Page 70 of Fitch

“What? No?—”

I flipped him over onto his back, tugging his briefs off his legs before pulling him down the bed a little, so I was between his legs. “Want you this way,” I said, pushing his legs up. “Wanna see your face when I come in you.”

He gasped and nodded, his hands cupping my face.

We locked eyes as I pushed my cock back into him, and I could see the sensations flicker in his wide eyes. The emotion.

Fuck, this was so much better.

My heart was squeezing and thrumming, his eyes searching mine, his mouth open. I hoped he could see what he meant to me, what I was feeling in that moment.

Without a word spoken between us, he nodded as if he understood.

As if he felt the same.

“Oh, my boy,” I breathed. The exquisite pleasure running through me, intense as the emotions I was feeling. “You’re so perfect.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he nodded again, his eyes imploring and honest.

He didn’t need to say anything. I knew he understood.

So I snaked my arms underneath him, buried his face in my neck, his arms holding me tight. I rocked into him, back and forth, until the pleasure became too much.

He was panting and whining, louder and holding me tighter, until he went rigid and I felt his cock spurt wet and warm between us. His fingernails clawed my back, his arse clamped around me, pushing me over the brink.

I thrust in deep, giving him my load, and he cried out, groaning with each pulse.

He kept his arms around me, holding me to him as my senses came back to me and I caught my breath.

“Thank you, daddy,” he whispered.

“Hm.” It was about all I could manage. I pulled back, my body heavy and boneless, my head still hazy. He lay sprawled out on my bed in front of me, his legs splayed open, his belly smeared with his come. He was thoroughly fucked and sated. Happy. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful right now.”

He smiled as he let out a contented hum, then trailed a finger through the mess on his skin. “I made a mess, daddy.”

I laughed, not even sure what else I could do. It was obscene and utterly perfect. “Then I should shower you. Want some breakfast?”

He nodded, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth. Still playful and sexy.

Fucking perfect.

I helped him up and into the shower, and he let me wash every inch of him. He was pliant and eager, smiling. Afterwards, when I was drying his hair, he smiled up at me.

Just smiled.

“You okay?” I asked. “You look a little dreamy.”

“I’m a happy boy,” he said quietly. “I have the very best daddy.”

I stopped drying his hair, my heart impossibly full. “And I have the very best boy.”

He beamed. “Does that mean I get to wear the Daddy’s Best Boy shirt today?”

How could I say no to that?

“Of course you can.”

He squeaked and threw his arms around me, giving me a squeezy hug before he went into my wardrobe and came back out with his basket, which he handed to me.

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