Page 6 of Daddy

You will be.

Gripping his shoulder, I spin him around and roughly bend him over the ledge of the counter. My growing cock presses against his firm ass, and I bend over him and brush my lips to the back of his ear. “Bad boys get punished.”

His eyes blow wide as I stand and push my left hand into his back to keep him pinned to the counter. I swing my right fast and hard, my hand landing on his ass before he has a chance to protest. Warmth radiates across my palm as he lets out a pained yelp. I connect with his denim-covered ass again and again, wishing desperately that I could see the handprints I’m leaving on his beautiful brown skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jorge,” I softly whisper the words, rubbing my palm over the ass cheek that took every correcting strike. “I just need you to understand… When I told you to be a good boy, I meant it.”

Sliding my hand up his back, I lace my fingers through his dark hair and fist it just hard enough to pull him upright. “I expect better. I demand it. Youwilllearn to be a good boy,” I exhale, the soft stubble of my beard sliding along the length of his neck as I fight against my urge to press my lips to it. To taste him. Our eyes meet in the mirror, both sets staring back at me full of an aching need.

A need neither of us will be quenching tonight.

Tearing myself from his body, I adjust my rock-hard cock and storm out of the bathroom before I’m unable to stop myself from giving in to what I actually want.

What we both actually want.

CHAPTEREIGHT

JORGE

I can’t stop thinking about Rory and what happened in Declan and Quinn’s guest bathroom. Eight days and I can still feel him pressed against me, the burn of his hand radiating against my ass with every spank. Or how goosebumps prickled along the length of my spine at the words playing on repeat in my thoughts.You will learn to be a good boy.Those words and that searing gaze making it quite clear what he wanted from me.

My thumbs haven’t swiped right in over a week.Hell, I haven’t even opened a single dating app.For some incomprehensible reason, I’m compelled to give him what he’s asking for. No… what he’s demanding.The control he’s asking for is something I’ve never experienced. At least not first-hand. And after watching it unfold with my friends for years, I can’t deny my curiosity.

Rory has been wandering around the club tonight, not once looking in my direction. I’ve been trying to focus on work to keep myself from following him. Serving drinks and chatting mindlessly with customers, but he’s still at the forefront of my thoughts.

I head into the backroom to grab a bottle of Tullamore Dew and Patron to restock the bar. A bottle in each hand, I turn around and gasp—nearly dropping the liquor when I find Rory inches from me. I stare at him with my heart in my throat. His knuckle drags along my jaw, igniting a fire under my skin as he asks, “Have you been a good boy for me? Or do I need to remind you what happens when you don’t listen?”

Heated flush creeps up my neck, and I struggle to inhale. “Y… yes. I’ve been a good boy,” I breathlessly stutter.

“Good boy.” A proud smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. He pulls a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket and holds it for a moment before dipping into the front pocket of my pants. His fingers dust against my upper thigh as he deposits the paper, and my cock twitches as though it’s trying to jump into his hand.

He walks away without saying another word. My hands shaking and my heart hammering, I rush from the stockroom, only to watch him quickly disappear into the crowd. I roughly drop both the bottles onto the back bar and note out of my pocket, struggling to unfold it with my trembling fingers.

Your shift ends at 11.

I expect you by 11:30.

152 W 49th St #5A

My brain cannot comprehending the reality before me, and I stare at his scratchy writing for way longer than necessary.It’s happening…

I go through the remainder of my shift, barely aware of the conversations being had around me. Every bit of my attention is on the clock behind the bar—anxiously counting down the minutes until I leave.

9:47

10:12

10:38

10:46

10:51

10:57

I’m pulling on my jacket by the time it clicks to 11:00 p.m. Heading outside, I flag down a cab and provide the address Rory left me. I pull up to the building a few minutes later, and it’s nothing like the places the others live. It’s a nondescript building without a doorman. I walk up the steps two at a time and press the buzzer for 5A. Without a word through the intercom, the door clicks open, and I step into the small lobby. My fingers tap nervously against my thigh as I ride the elevator to the fifth floor.

I lift my hand to knock on the door, only to find it ajar. I press it open and tentatively step inside. His apartment is very different from what I imagined. It’s simple and small but well-designed. Natural wood beams run the length of the otherwise white ceiling. The walls are a mixture of white and natural brick, matching the minimalist decor. I walk further into the room and run my hands over the arm of the avocado-green tuxedo couch, gazing at the books scattered across the coffee table. The space feels warm and cozy, but it still has a distinctly masculine feel.

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