Page 5 of Surrender

His eyes darken, and he pauses for a long moment before a grin slowly spreads across his lips. “Now that you mention it… I think I do. I’ve been called all sorts of things, but Daddy’s a new one. I think I like it. So ask properly, and I’ll stick your cock into a bottle so you can piss.”

“Fuck you,” I growl, but I know I should have kept the tone light, to not give away how I’m affected. “If you don’t get me a bottle, I’ll just piss myself here, and you’ll have a huge mess to clean up.”

“What makes you think I’ll bother cleaning up the mess?” Fiore asks, his eyebrow lifting. “I don’t know what sort of man you think I am, little fox, but this wouldn’t be the first time I made a man piss himself.” He doesn’t sound arrogant when he says it, like he’s trying to prove something. He just sounds matter of fact.

I’m already imagining being left tied up here, cold and wet and messy. It would be utterly humiliating.

But my cock seems to think the opposite.

I don’t particularly want to fuck my way out of this situation, but if Fiore is interested in a cute little “fox,” well… I’ve done worse to escape a dire situation.

I glance at him again. “You’d make the staff clean up? They’d see the prisoner you keep in your guest room. What would they think? They might even suspect you’re gay.”

Fiore’s eyes narrow at that, the words landing just like the weapon they’d been meant to be. His expression clears after only a few seconds, but I saw it. He doesn’t like being called gay—maybe it’s the fact that even being suspected as being gay is dangerous in our world, or maybe he really is. “I’ll come back to chat later, when you’re in a better mood,” he says, with a smile that’s cold, brittle. “Then we’ll try this again.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Yeah, he wants to be in charge. “Daddy, please don’t go,” I say, trying to sound like I’m reluctant to say it. “I really, really need to piss.”

“That’s cute,” he says, considering me for a moment. “I think I like that. Has anyone ever told you you’re adorable when you beg? Try again. Put it all together, and let’s see how that sounds.” He stands up.

“Daddy, please help me piss,” I say, mostly to get it over with.

Only my voice is a little raw, and I can feel my skin heating up. I’ve trained myself not to blush, but something about begging Daddy to help…

He seems to like it too, judging from the way he has to adjust his cock in his pants. He goes over by the door and gets a big bottle with a wide mouth that looks like it’s been made for just this occasion and returns. “Here we go.” He sets it next to me and unfastens my pants, fishing in my boxer briefs to pull out my semi-erect cock as nonchalantly as if he’s tucking hair back behind my ear.

I bite my lip and try to will my cock to calm the fuck down. Fiore is barely touching me, but his fingers feel so hot against my skin. I tell myself to just piss, get this over with, and wait for an opportunity to escape.

He pushes the head of my cock down into the bottle, holding it there with an amused glint in his eyes. “Does piss play always get you hard, or is it just looking into my eyes, little fox?”

“Guys touching my dick does it for me,” I answer cheekily. I close my eyes and focus on relieving myself. I have no idea how long I was out, but it must have been a while.

When I’m finally done, he pulls the bottle away and screws the cap on, all without a single flinch—like he does this all the fucking time. He leaves my cock out of my pants, though.

“So let’s get started,” Fiore says, setting the bottle by the door then coming back to sit beside me. “Simple things first. What’s your name?”

That’s probably the least simple question of them all. I give him a smile, though, and say, “Fox.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “So if I’d been calling you pumpkin this whole time, you’d have said your name was pumpkin?”

I pretend to think about it. “Pumpkin doesn’t sound as nice. But nope, Fox is my name. My parents took one look at my red hair and went with the most cliche thing they could think of.”

Yeah, wouldn’t that have been a nice scenario? I don’t remember who my parents were, or what they named me, and even if I did… I wouldn’t still be called that.

Fox works for now.

“So, Fox,” Fiore says, shaking his head slightly as he settles back in the chair. “Who do you work for? Generally speaking?”

“I freelance. Generally speaking. I have a website and everything. It’s five bucks per contract, ten if my client needs a rush delivery.” I wonder if he’s recording this conversation. I should have paid more attention to what I was saying earlier, although I was—am—still a bit woozy.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to undervalue your worth?” Fiore asks. “You’re worth at least seven dollars, given your accuracy and aim in that failure of a hit.” He tsks at me.

He’s clearly trying to provoke me. Anger doesn’t get you anywhere, though. Anger is for when you’re with people you can trust.

“I’m still building my portfolio. I hear working for exposure is a great way to gain a reputation and find paying clients.”

He snorts at my joke, and I have to admit he does look good with that small smile.

It really is too bad I’m supposed to be killing him, not fucking him.

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