Page 87 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
After a luxurious dual bath focused on my boy and lotion reapplied to his gorgeous, still-pink ass—with an added back massage, as requested—Cameron headed to his homey kitchen to make us some breakfast while I took a hot shower. Last night had used muscles I wasn’t even aware I had; I would need to spend a lot more time at the gym to become the top I was meant to be. Fucking was a lot of work.
When I stepped out of the shower, I heard singing. Well, I supposed one might be tricked into calling it that. Boisterous, top-of-his-lungs pop lyrics soared through the house, bringing a grin to my face.
His voice was trulyterrible.
I dried off and dressed quickly because I had to get my arms around my tone-deaf boy. He was fucking adorable.
“Hey.”
Cameron jumped at the sound of my voice, and his song cut off abruptly when he spun from where he was scrambling eggsat the stove. Prickles—the cat I’d only seen from a distance when I walked through the living room late last night—was nowhere to be found, probably as far away from my boy’s horrendous singing voice as he could manage to get. “Oh! Hey.” He smiled at me, and the sight took my breath away. God, I was so gone for him.
I grinned back, scrubbing a hand through my damp hair and deliberately choosing to ignore his lack of vocal chops. “That smells good.”
He grinned at the compliment and turned back to the stove. “Thanks. It’ll be ready in a couple of minutes. Would you like to grab some orange juice for us?”
I smiled warmly, loving the domesticity of this moment. “Sure.”
He nodded at the cabinet where the glasses were stored, and I easily found the orange juice in the fridge and poured it. By the time I did, he was buttering the last of the toast and plating the eggs. I carried the full glasses over to the table as he set it with the plates. After bringing over a couple of forks, he motioned at the chair next to where I stood. I sat, my entire body relaxing into it. I was sure the smile on my face was permanent at this point.
Breakfast was a wonderfully normal affair, and it seemed Cameron couldn’t stop smiling, either. I reluctantly pushed away from the table when I took the last bite—work was calling my name. It was Friday, but I’d left my work computer at home. Besides, it would be weird to crash at your hookup’s—boyfriend’s?—place and work from home the day after you got together. Wouldn’t it?
“So, Cameron,” I started after he walked me to his front door, tucking my fingers in the waistband of the sexy gray sweatpants he’d donned earlier and pulling him closer. “You have any plans next weekend?”
His eyes were wide as he shook his head slowly. “None.”
“Go on a date with me.” I wasn’t sure where my confidence had come from, but given the way Cameron swallowed and leaned in, he was into it.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?”
He flashed a smirk that made my dick jerk despite its extracurricular activities over the last twelve hours. “Yeah.”
I leaned in, pressing a lingering, closed-mouth kiss to his soft lips. “Good.” I grinned, opening the door and stepping out onto his front porch before I delivered my parting line. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter twenty-three
Cameron
Icouldn’t stop squirming. I’d rubbed aloe on my tender cheeks after he left, changed into my softest pair of fleece pants, and even moved to the couch, but the burn in my ass wouldn’t let up. Truthfully, I loved the reminder of my night with Sam. But I wasn’t getting much work done.
Slamming my laptop shut, I growled to my empty living room. Surely there was something I could do today that wouldn’t require sitting, right?
I stood and started wandering around the house, looking for things to do. I didn’t have many dishes, but there were a few, so I started with those. I even hand-washed them all in lieu of sticking them in the dishwasher so it would take longer. After that, I grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink and wiped down every countertop. Then the cupboards for good measure.
Oh! The bathroom! Kitchen cleaning supplies stowed, I rushed into the bathroom and started taking the whole thing apart, carefully wiping down every piece—even the toilet cleaning brush, plunger, and wastebasket—before giving the main batha thorough cleaning. By the time I was done, that place was sparkling. It would pass a white-glove inspection for sure.
Next, I headed to the master bath, giving it the same treatment. I was done sooner than I liked, though.
At least I didn’t have any deadlines today.
Just as I was putting my cleaning supplies away, eyeing the bed as I passed and considering lying on my stomach with my laptop to see if I could get any writing done, my doorbell rang. Who the hell was here at—I glanced at the clock on my bedside table—noon? Oh. Probably Tristan. Hopefully with lunch.
I quickly washed my hands then headed through my small living room to the front door on the far wall. When I yanked it open, I froze, staring at the gaggle of men on my porch.
Nate shoved past me with a six-pack in his hand, calling out a loud “hello” while making a beeline for the kitchen, presumably the fridge. Anson rolled his eyes as he entered close behind his best friend, apologizing quickly. “Sorry, Cameron. You know Nate has a one-track mind when it comes to food.”
I eyed Tristan as he stepped in next. “You brought food?”
