Page 42 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

He whimpers. A soft, fragile sound. One that goes unnoticed by the rest of the booth, but not by me. “Hope you die,” he whispers.

I snort. “Yes, I know. You hope I die and hope I cry. But do you know what I hope for?”

“What?”

“A lifetime by your side.”

He sniffles as he leans even closer, resting his head on my shoulder. Our eyes are still locked, and he has this childhood innocence look about him. “That was a terrible rhyme, but I really like the sentiment.”

“Yeah?” I know there’s more hope in my voice than I have any right to, but Tatum’s eyes are just as hopeful.

He gives me a halfhearted shrug. “Hope it’s a super-short lifetime. Can’t wait to be rid of you.” He quickly lifts his head and kisses the corner of my mouth before laying it back on my shoulder.

Tatum’s father clears his throat, and when I look at him, he’s chuckling softly to himself. Every eye—sans Mrs. St. James’s—is on us, and there’s a knowingness in their gazes. “Listen, son,” he says. “As sweet as this is, you might want to go to the restroom to take care of things.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “I am fine, sir. I do not need to urinate.”

“I think he’s talking about the fact that you’re essentially giving Kincaid a handjob with your buttcheeks,” Scotty says. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Cheap slut.”

“My slut,” I whisper, kissing Tatum’s jawline until my lips are at his ear. “Daddy’s little whore.”

Tatum’s eyes bulge and his cheeks burn red with embarrassment. “We didn’t?—”

“Nyet,” I say, feeling no desire to hide our actions. He offered me the chance to provide him comfort. I took it. End of discussion. There is nothing to be ashamed of. “Mom and Dad, I will be taking Tatum to the restroom now.”

Tatum glares at me. “What did I tell you about calling them Mom and Dad?”

“You told me nothing would give you more pleasure, my love,” I lie, winking at him.

Mrs. St. James beams brightly at us. “You know, when Nate and I started dating, he enjoyed a bit of public play, too.”

“Mom!” Tatum shouts.

“We went to second base at a drive-in theater once. Cars all around. People everywhere. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as alive as I did at that moment.”

“Is that so?” Fee says, her gaze locked on Mrs. St. James. “What movie?”

Mrs. St. James blushes and looks away. “Titanic.”

“Was it the scene in the car with the foggy window? Is that what got you hot and heavy, Lindsay?” The tone in her voice is one I’m more than familiar with. Normally, I might ask her to refrain from flirting with my future-husband’s mother, but Mrs. St. James does not seem to mind. In fact, she seems to be tickled pink. Mr. St. James, on the other hand, looks as if he’s ready to throw his glass into the picture window behind him.

Mrs. St. James shakes her head. “It was when Jack painted her like one of his French girls.”

Fiona places a hand on top of Mrs. St. James’s and squeezes. “That scene was my bi awakening. It’s the first time my mother let me watch a movie with nudity.” She licks her lips. “Kate Winslet can get it. Any time. Any place.”

Tatum buries his head in my shoulder and groans. “Make it stop.”

I chuckle as I slide one hand beneath his thighs and use the other to hold his back. He jolts when I stand, realizing I’m bringing him along for the ride. As I carry my boy to the public restroom, he holds on for dear life. “When we go in here,” I tell him, using my shoulder to open the swinging door. “You are going to masturbate while I watch. When it’s done, you will ejaculate into my mouth. Is this understood?”

He bites his bottom lip, probably to hide a smile he doesn’t want to show. “Okay.”

Once we make it to the restroom, I set him on the counter and turn to lock the door. When I whirl around, Tatum’s fast at work, furiously stroking his cock, the head aimed right at me.

“Get down here. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he says, sounding breathless. Kneeling in front of him, I present Tatum with an open mouth for him to use as he sees fit. “I’m close.”

Reaching up, I slide my hand between his shirt and his skin, letting it rest against his stomach. He moans at the connection, his hand working even faster. “Such a good boy,” I murmur, kissing his thigh. His body trembles and the sounds he’s making are practically feral.

“More?” he pleads. “So close.”

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