Page 60 of Born Daddy

Chapter Seventeen

Tate puttered around Rogan’s kitchen, keeping himself busy until his Daddy came back from meeting with Master Zane. That morning, after his discussion with the Master, Rogan had invited Tate to stay if he wanted. Of course, Tate wanted. He grinned. If it was up to him, he’d never again go back to that rathole he’d been using as a temporary place to crash.

Tate made sure everything on the counter was neat and tidy. He’d already folded the dishrag perfectly over the faucet and turned all the soup and vegetable cans in the cupboard so the labels faced forward. The only thing Rogan had asked of him as his Daddy before he’d left, was that he make a list of five things about himself that he liked.

That task had taken up the first hour of Rogan’s absence. He hadn’t realized that, while Cam had helped build him up on a surface level, his self-esteem had become eroded in other ways. The fears of infidelity, wondering what Cam was doing during his long absences and why he wasn’t good enough for Cam to spend more time with had brought back the feelings of neglect his foster care upbringing had instilled.

Tate eyed the grout of the white-tiled counter and decided it couldn’t hurt to give it a thorough scrubbing. It wasn’t all that bad, but he needed to keep busy. Cam had kept him busy. Not for the first time, Tate wondered if the reason had been so he’d be too busy to think about other things.

Tate swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead as he crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink, searching for something to use on the grout.

His thoughts scattered in several directions. He liked doing chores, he enjoyed being a good boy and pleasing his Daddy. Only, this wasn’t what Rogan had asked him to do, so who was he really pleasing? He had to quit trying to make it all happen at once. Master Zane’s advice to wait may have been aimed at his feelings about Rogan as a man, but Tate could also see that wisdom applying to his desire for Rogan to be an insta-Daddy.

Tate plopped down on the floor, legs crossed, sink cabinet open and he took several deep breaths. The thrill from how well things had gone between Rogan and Master Zane, and the excitement over Rogan immediately beginning his Daddy training, had muddled his focus.

Let it be.

When he’d first gone to a kink club with one of his fake foster care brothers, the only thing driving him to tag along had been his anger. He hadn’t cared about sex or kink or even social interaction. He’d simply wanted to do something that would piss off the system. After all, he didn’t have any real parents, didn’t need to obey anyone. Fuck ‘em all. No one could tell him what to do. His bio mom was a hooker and dumped him early on—he had no memory of her or bio dad whatsoever—and any home he’d ever been assigned to had been devoid of love or affection.

On one level, he was one of the lucky ones. His upbringing might have been dreary, highlighted by the one time when the nice, older couple had cared for him—but he’d never been beaten or starved or molested. None of the horror stories he’d heard from the other foster kids who’d come and gone during his childhood had applied to him.

But that hadn’t quieted the inner rage that had built until one day, when he was seventeen, that fake foster care brother had helped him get an ID and dared him to go to a BDSM club.

The experience had been a revelation.

The first Dom who’d approached him had figured out his ruse within a few minutes, but had been cool enough to offer him some advice if he still wanted to get into the lifestyle. He’d then sent him on his way and told Tate to look him up when he was eighteen. Which he did.

Tate smiled as he recalled his time with Master Lee. He’d helped Tate discover what it was that clicked for him when it came to kink, realizing early on that bondage and impact play didn’t do it for him. But he’d also revealed the wonders of Total Power Exchange and how much Tate craved being a good boy, that he needed to know he was the sole focus of one person who cared about his wellbeing above all else. Tate needed discipline paired with praise. Sex tied to devotion. Attention combined with comfort.

He needed everything he’d never received in his early years, and within a few months of being a boy, had vowed to never settle for anything less again.

His relief that Rogan had decided to pursue being a Daddy—to being a Daddy for him—went beyond words. The anxiety over whether Rogan would truly embrace filling that role remained, but he’d do what he learned early on. Give his fears to Daddy, let Daddy take control.

No matter what happened, Rogan was training with a Master who would instill in Rogan that abandoning a boy was not allowed. Even if Rogan didn’t become a Daddy after all, he wasn’t the type of person who’d dump Tate and leave him to fend for himself. That was one area Rogan needed no training in, Tate was secure in that. Rogan cared.

Tate rifled through the variety of cleaning products, old empty spray bottles, dried up wash rags, dirty sponges—and something that looked like a mini drain plunger—until he found the powdered cleanser he’d been searching for. He also discovered a pack of new cloths and pulled those out as well.

Once he’d settled into his task, his tongue poking out between his lips while he scrubbed away at the increasingly whiter lines, he pondered whether good boys made the moves on new Daddies who were in charge of setting the pace, or if he should behave himself and wait for Rogan to initiate the physical side of their relationship.

His cock twitched at the recollection of lying on the couch with Rogan, being held in the warmth of his embrace while they slept. Tate sighed as he scrub, scrub, scrubbed. After Rogan returned, they’d spend some time discussing what happened, what the next step would be and then Rogan would drive him back to his apartment. That place was not his home and never would be. As far as Tate was concerned, the only place that could possibly be considered a home was one he shared with Rogan.

He just needed to be patient.

Tate pressed his lips together with a frown as his arm grew tired from the vigorous cleaning. He didn’t care how fast he was being. His feelings weren’t going to evaporate into smoke as if they’d never existed no matter what he did. They’d either grow into something amazing, or they’d dwindle with time.

Except he already knew they wouldn’t diminish. He’d known Master Lee hadn’t been his forever Daddy the same way he’d known that the first few Daddies he’d played with were temporary. With Cam, he’d sensed they’d be a perfect fit—that Cam wasn’t only playing—and they’d been great together when it came to being Daddy/boy. The one part missing, the part Tate had only felt at a subconscious level, had now become abundantly clear since he’d spent time with Rogan.

Emotional connection. He’d shut down that part of himself for so many years out of self-preservation, that he’d never considered it a necessity in his quest for a good Daddy. But now, Rogan had turned that pre-conceived notion upside down. Tate wanted the whole pie, and he could already tell that Rogan was the one who could give it to him.

A knock sounded at the door, and Tate glanced up from his task, drawing his eyebrows together as he wondered if he should respond. No instructions or rules had been put in place yet about answering doors. Of course, why would there be? Rogan had only officially decided to be a Daddy that morning then left for work for the day, telling Tate he should rest and hang out until he returned. Then, they’d shared some leftover pizza and salad until Rogan had left to meet with Master Zane.

“Rogan?” More knocking. “It’s Lenny. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. I wanna make sure you’re okay after what happened the other night.”

Tate’s frown deepened. What had happened? He bit his lip, a thread of concern coursing through him as he wondered whether something bad was going on that Rogan didn’t want to worry him with. He smiled to himself as he tried to calm his nerves. That was such a Daddy move.

The knocking started up again. “Dude. I know you’re in there. I heard you moving around when I came up the steps and the damn lights are on. I only want to make sure everything’s cool.”

The struggle between what was none of his business, what Rogan did or didn’t want him to know, and whether something was wrong twisted Tate’s insides. He shoved whether it was his business aside in favor of the other two emotions. His resolve that no Daddy, no matter how wonderful they were, would ever hide things from him again—along with worry—won out.

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