Page 23 of Daddy Marc's Gem

“Still okay?” Marc breathed across his neck as he placed deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin there.

“Yes.” Foster let out another gasp, threading his fingers through Marc’s dark hair. “More than okay.”

Marc hummed against Foster’s throat, the vibration sending a pleasant tremor through his body. His hands—so large and sure—slid beneath Foster’s shirt, calloused fingertips mapping the contours of his spine with deliberate care.

“Can I take this off?” Marc asked, tugging gently at the hem of Foster’s shirt.

Foster nodded, allowing Marc to unbutton his shirt, slowly unveiling his torso. Marc's appreciative gaze roamed over his frame, and he fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. He never worked out beyond lifting boxes of collectibles or moving furniture around, but his frame remained thin. However, there was nothing critical in Marc’s expression—only desire and something deeper that made Foster’s breath catch in his throat.

“Beautiful.” Marc regarded him with something like reverence, tracing his fingers along his collarbone, down the center of his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The tender exploration made Foster feel more seen than he had in his entire life.

Foster swallowed hard, not sure how to respond. “You don’t have to say that.”

Marc’s expression shifted slightly, concern mingling with desire. “I never say anything I don’t mean. Especially not to my boy.” He cupped Foster’s face with both hands. “May I touch you more?”

The request, so carefully phrased, made Foster’s heart beat faster. He nodded, words momentarily beyond him as Marc’s hands continued their gentle exploration, skimming across his ribs and down to the exposed skin right above his waistband.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” Marc locked eyes, his gaze intense. “I need to hear you say it.”

Foster’s mouth was filled with dust, but he found his voice. “Please, yes. I need your touch, you hands all over me.”

Marc let out a low groan as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Foster’s collarbone. “With pleasure.”

Every touch felt deliberate, every kiss placed with extraordinary care. But Marc’s attentions quickly built in fervor, and Foster found himself arching into Marc’s touch, a whimper escaping his lips as Marc licked and teased his nipples, the light scrape of Marc’s beard against the sensitive skin igniting nerve endings he hadn’t known existed.

“So responsive,” Marc murmured against his skin. “Such a good boy for Daddy.”

The words sent a jolt of pure heat through Foster’s body. He’d never thought of himself as someone who would respond to such language, but coming from Marc—from his Daddy—it felt right in a way nothing else had before.

Marc slid his hands down to grasp Foster’s hips, steadying him as he continued his exploration. When Marc’s fingers brushed against the front of his slacks, Foster let out an embarrassing moan.

“Mmm… my baby likes that.” Marc scraped his teeth across the side of Foster’s throat. “Should we take this to your bedroom? Dolly seems worried.”

Foster snorted before he could stop himself. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dolly no longer curled up in her bed, snoozing, but sitting up and staring at them.

“Good idea.” Foster chuckled. “She’s not used to much in the way of steam in this house.”

Marc gave a soft laugh. “We can't scandalize the poor girl.” He brushed Foster's hair back from his forehead, the gentle touch at odds with the heat in his eyes. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

He climbed off Marc’s lap, feeling awkward over being bare-chested with a raging hard-on while Marc was still completely clothed. He glanced down then flicked his eyes back up to Marc’s. On the other hand, Marc wasn’t exactly at half-mast either.

His legs were like jelly, but he managed to move forward, clutching onto Marc’s hand as if it were a lifeline, acutely aware of his presence behind him. Dolly followed them to the bedroom doorway, then seemed to decide her supervision was no longer required and trotted back toward her bed in the living room.

The room was simple—a queen-sized bed with a navy duvet, a Deco dresser with an etched mirror, and a nightstand topped with an Arts and Crafts vintage lamp next to a stack of books. Foster suddenly saw it through Marc’s eyes and was struck with a jolt of self-consciousness.

“It’s not much,” he said, fidgeting with the edge of his unbuttoned shirt.

Marc stepped closer, silencing his concerns with a kiss, his large hands cupping Foster’s ass. “It’s perfect. It’s you.”

Marc’s words were so simple yet so affirming. Marc saw him, truly saw him in a way no one else ever had. That’s what he’d been missing. What he’d once thought of as neediness was instead appreciation when viewed through Marc’s eyes.

Marc guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he went willingly, his body humming with anticipation. Marc kneeled between his legs, looking up at him with such tenderness that it made his chest ache.

“I want to take care of you tonight.” Marc slid his palms up Foster’s thighs. “Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

Foster licked his lips, mesmerized by the sight of this strong, confident man kneeling before him. “Yes... Daddy.”

The word fell from his lips naturally, and Marc’s eyes darkened in response. Marc leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his stomach, then worked his way lower while deftly unbuckling Foster’s belt.

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