Page 37 of Just A Little Fling

“I’m supervising this morning.”

“Well, hopefully, I’ll pass inspection.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble,” I replied with a wink.

Babbo chuckled at my joke, turned his back, and messed with whatever he had on the stove. He grabbed an apron off a hook and wrapped it around his waist. I liked the confidence he had to wear the brightly patterned apron with frilly edges.

“That’s a pretty apron you’ve got there.”

“Yeah,” Babbo chuckled. “It’s not my usual style, but it belonged to my grandma. It always makes me smile when I wear it and remember her.” Color appeared on his cheeks.

“Oh, that’s sweet. I’m sure she’d appreciate the thought.”

“I hope so. She was the one who taught me to cook before we had to move her into an assisted living place. It was one of the things she insisted I take with me when we packed up her house.”

“It found a good home with you.”

Levi offered me some coffee as I sat there and watched him work. He fixed it just the way I liked it—cream and lots of sugar.

When the coffee cake was out of the oven, the scrambled eggs were finished, and the bacon was properly crisped, we moved back to the table, bringing along the fruit platter. Babbo insisted on serving me because he said I was a guest, but I didn’t feel like a guest in his house. It was so homey and comfortable that it felt more like an extension of my own. After a few minutes of compatible silence, Babbo took a deep breath and asked what we both knew needed to be addressed this morning. “So about yesterday…”

“Oh my god, I don’t even know what came over me. Maybe I have some sort of brain rot?”

“I’m not a doctor, and I don’t play one on TV, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with your brain. Have you never dropped into little space before?”

“No.” My facade of self-assurance was in danger of slipping. He heard the hesitation in my answer. “Well, I mean, I thought about what it would be like before, but I’ve never actually experimented with it.”

“What did you think of it?”

I hesitated before I answered. Did I just throw it out on the table that it was the best thing ever? That I felt like it was a missing piece of me? It was a lot to put on him. Even as a middle, I’d never dropped like that before.

When we met, Babbo said he liked middles, and he liked me as a middle. But what if that was all he was interested in and yesterday was just placating me because I was already in his house? He hadn’t mentioned playing with other littles, but would that have been a weird thing to bring up? He definitely hadn’t mentioned it before either. Granted, we hadn’t had many heartfelt conversations in hotel rooms, but we’d had pillow talk, and it never came up. Not even once. Instead of answering, I just sat.

“Sweet Boy,” Babbo reached across the table and gently rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand, “there’s not a right answer here. Or judgment.”

I hated how nice he was being. If he were mean about it, I wouldn’t have to think about how much it rattled me. A small part of me considered lying, but he was a divorce lawyer. I wouldn’t get one over on him, even if I tried. Sadly, honesty was my only available option.

“I liked it,” I whispered. Liked was an understatement but it would do for now.

“It seems like that bothers you unless I’m reading you wrong?” Babbo flipped my hand over and traced the lines of my palms. It sent shivers and tingles through my body, including, inconveniently, my dick.

“I don’t want you to feel like I tricked you.” Where he had been rubbing his thumb across my hand, he immediately stilled and stared at me with a dropped jaw.

“What the hell are you talking about? How on earth would you have tricked me?” Babbo asked incredulously.

“Because I said I was a middle. But yesterday I wasn’t. It came out of nowhere, and I don’t want you to think I lied to you.” In hindsight, I should’ve kept up with my silence, but instead, I opened my mouth and let him see all the insecurity pouring out of me. This wasn’t how I wanted to project myself to anyone, but mostly him.

“Oh, Sweet Boy. You’re overthinking this.”

Babbo sounded so gentlewhen he said my nickname, but I didn’t know what he was about when he pushed back from the table and grabbed my hand to pull me out of the chair. “This isn’t a conversation to be had over a kitchen table. Snuggles are required for this discussion.”

“Babbo, you need snuggles too?”

“Absolutely, and so we’re clear… I need them from you.”

I tried to control my smile but failed. “If that’s what you need, then I guess I can help you.”

“You’re a good boy, Sweet Boy.”

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