Page 77 of Daddy's Muse
The fabric of Colby’s blindfold stuck to the skin around his eyes from the tears wetting it. Tear tracks down his flushed red cheeks showed where some had escaped. His mouth hung open, pants and moans and whimpers tumbling out with every twitch of my hips.
“Beautiful,” I said, licking the salt from his cheeks. “You’re so damn beautiful when you cry, my love.”
He moaned and stuck his tongue out, silently begging for a kiss. My lips attacked his, utterly consuming him. He was panting for breath when I pulled back.
Kissing back down his delicate throat, I thrusted deep into his channel, grinding my cock against his most inner places.
“O-oh, fu—Pappa, Pappa, right there,please!” Colby yelled, body shaking.
I continued my deep grinding, moaning at the spasming of his hole around my shaft.
“Yeah? Here, baby? You like it deep?”
“Oh, yesss—please, right there,” he begged. “So—so good, Pappa!”
“Are you gonna come and milk my cock like a good little whore, baby? Be your Pappa’s perfect cockslut?”
Colby cried, “Yes, y-yes!” He pushed his hips back, eager to get my cock impossibly deeper.
“Say my name,” I grunted out, barely holding back my own orgasm, wanting to wait for my boy’s release first.
“Pappa,Bodin, oh god—c-coming!” he screamed, his ass suddenly locking up, practically forcing the cum out of my balls.
“Ja, for faen!” I shouted, spilling my seed into him as my body jerked from the intensity of my orgasm.
* * *
The shed smelled of iron and lust.
The circle was finished. The blood had dried into the grooves, the bones gleamed where I had set them, and Bryan was nothing but silence behind me. None of it mattered anymore—only the boy at the center did, the boy whose breathing had finally evened out after at least fifteen minutes of lying in my arms.
It was time to get him back home, clean and cozy in our bed.
He murmured something I couldn’t catch, his lips dry, and I hushed him instantly, brushing the back of my knuckles across his face.
“It’s over,” I whispered. “You did so well for me, little one.”
He didn’t resist as I gathered him up and stood. His skin was damp, hair sticking to his forehead, so fragile in my arms I felt as though even holding him too tightly might break him. I pressed my mouth to his temple, breathing him in, grounding myself in the living warmth of him.
I carried him back to the cabin, laying him gently on the bed we shared. Butter stirred from her spot at the foot of the bed as if she, too, wanted to make sure her boy was safe.
I walked into the bathroom, where I found a small basin under the sink that would serve my purpose. I filled it with warm water, soap, and a soft cloth. Rituals demanded blood and ruin, but what came after—this was mine alone. After carefully carrying the basin back into the bedroom and setting it down on the nightstand closest to Colby, I dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and began to wipe him clean, slow strokes across his chest, his arms, down to the delicate curve of his hands, being extra careful in cleaning his more intimate areas. Each pass left pale skin shining fresh again, untouched, as if the night had never happened.
He sighed, eyes half-shut, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Shh. Rest. I’ve got you.”
By the time I’d finished, the basin was dirty with what I’d taken from him, but Colby looked like the definition of perfection, almost luminous against the sheets. I pulled one of my shirts over his head—soft cotton, and way too big for him, so that it hung loose, swallowing him whole.
I eased him onto his side and lay down behind him, one arm curling possessively around his waist. He fit into me like he always did, his body molding to my own.
The gods had their due. The ritual was complete.
And I had my boy, breathing steady in my arms, bound to me in ways he’d never escape.
I kissed the crown of his head, whispering into his hair, “You’ll never be alone again, Colby. Not in this life. Not in any.”
20
Colby
