Page 50 of Losing his Daddy

Most people got comfortable in their own homes. They'd walk around in their boxers or without a shirt. Not Gerald. He was the biggest fucking cocktease that way. Not that he knew my opinion on the matter or anything.

Which is why he couldn't understand how excited I was to see him bared to me.

As he tugged his shirt over his head, I sent up a thanks to whatever deity I needed to for putting me in this moment with this man. I let my gaze trail over every centimeter of skin he revealed. The slight roundness of his belly made me want to nuzzle him there like he'd done my neck earlier. Then came his muscled arms and the swell of his biceps. He might have hated some of the memories of his time on the ranch, but they were marked all over his body. Scars from work accidents. Muscle from the hours of labor. He maintained quite a bit of it even through his addiction and rehab.

So caught up in his upper body, I almost missed the reveal of the rest of him. I only caught sight of his pants hitting the floor for a second when I realized there wasn't anything left to see. He was naked underneath. My quiet, broken man had been commando this entire time.

I let my head fall back on my shoulders. He was too much. Too sexy, too enticing. I shouldn't have suggested this. How the fuck would I keep my hands to myself when he was so close? How would I not blow my fucking load on him the minute he put his hands on me? It was already a losing battle despite not having even truly getting started.

Chapter Twenty

Gerald

This man was a god.

Fuck.

I couldn't believe my eyes at how magnificent Weston's body was. He looked like one of those ancient Roman statues museums put on display. He held a considerable amount of muscle on his large frame. Add in his thick beard, and those veiny, hairy forearms and well, I was gone for it. Every inch of him called to me.

The promise I'd made about not pursuing anything fell to the wayside. And then swept under the rug. I couldn't even put together the reasons I said I needed to avoid being romantically involved with him now that he was standing before me bare as could be.

"The water will eventually turn cold," he said when I still hadn't moved a muscle.

"Oh, right."

Reaching past him, I opened the shower door and pointed inside. He took the hint, moving into the large space and waiting stock still as I shuffled in next. I grabbed the shampoo and conditioner first since I knew we needed to work from the top down.

There was a seat on one wall of the shower, so I moved him how I needed him and pushed until he sat. The new position made it easier to access his head since he was taller than me.

I desperately wanted to impress him. I knew it didn't make much sense, but it was how I felt.

Maybe it had to do with the way he always had an answer for things. There wasn't a task or a question I asked that went unanswered. He was like a fucking encyclopedia of information on everything I needed or wanted to know.

And then there was the attention he gave me.

It was all consuming in a way I'd never experienced. He was always watching, always learning things about me. I knew he thought I hadn't noticed, but I did. I could feel his eyes on me, even when I was busy with a task or focused on something else. It was as if the air around us changed somehow. I'd learned what it felt like fairly early on after catching his eyes on me more than once.

I ran through those memories as I worked the shampoo through his hair and beard. It was an intimate process that put me square between his spread legs. I couldn't ignore the bulge pressed against my thigh, nor the heat rolling off his big body when I moved him to rinse off.

The process repeated all over again with the conditioner, and then the true test began — cleaning his body. I filled a washcloth with soap. The scent that I'd come to associate with Weston enveloped us so completely that I couldn't ignore it. My cock, which had surprisingly been only half hard, sprouted to life at the fragrance.

Thankfully, Weston didn't say anything, though I knew he noticed. How could he not when it kept brushing against him? While I wasn't as big as him, there was no missing my uncut length bobbing with each swipe of my hand or shift of my feet.

"Turn around, please," I said once I'd finished his chest and arms. If I'd thought the front held a great view, then I'd underestimated just how sexy back muscles were. I traced the cloth over each peak and valley, tracing the veins as they appeared and fighting back a shiver of desire.

I let him rinse, then I sunk to my knees to wash his legs. I purposefully avoided his ass since the area was far too tempting. How long had it been since I'd been this close to someone? There hadn't been anyone to tempt me in ages. But that all changed with Wes. Every minute in his presence tested my patience.

"Turn again," I called hoarsely. It wasn't until he turned that I realized the position I'd put myself in.

Wes's cock was dangling right in front of me, the tip only a sway away. As in, if I swayed forward just the slightest bit, I'd be pressed against him. I huffed out a laugh at the thought. I was far too horny for the task of taking care of him like the submissive I was supposed to be.

Or maybe not. In the bit of research I'd done about service submission, I'd found varying degrees of what people considered service and how they traded off power. Some preferred monetary compensation while others leaned more towards the sexual. There were those in between who found submission with partners sexually, and then had even more service focused tasks through their careers. It was literally anything goes since either person made their own set of standards.

Who was to say that my standard couldn't involve some more intimate moments with Wes? If I gave him my body, I didn't have to give him my heart, did I?

Because that's really where my fear sat. I knew from all the talks I'd had with my therapist and in group sessions that my entire viewpoint of boss and employee dynamics was skewed thanks to falling in love before. I’d believed that getting hurt wasinevitable. There was nothing to stop me from pleasing Wes, or from seeking pleasure, so long as I didn't let it go any further.

A teeny-tiny part of me questioned the logic. The bigger part of me, the one that ached to touch Wes's cock, to taste him, buried the feeling before it could fully form.

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