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I’ve been holding back since that first kiss, knowing that one touch of his lips against mine will break my own control, but I can’t resist him now. Not when he practically begs for it.

Dipping my head, I bring our mouths together, breathing in his hitching breaths and stuttered moans.

“You gonna come for me, honey?” I urge against his lips, feeling the last hold on my own release slipping, “Lose control again?”

“Nnngh,” he bucks upwards, hissing, “make me, Daddy.”

Fuck, he’sstillsuch a brat. Even now, on the edge of orgasm, moments after telling me how close he is. I love his fire so damn much. It only pushes me closer to the edge while we frot, our precum the only thing adding to the friction between us.

“Re—oh fuck—remember my rule,” I manage to bite out, hoping I sound firm instead of desperate, “only good boys get rewards.”

With our mouths still only inches apart, I can feel his smirk more than I can see it. “But the...mmmm…the reward was in the…in the…” He sounds distracted, his hips moving almost frantically under mine. “Um…oh, fuck…the reward was in the instruction.” There’s breathy relief in the last few words, as if he’s glad to have remembered what he was saying at all.

“Exactly,” I chase his lips for another kiss, desperate for him to come first, “so you do as I say and get the reward all in one.”

Honestly, I’m not even sure if what I’m saying makes sense anymore.

“Be good for me, Benji. Come for Daddy. Make us messier again.”

Like the other day, that idea seems to be his tipping point. He all but howls, his body convulsing as splashes of new thick, sticky warmth reach my belly and over my cock.

“Yes!” I rut into him with abandon after the first spurt, finally allowing my own body to chase its release, “Feels so good, honey. So good. So…unggggghh.”My rambled praise melts into a deep groan as my orgasm practically explodes from me.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs, sounding almost delirious and giddy, wriggling underneath me and panting while I grind our combined fluids into his skin. “Oh my god.”

I agree with the sentiment completely.

Chapter Twelve

Me

Hey, I know we’re not, like, friend-friends or anything, but I don’t know who else to talk to and I need advice.

Sending the message has me biting my lip and blinking away traitorous tears.

Yesterday afternoon kind of wrecked me, but in the best possible way. I’ve never experienced a scene so extended, or as intense, as the one I participated in with Kris. I loved every second of it, and I can’t believe how amazing it felt to be so out of control of my own body.

I’m obviously more than used to the feeling of wetting myself, but there was a whole new dimension to the feeling when it happened without me choosing when and where. That added to the embarrassment like tenfold. And, fuck, that made me so fucking excited. Not to mention how much Kris seemed to enjoy being peed on. That was unexpected —even though he had said he loves watersports— and it made me feel powerful even while I felt humiliatedand vulnerable.

The whole thing was addictive.

The epic orgasm that followed didn’t hurt, either.

Neither did Kris’s amazing aftercare. Once we came down from, well, coming all over each other, he took me into the shower and washed every inch of me with even more care and gentleness than the first time. After that, we cuddled on the couch with snacks and bottles of water, and we talked about the parts of the scene that we had loved and what we both thought could have been done differently to make it even better. (Honestly, with my brain all melted, I couldn’t think of anything that could have made yesterday’s session better. I still can’t.)

But now, almost an entire day later, without having seen Kris at all today, I’m feeling a bit down.

My phone lights up with a reply to my text.

Anson

That sounds serious. What’s up?

With sweaty palms, I consider how to explain my situation to my colleague and fellow Little. The first time Anson recognized me at The Grove, he told me never to talk to him about our mutual interests. I think he was afraid I’d let it slip at work, even though that would mean confirming that we both have the same secret.

It stung a bit, because there was still a pathetic part of me that had hoped maybe this would be the time I made a real friend…only to realize he didn’t trust me and just saw me as his annoying colleague, even after learning how similar our interests are. But I got over it, and eventually even got to the point where Anson and I would say hello at The Grove or occasionally even play together in headspace for a few minutes. It wasn’t a close friendship, but itwas all I had.

Licking my lips, I type, delete, then retype my story. It’s probably way too much information to just dump on him, but I don’t know what else to do at this point. I don’t feel like myself, on the verge of tears and desperate for another afternoon cocooned in Daddy’s arms.