grinned goofily.

“In the bedroom,” he said. “I bought one of those digital albums I can flip through—or scroll through, if you wanna get technical—and it syncs up with my sister-in-law’s and mom’s devices. I get new pictures all the time!”

He was too fucking cute. And I liked the idea of a digital album. I might have to look into that.

“I can show you if you want?” he offered.

I smiled and touched his cheek. “I’d like that—maybe tomorrow. Right now, I wouldn’t mind a shower with you. It’s late, and I want to make sure I didn’t hurt you earlier.”

Tracy was a tight little thing, and I was gonna have to practice self-control.

Fuck me if he didn’t turn shy and plaster himself to me.

“Only the good hurt,” he mumbled against my sternum. “Full disclosure? I can’t believe you’re here.”

Christ. I squeezed him to me and pressed my lips to the top of his head. “That makes two of us.”

Could he be the one I’d lost hope of finding?

The jaded fucker in me had already decided he was too good to be true, and I was gonna have to be mindful. I couldn’t let my past dictate anything I ended up sharing with Tracy, ’cause I’d turn myself into a cautionary tale.

“You look like a giant, Sir,” he giggled.

I chuckled and rinsed the suds from my hair. “I was just thinking about what’s the tightest fit, you or your shower.”

He cracked up—and didn’t stop touching me. The boy was all hands, and a guy could get used to that. I was already starved for affection and human touch, and add the most addictive little boy to that mix…?

He’d offered to let me shower first, but I wasn’t having that. I wanted him as close as he seemed to want me.

When we were finished, I stepped out of the shower first and dragged a towel over my head and upper body before wrapping it around my hips. Then I grabbed another one that I enveloped him in, and he smiled up at me.

“Adorable.” I kissed his nose.

“You’readorable.”

Goddamn, he was trouble. He had the cutest fucking grin, and his eyes could disarm an army. And I didn’t have to hold back any longer. Seeing him goof off in the kitchen wouldn’t be a source of bitterness or anger anymore. Instead, it was going to make my day because I could inhale him whenever the fuck I wanted. I could touch him, kiss him, take him, and make him mine.

I dipped down and kissed him, and he took that as an invitation to climb me like a tree, which I was very fine with. Hell, he felt perfect in my arms. I deepened the kiss and wrapped his legs around my hips, and then I carried him into the bedroom.

“I’m needy-wanty,” he whined.

So is Daddy.

I couldn’t wait to hear him utter that name for me. When he was ready.

“We’ll see what I can do about that, but first, I’m gonna do an inspection.” Since I hadn’t been able to do it in his tiny shower.

I tossed him onto the bed, and he giggled up a storm and instantly scrambled over to his “favorite stuffie ever,” a large pillow-shaped thing with big eyes he’d named Fluffster. Even I could admit it was ridiculously soft, and it was too easy picturing him sleeping with it. But I hoped I could start replacing it soon.

“No hiding under the covers,” I said, pulling them down again. I stole his towel, too, and threw it over the chair in the corner. My own towel followed.

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