Page 3 of Fitch

He thumbed through his phone to a health app I recognised. He opened it and tapped on the screen to show me his health status. Negative to everything. “Show me yours.”

I hesitated because this kid was too damn bold. Then he leaned up and whispered in my ear. “You can’t come inside me if you don’t show me.”

Fuck.

The little punk leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear, voice warm. “And you want to do that, don’t you?”

Fucking hell.

I fished my phone out and found the same app, showing him the screen. When he saw the list of negatives, he looked up at me and hummed. Then he slid his hand along my thigh, running his fingers along the inseam of my suit pants until his fingers brushed my balls.

I shot him a look, and he had the audacity to squirm, blinking through his lashes as if he was doing nothing wrong.

Then he rubbed his hand up over my crotch and palmed me. His nostrils flared and his eyes melted when he felt hardness. “Fuck yes,” he breathed.

I smirked down at him.

He licked his lips, his cheeks pinking up.

God, I wanted to pull him onto my lap. I wanted to hold him, feel his small frame under my hands, feel him squirm on my dick.

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to hear him whimper and beg.

I wanted this cab driver to hurry the fuck up.

The boy kept palming me, rubbing, feeling me harden under his touch.

I grabbed his wrist. “Mm-mm.” I needed him to stop or we were about to give this cabbie a show.

He responded by leaning into me and pouting like a kid being told he couldn’t have his favourite toy.

Holy shit, this boy was dangerous.

When I’d enjoyed him before, he played up to his boyish looks while doing everything I asked, and it never lasted long.

Like that time I’d unzipped my pants and he sank to his knees without me asking and begged me to feed him.

Or that time in a cheap hotel, when I’d been balls deep in him and he’d babbled incoherently and called me daddy...

But this side of him? This playful side—this mine-for-the-whole-night side of him—was something else.

It felt obscene and risqué. Taboo, even.

It made my blood sing and my balls ache.

The taxi came to a stop and I’d never been so relieved to see my place. I threw him more than enough money and we climbed out, walking silently to my front door.

It gave me some time to cool down, to get my mind in a better place. To embrace some patience before I took this boy the second we were through the door.

I had a role to play, and if I was going to do this properly—to reach that ultimate high—I needed to get in the right headspace.

I flipped on some lights in the foyer and, taking my suit jacket off, gently placed it over the back of the sofa.

“Can I get you a drink?”

When there was no immediate reply, I turned to find him taking in my house.

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