Page 63 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
Someone bumped into us from behind, and we both stumbled forward, out of the doorway. We shuffled to the left, into a somewhat empty space near some half-full tables where we wouldn’t disturb anyone, and took in the scene before us.
I needn’t have worried about my—Alex’s—leather pants attracting attention. Nearly everyone here had some sort of leather wrapped around their body. Some were wearing leather straps crossing their chests; I’d read enough to know they were called harnesses. Some boys—and I was going with “boys” because they were exactly the type I’d gravitate toward—were in leather booty shorts like Alex’s that fit them well, but I noticed several of them were wearing shorts in other materials, too. Most were a size too small.
Not that I was complaining.
Alex whistled low beside me. “Shit, we lucked out tonight! Must be some sort of kink-friendly event.”
As if to punctuate his words, the music abruptly cut off, I heard the telltalechunkof a spotlight being turned on, and the crowd on the dance floor parted, a hush of anticipation settling over everyone. I held my breath.
Someone stepped into the light on a raised dais against the wall opposite us, across the dance floor. He held a mic and grinned before addressing the rapt audience. “Welcome to Mix It Up’s biweekly Kink Night!”
The crowd cheered, and I found myself clapping along, eyes wide. I felt like a nun at a brothel, and I didn’t hate it.
The man continued. “We have several demonstrations planned for you tonight. And if you’d like to take your date somewhere private, we have negotiated a special rate and reserved several rooms at the hotel next door.” He glanced off to the right as if giving an aside but spoke into the microphone in a lower tone, “We really do need our own kink club, don’t we?”
The cheering was louder and more exuberant this time. My heart was pounding. A kink club? That idea was . . . fuckingthrilling.
“Please remember house rules: no naughty bits exposed, be respectful, and honor the name tags.” He tapped the one on his chest. “And finally . . .”
He waited, and I wasn’t sure for what until the rest of the crowd shouted in unison: “Get your kink on!”
Again, cheering erupted, and I heard the emcee yell, “The first demonstration begins in fifteen minutes!” over the milling crowd before I turned to Alex.
“Dude, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t know!”
I chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s totally okay, man. I mean, was this what I was expecting? No. Am I intrigued? Actually, a hell of a lot. I should thank you.”
He laughed, pulling me in for a quick bro-hug before releasing me. “Aw, thank you for being so cool! This is awesome, right?”
Nodding, I glanced over at the stage where the spotlight still shone. Stagehands were moving something into place in the shadows, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Guess I’d find out soon enough.
Glancing around, I found my eyes searching for the one man I longed to see, hoping against hope that the universe had brought Cameron here. Seemed like a logical possibility, given this was where we’d met last. I crossed my fingers and sent out a wish that he’d appear by my side and be willing to talk. That he hadn’t given up on me, on us, so abruptly. So completely.
And besides all that, even if I shouldn’t, I wanted his lips on mine again. I wanted his body against mine. I wanted him naked and writhing beneath me as I made love to every inch of him.
I was glad my dick, though hard, wasn’t large enough to make my leather pants too tight beneath my packer.
“Let’s get some drinks.”
I nodded at Alex’s timely suggestion. Iwasquite thirsty.
In maybe more ways than one.
Chapter eighteen
Cameron
Idropped down into the booth on the bar level just off the dance floor with a huff, immediately crossing my arms and glaring at Tristan. He knew I didn’t want to be here, but he just slid in next to me with a smirk and turned to our friends. We were secluded enough that he could have a conversation with Ethan, Nate, and Anson—I’d heard Zander and Joey had a demonstration tonight so they must’ve been in the back getting ready—but close enough to the action to see what was going on.
Tristan, of course, ignored my childish tantrum, choosing instead to chat with Anson about who knows what, because I wasn’t listening. As soon as he’d made it clear he didn’t care that I was shooting daggers at him with my eyes, I’d started scanning the room, taking in all the men dressed as probable Daddies around here, finding I had a ton of eye candy to choose from. Most wore leather that highlighted all their muscles and lickable skin.
Yeah, after yoga with Sam, the lickable thing had definitely become one of my kinks.
I sighed, the thought of Sam sending a sword through my chest. After S.M.C.’s—sorry,Sam’s—untimely email and his earth-shattering confessions, ones I still didn’t know what to do with, I’d been a mess. I wanted to be angry, wanted to be ecstatic, wanted to tear him in two, wanted to fuck the shit out of him, wanted to . . . I didn’t know. I just wanted to decide how I felt about it all.
I’d never admit it, but Tristan had been right. I’d needed to get out of the house and out of my head. Because my brain kept trying to reconcile the two men I’d nearly fallen for—I kept the “nearly” there for my sanity, but it was getting harder and harder to lie to myself—but it couldn’t quite get there.
I wanted to be angry at Sam, at S.M.C., but I found I couldn’t, even after all the anger I’d directed his way when I’d seen him those few times in person. I couldn’t deny that something had kept throwing us together, begging me to listen, to pay attention.
