Page 15 of Milk For His Little

He shrugged. “You choose.”

His low energy, his lack of enthusiasm for the dinner he’d cooked, and his listless expression could all point to tiredness.But I was left with a sense that it was something else. And that was odd, because I was the one who wasn’t forthcoming.

Putting a palm on his brow didn’t provide any answers, as it was cool to the touch.

He furrowed his brow. “I’m not sick, Daddy.”

“Good. Bottle or did you want to suckle?”

“You decide.”

I had to discover what was going on because we couldn’t have any relationship, particularly a Daddy and Little one, if we held back. I sat in the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. His eyes were clouded with uncertainty, and he avoided my gaze and picked up a book from the basket.

“Before I read this, we need to talk.”

He pulled the bedding up and hunkered down. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears. “Don’t want to.”

Whatever it was, we had to deal with it before he went to sleep. I crawled under the covers still fully dressed and held him tight. He clung to me, as if I were a lifeboat on a stormy sea.

“You can tell me anything.”

He smushed his face against my neck and his mumbling voice tickled. “I’m scared.”

So many thoughts sprinted through my mind. A colleague was bullying him at work, he was about to lose his job, or perhaps someone had found out about his lifestyle and was threatening to announce it on social media.

“What is it?” I pulled away so I could see his face, but he clutched my shirt and held on tight while entwining his legs in mine.

“I want to be a good boy.”

Where did that come from? “You are.” I ruffled his hair.

Kasper blinked, and tears trickled over his cheeks. I wiped away the tears with my thumb, and he sniffed and hugged his bunny.

“No, I’m not.”

I couldn’t fathom where this had originated. Had I given the impression he wasn’t enough? I was close to crying, thinking I’d failed him.

“You are my beautiful, smart, loving, creative boy, and I adore you.”

He took one of my hands and kissed it.

“But you’re not happy with me.”

My heart hiccuped and guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders. I’d spent years longing for a boy and now I’d messed it up.

“Whatever I’ve done or said that made you think that, I’m sorry.” I was tempted to slide onto the floor, get on my knees, and beg his forgiveness.

“I do my best cooking and making pretty pictures. I don’t pee pee my pants, and I put my dirty clothes in the hamper. But your eyes have a faraway expression as if you’re thinking of something else—or someone!

“Never. You’re my one and only.”

He was smart because he’d picked up on my mood and that I was hiding something from him. But it had nothing to do with him. Instead, it was all me! What had I done? I’d never forgive myself if I’d damaged him.

“Come here.” I held him close, his heart thumping against my chest as he sniffed. I should offer him a tissue but this wasn’t the time. He could get snot over me. I didn’t care. There was only him. He was my number one priority.

“I want to be good enough for you, Daddy.”

Gods, how I hated the expression, “It’s not you, it’s me,” but in this situation, it was appropriate.

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