Page 3 of Wylan

My eyes snap back to the dark-haired beauty. Holy shit. Asshat Carl just left him here, without a care in the world. I quickly take in the young man’s appearance. As a pleasure Dom who specializes in all kinds of kinks, I’ve trained myself to be very observant. To take in every little facial expression, twitch, and sound a person makes. And by the immediate tension that leaves the young man, I have a feeling I did the right thing.

Tears stream down his beautiful face.

Wanting to get down to eye level, I squat next to Carl’s date and hand him another cloth to soak up the wine.

“Oh no, no, no,” he whispers. “I can’t pay for the mess. And I definitely can’t pay for dinner.”

“Don’t worry about any of that.” I touch his knuckles lightly. “What’s your name, petal?”

He gasps at the endearment, and his eyes snap up to mine. “My name is Wylan.”

Pretty. Just like him. “I like it.”

For the first time since I’ve seen this pretty little thing, he smiles. It grows wide as he looks over at me before letting his eyes wander over to Jamie.

I wipe a stray tear from Wylan’s cheek, fighting the urge not to lean over and kiss him.

What the fuck is wrong with me? But as Wylan gives me another tender smile, I already know what’s wrong. This sweet little thing is bringing back the protective urges I’ve kept buried from when I used to be a Daddy.

And as I stare into his pretty, ocean-blue eyes, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. But I do know one thing for sure: I’m terrified.

Wylan has the ability to completely unravel me.

Chapter one

Wylan

Present day.

“Mother fuckin’ fiddlesticks!”

My body vibrates with laughter as I sit in front of my grandfather in his swanky new retirement home. A sense of pride washes over me as I take in his space, with its fancy white walls and large, floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the gardens outside. It might cost me a pretty penny, but I vowed years ago to give him only the best.

“Aren’t you supposed to drop the curse words when you use old man words likefiddlesticks?”

“Bullshit.” Grandpa waves his free hand in the air. “An old man doesn’t have to follow any rules when he hits a certain age.”

I reveal my winning hand and place the cards down on the table in front of us.

Grandpa snorts and rolls his eyes. “Boy, you gotta work on your damn poker face. You might have won, but I could tell you had a good hand a mile away.”

Just then, the alarm on my phone shatters our little bubble. I silence it and stand. “Okay, Pops. I gotta go meet my friends, then start my shift at work.”

Grandpa narrows his eyes at me. “Is this the job at that fancy restaurant?”

I nod. “You know it is,” I say as I gather my things and place everything in my messenger bag.

He shakes his head. “I just don’t understand why continue to work there when you have plenty of money in that damn trust fund your parents set up for you.”

Closing my eyes, I let out a slow breath and count to five. “Grandpa. I don’t want to talk about it again today.” A pang of guilt slices through me. Grandpa has no idea that I refuse to touch that money for myself. They don’t get to kick me out of their lives for my sexuality and then try to throw money at me as a way of asking for forgiveness.

The day they kicked me out was one of the worst days of my life. Being disowned by my heartless parents was painful enough, but not only that, I’d had no money or street smarts. At sixteen,I experienced homelessness for roughly a month before my grandpa found out and took me in.

Grandpa accepted me, gave me a home, and banned my parents from visiting. When I turned twenty, I was sent paperwork that gave me access to my trust fund, along with an apology. I reached out once, only to be sorely disappointed. My parents were still homophobic and cold. Nothing would change that. Since that day, I’d refused to touch the money they set aside. Until Grandpa’s legs started to give out.

The doctors and specialists were unable to help him, no matter what kind of treatment or physical therapy he did. His muscles continued to weaken, leaving him barely able to walk. Grandpa needed more help than I could provide, and I wanted him to have the best. Together, we packed up our lives and moved to Southern California, where I found a retirement home I knew he would love.

The waiting list had finally opened, and we were both eager to get him out of the other location and into this one. The facility is nice, with lots of activities to keep him social.

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