Page 15 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

Tatum’s still too blissed out of his mind to make sense of Scotty’s words, so he just blinks dazedly at his best friend andsmiles. Once they’re gone, I pick up Tatum without removing my fingers from his hole. His legs loop around my waist, and he’s got his head resting on my shoulder. He’s going to be a sticky mess if I don’t get him clean. I mean, I don’t necessarily mind sleeping at his side, his cooling cum connecting our bodies like glue, but I doubt Fee would be into the idea.

When Fee and Brody were still an item, we spent most nights cuddled together in bed, me between both of them. Brody and I never shared a sexual spark, but it felt right having him next to me. He never asked Fee to take the center role, and part of me wonders if it was due to his latent bisexual awakening. They were barely friends, much less head-over-heels for each other after I joined the mix. Perhaps he was removing himself from the situation without even realizing. Now, Fee and I share a bed with Tatum, and he’s taken the center spot. At first, I assumed the layout would remain the same with me playing middleman. Then Tatum wedged himself between us, claiming he was worried an intruder might sneak in and murder him, so we were to act as human barricades. I believed him at first—then I caught sight of the smug smirk he gave Fee after separating me from her. They may be friends, but I never miss the death glares he shoots her when she kisses me. Well, when she used to kiss me. Tatum either hasn’t noticed, or he hasn’t mentioned it, but what I once shared with Fiona is done. We had a talk a few months ago, and we both decided until Tatum and I figure out what this thing is between us, it’s best she and I refrain from sexual activities. His jealousy is unspoken, but it’s there for all to witness, and I’m tired of witnessing it. I hate seeing him that way.

Cleaning him off means taking him to the shared, communal bathroom on the other side of the parking lot. There’s a chill tonight, so I wrap a blanket over his nearly nude body to keep him warm. Once we’re across the grounds and in the bathroom, Tatum looks like he might fall asleep at any moment, so I set him on the bathroom counter and begin the task of cleaning him. I reach for a washcloth, but his hand wraps around my wrist.

“Yes, little one?”

He doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. Instead, he slides his thumbs into the waistband of his jockstrap and wiggles side to side, pushing them down. My heart slams in my chest, because even though I’ve fingered him hundreds of times, I’ve only ever seen his cock once. The night we met.

“Tatum, sweetheart, you don’t have to?—”

“Abi,” he whispers, cutting me off. Our eyes lock and he gives me a decisive nod. As he slides the jock down, I’m introduced to his pubic hair. If I’m being honest, I’ve expected him to be clean-shaven. He seems like the hairless sort. Not the case. Blond pubic hair covers him like carpet, neatly trimmed, but thick enough to squiggle between my fingers if I wanted to. Trust me; I want to.

He lowers the fabric a bit farther, and I’m greeted with the base of his cock. It’s thicker than I remember. He’s such a tiny man, I guess I pictured him with a tiny cock to go with the aesthetic. His hands stall and his warm breath gusts across my face. He’s breathing heavier than normal, so I place a hand on his arm to steady him. He takes a deep breath before sliding his jockstrap all the way down, introducing me to a part of himself I’ve spent the last six months dreaming about.

“Do you like it?”

I lean in and kiss the curve of his smile. “I love every inch of you.”

He reaches into what little of his cock his jockstrap still covers, and when his hand emerges, it’s coated in cum. My mouth waters in hopeful anticipation, and I inch closer to him, pleading with my eyes.

“Is that for me?” I ask, pointing at his cum-coated hand.

“Do you want it?” When our eyes meet, I can see mischief swirling around the surface. He holds it out for me, only inches from my mouth. “Tell me you want it and it’s yours.”

“I want you,” I say, taking a step forward. As much as I’d like to taste his flavor, I want him to know how much I appreciatehim for giving me this part of himself. Leaning closer, I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, mumbling to him, “I love you, Pretty Baby.” Pressing another kiss to his cheek, I work my way up until I’m at his ear. The way he’s trembling against me makes me think he wants this just as much as me. “You’re mine, now. Always.”

His body goes stiff—just for a second, but it’s enough for me to notice.

“Look at me, Abi.” I tear my eyes away from his cum, and when I do, I realize I’ve completely misread the situation. He no longer looks lost in his lust. Now, he’s got the same look he had at the bar. Annoyed. Irate. Irritated by my existence. He lifts his arm higher before slapping me as hard as he can, right across the face. His cum slathers against my skin, and the sting of his palm sends me staggering back. A droplet of cum slips into my mouth, and I immediately spit it out, though not due to taste. Tatum asked me not to eat his cum earlier. I do not wish to do anything without his consent.

“Why?” I groan, cupping my cheek. I’m fairly confident I cut my cheek on a tooth.

“Why?” he mocks, hopping off the counter and taking a rag from the shelf to clean himself. “You just forced me to ejaculate in front of our closest friends! Why? Why, Abi? Are you fucking high?”

“You could have used the safeword. We have it for a reason.”

He quickly darts his eyes away. “Fuck off.” With his crotch dry, he tosses the rag over his shoulder and marches toward me. “I want you to get this through your head, asshole—I am a prisoner here. This isn’t some romance novel where a twink with Stockholm syndrome falls for his captor. I detest you. I despise everything you stand for.”

“You don’t mean that,” I say. “I know you do not mean it, Pretty?—”

He drives a finger into my chest. “Stop fucking calling me that. I’m not your Pretty Baby. Or your little one. I’m a grown-assman with friends and family I want to get back to. And, do you know what? Maybe I will. Maybe, once we get back to Texas, I’ll run away until you leave. And, by the way, fuck you very much for not filling me in on that new addition to our agenda. You must have known about it before he told me. Fuck knows you know everything else that goes on around here.”

“I knew nothing. I would have told you if I had.”

“Liar, liar, asshole on fire. Was this your plan all along? What was your endgame? To woo and wow my parents until I’ve got no means of escape from whatever the fuck this is?” His hand is flicking back and forth, motioning at us.

“We both know you do not want to escape,” I say, my voice taking a bitter tone I’ve never used with him. “You run away, then you wait for me to find you. We do this constantly, Tatum. It is our thing.”

“We don’t have a thing. We’re not a couple,” he argues.

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you will believe it.”

His eyes widen, and he’s staring at me as if I’m the one who just slapped someone. Like I’m the guilty party in this situation. Maybe I am. Maybe we both are. Good. We can be guilty together. I inch closer until my chest is right against him.

“I fucking hate you,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound terribly genuine. “There’s no way I’m coming back with you. I’ll stay with friends if I have to.”

“Which friends?” I keep my tone soft, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but needing him to see sense. “Your boyfriends? Are you talking about the Bens and Austin? Baby, they haven’t even mentioned you on social media. Not a single word. I would never do that to you. The day you went missing, I would have been on the hunt, and I wouldn’t stop until I found you. They cannot love you the way you deserve. I can. Why can’t you see that?”

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