Page 10 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Tell me,” I say, leaning in closer. “Did an unnecessarily attractive Russian behemoth threaten to kill you if you served me alcohol?” Standing on my toes, I lift my hand to roughly indicate Abi’s height. “He’s about this tall, he’s got stupidly sexybrown eyes, delicious freckles across his cheeks that I donotwant to play connect-the-dots with using only my tongue, and a body sculpted by the Goddess herself.”

“The Goddess?” she asks, but I roll my eyes, because now isn’t the time to discuss my religious beliefs.

I glance down at the nametag on her chest. “Listen, Beatrice, any other time, I’d be more than happy to tell you the wonders of the Church of Rinna, but this is hardly the time, and it certainly isn’t the place. Focus, please. Where is he?”

She swallows, unable to meet my gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I lean over the bar, resting my weight on my elbows, and give her my widest smile. “The thing is, that man likes to think of himself as my Daddy. Now, don’t get it twisted, I’m not into age play, but I do enjoy showing off my bratty side. So, I indulge him.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with?—”

“My point is, he likes to pamper me. He dotes on me. Carries me around on his hip at all times, no matter how many times I tell him I hate it. What do you think Daddy’s going to say when he finds out the mean waitress refused to serve me?” I cup my face with my hand and thrum my fingertips against my cheek, waiting patiently. “The last person who refused me hasn’t been seen in months. I bet that guy’s awfully lonely. Could probably use a friend to talk to until Daddy finally slits his throat. Tell me, do you have a problem with being tied up and trapped in a dark closet for months on end?”

Alright, I’ll admit it. Clearly, I’m lying. The only man Abi’s ever kidnapped is me, and he insists—repeatedly—that I’m actually the one who asked him to tag along. A bold-faced lie, if I’ve ever heard one.

“Please,” she whispers, leaning in close. “I have children. Well, I have cats, but still.”

“Fine,” I shout, flinging my hands in the air. If she won’t tell me where Abi is hiding, I’ll find him myself. I whirl around onmy heel, my eyes darting here, there, and everywhere the neon lights illuminate. The longer I look, the more frustrated I become, because he’s nowhere to be found. Taking a step forward, I pause long enough to look over my shoulder at the bartender. There’s a pressing matter that needs to be addressed. Squaring my shoulders, I try to make myself bigger than I actually am, but I don’t know if it makes any difference, because she’s still got that same dazed look on her face. “If you see him, don’t youdaretell him I referred to him as Daddy. Do you understand me? The man has an ego the size of Dallas, and I refuse to allow you to stroke it by telling him I’ve dipped my toes into puddles of Daddy-kink. I will never hear the end of it. Don’t even think about it. And, if you’re already thinking about it, I’d advise you to think again.” She opens her mouth to speak again, but we’re done with the question-and-answer portion of our evening, so I whirl around like a dainty little thing and focus on the task at hand.

Abi. I need to find him.

There are twinks, twunks, and bears aplenty, but I don’t see anyone resembling my Russian stalker. There’s a small twinge of disappointment stinging my heart, but that’s a ridiculous emotion that holds no relevance to my current predicament, so I shove it down into a tiny ball and pay it no mind.

He’s not by the dance floor. Not by the speaker boxes. I glance behind me, wondering if he’s trying to pull a fast one by sneaking up so he can pick me up and carry me out of this bar on his hip, but he’s not back there, either. My heart races when I spot a giant on the other side of the bar, and beats faster the longer I wait for him to turn so I can see his face.

When the man finally looks over his shoulder, I quickly realize it isn’t Abi. Yes, the men have the same unnecessarily conservative haircut, but his hair doesn’t lay the same way as Abi’s. They’ve got the same big brown eyes that sparkle like diamonds. They’ve even got the same square jaw. To anyone else, they might look related. I am not just anyone else, though.I’ve been literally attached to the man’s hip for half a year. I know every line on his face. Every crinkle in his porcelain skin. The gray strands that have started growing in his short beard. The corner of his brow where the first sign of sweat shows itself. How his lips quirk at this fascinating angle when he calls me hislittle one.

The bar is dark, and the flickering neon lights are useless, but I don’t need them. Rip out my eyes. Tear out my heart. I would still know Abi Kincaid.

I head toward the back of the room, sliding and shimmying between sweaty bodies until I finally reach the stage. There’s a tap on my shoulder and I groan, because of course, this is the moment he chooses to show himself. Damn him for this. Goddess-fucking-forbid I have a moment’s peace. Goddess-fucking-forbid I get one night to myself.

I whirl around, my hand already in the air, prepared to strike. Luckily, I’m able to stop myself when I realize it’s not Abi behind me. Instead, there’s a drag queen wearing a sequined gown and hair that looks like Jessica Rabbit.

“Sorry,” I scream above the music, but she just reaches behind me and slaps my bare ass.

“We’re even,” she shouts into my ear. When she pulls away, she’s got an oversized permanent marker in her hand, and I watch as she opens the cap, crouches down until she’s level with my belly button, and writes something across my abdomen. Once she’s done, she points at the small set of stairs leading to the stage. “You’re up there.”

Glancing down, I see the words Pretty Baby slathered across my tummy, and I want to crawl into a hole and die. Abi’s here. It’s the only explanation. He’s the only person who uses the endearment. Three other twinks follow me on stage, and while I’m still not sure what I’ll be forced to do up here, I can’t lie and say it doesn’t feel good to have everyone’s eyes on me. The queen who scribbled on my chest is the last to step on stage, and when she does, she walks past us, gently cupping our crotches,one after the other, commenting on each man’s heft. When she gets to me, she stares down at my bulge and snickers.

Fucking snickers!

Her death will be merciless.

“You might not be packing much, but that ass is the total package,” she says into the microphone before spinning me around to show my ass to the crowd. Whooping and hollering, the crowd returns a bit of the self-confidence the queen stole when she casually insulted my cock. “Welcome!” She’s facing the crowd, beaming ear to ear. “We’ve had a record turnout for this year’s Hands on a Hard-On contest.”

Hands on a hard-on?

I turn to the other men and notice they’ve got their hands in their pants, casually stroking themselves. What the fuck kind of bar is this?

“You all know the rules,” the queen says to us. “You pump your hand in time with the rhythm of the song. If you intentionally stall, you’re disqualified. If you ejaculate but pretend you haven’t, you’ll get a year-long ban from our bar.” She darts her eyes back to my bulge and licks her lips. She may have insulted my size, but I guess size doesn’t matter to her all that much. “As for our lucky winner; you’ll be gifted a once in a lifetime vacation destination package.”

I turn my head, looking around the room. Scanning the crowd, my breath hitches in my chest when I spot Abi leaning back against a wall, focusing on me. As usual, the beautiful bastard has his phone out, aimed at me, probably filming my every move. It’s like he’s daring me.

The man has a protective streak that knows no bounds. He’s threatened to cut off men’s cocks for staring at my ass, so I highly doubt he’s going to allow me to masturbate for an entire crowd. My dick swells a little when he licks his lips. Instinctively, I raise my hand and offer him a wave. It’s a ridiculous action, considering my current headspace, but it’s like my body is working against me. I look at my hand, then my crotch, andfinally, back at Abi. I expect him to motion me over to him, refusing to allow me to ejaculate in front of these men, but he doesn’t. The motherfucker winks at me like he owns me. Like he wants me to thrust my bits around for every man in the bar to see, because those bits belong to him, and he wants everyone to know.

Well, if he wants a show, I’ll give him one. I kind of want to see how jealous I can make him before he finally storms the stage, tosses me over his shoulder, slides a finger in my ass, and carts me away from any-and-everyone he considers a threat.

I slide my hand into my jock and wrap it around my ever-growing shaft. There’s already pre-cum seeping from the tip, and when I look down, I watch as the wet patch spreads across the fabric. Part of me wants to pretend I’m leaking because of the crowd, but I think Abi and I both know it’s because of him. The man makes me crazy, but the way he looks at me sometimes—the fire in his eyes—is like a sexual awakening in its own right.

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