Page 19 of Daddy Detectives: Episode 2

“I thought we’d give them some time to talk,” I say.

Jason nods. “Layla’s been worried sick about Ian since she found out about the blackmail note.”

We take our time changing the babies’ diapers and putting them in bed. By the time we return to the living room, the siblings are seated side by side on the sofa, their arms around each other. Layla’s eyes are red and damp, as are Ian’s.

After Jason and Layla head home, I take Ian by the hand and lead him upstairs to our bathroom. I turn on the water in the shower stall, and while the water heats up, Ian strips, numbly going through the motions as he drops his clothes on the floor.

I know Ian. I know what he needs right now.

I join him in the shower to quickly wash myself, then I step out to let him finish up. While he’s doing that, I pull on a pair of sweatpants, towel dry my hair, and then head up to the rooftop greenhouse—Ian’s safe place. It’s dark out now, and a few starsare visible. Because of all the lights, living in a city doesn’t allow for much stargazing, but it’s the feeling of openness that he craves—lying under the expansive sky is the antithesis of being locked inside a small room.

I tidy up the room, turn down the bedding, and switch on the baby monitor so we’ll be able to hear if the babies need us. Just as I finish lighting the half-dozen candles scattered around the room, I notice Ian standing in the doorway. Like me, he’s dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. His chest is bare, as are his feet. His hair is slightly damp after towel-drying it and finger combing his curls.

When I hold out my hand, he comes right to me and places his hand in mine. We’re about the same height, so he stares directly into my eyes, communicating without words what he needs from me.

But there’s no need for him to tell me, because I already know.

His hands slide down to the waistband of my sweats, and he slowly pushes them down, freeing my erection. Then he drops to his knees on the thick rug underneath our feet. He grips the back of my thighs and leans in to lick the length of my cock, from the base to the tip, slowing to swirl his tongue over the tip.

Ian’s groan is not nearly as loud as mine. My husband has a wicked tongue, and he knows how to use it. I reach down to grasp his head, my fingers sliding into his thick curls. I try not to direct him, but it’s hard not to. Besides, I don’t need to. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to rachet up my desire and drive me crazy until I’m desperate to come, and then he’ll back off, edging me, making me suffer a while.

I’m not really sure which one of us is in charge here. On the surface, it’s me because he’s naturally submissive, and he loves my physical strength, but the truth is, if he crooks his finger, I come running. I never experienced sexual satisfaction beforebeing with Ian. After years of failed relationships with women, it turns out I was looking in the wrong place the whole time. When we met, Ian pulled me kicking and screaming out of the closet, and now he owns me body and soul.

As Ian draws my cock deep into his hot, wet mouth, I see stars. He grips my thighs, his fingers digging into my muscles.

Groaning, I tighten my hold on his head as I begin to move, thrusting slow and deep. Every nerve in my body fires, and my pulse pounds. My erection throbs, and my balls tighten. Heat streaks up my spine. When I’m close—so close—I withdraw from his mouth, reach down, and pull him to his feet. I kiss him then, devouring his mouth with mine and relishing the sound of his whimpers and groans. Our erections collide, both of us hard and aching. He’s as ready and needy as I am.

I guide him onto the bed and follow him down until our bodies are stretched out side by side. Ian takes a moment to gaze up at the glass ceiling, at the night sky and a sprinkling of stars. I roll toward him and turn his face to mine. We kiss, long, languid deep kisses, our tongues stroking. I wrap my fingers around his thick erection, and he cries out his pleasure at my touch. I squeeze him and then start stroking. I capture his precum and spread it over the crown of his cock.

I rub myself against him, our erections hot and hard, pressing close, pressing hard. I grasp the back of his head and hold him still for a kiss. Our lips cling, our tongues tease and stroke, our harsh breaths mingle.

Blindly, I reach over to open the top drawer of the bedside table and pull out a bottle of lube. With a sigh, Ian rolls to his belly and spreads his legs. I lube myself, then him, before settling myself between his thighs, opening him up, teasing him, getting him ready for me. And when I finally guide myself into him, he lets out a long breath. Slowly, gently, I sink in, deeper and deeper until my body covers his, pressing him intothe mattress. He whimpers, a sound half submission and half discomfort as his body adjusts to mine. Soon those whimpers turn to ones of pleasure.

I start to move, slowly at first, letting him adjust to me. He fists the sheet, his whimpers turning into moans. This is what he likes, for me to cover him with my body, pinning him down, making him feel completely enveloped and protected as I rock into him. I reach for his hands, linking our fingers, and pin his to the mattress. In this position, I can kiss his neck, behind his ear, or capture his mouth. He pants and moans beneath me and shivers beneath my touch. He groans and whimpers and shudders as I thrust, gently at first, and then harder and harder.

His body is so hot and tight and slick, I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming too soon. I slow my movements, gliding smoothly in and out. Ian’s breathing is heavy and fast, and his voice cracks as he cries out my name, begging and pleading, the words nearly incomprehensible.

After my orgasm shoots through me, I release his hands and roll us to our sides so I can reach around him and wrap my fingers around his erection. Still buried deep inside him, rocking slowly, I wrap my slick fingers tightly around him and stroke him firmly.

“God, Tyler, please,” he moans, his voice hoarse, the words desperate. “Oh, God, yes!” He bucks his hips uncontrollably, which only forces me deeper inside him. “Tyler!”

He’s so close. I press my lips to the back of his head and mutter, “Come for me, baby. That’s it. Come for me.”

With a shuddering cry, he comes, hot spunk coating my fist. His body shakes and his back bows as he empties himself.

When I finally pull out, he turns to me, and we share soulful, aching kisses. “God, I love you,” I say against his trembling lips.

“Love you, too,” he gasps.

We roll to our backs, and Ian rests his head on my shoulder so he can gaze up through the glass roof at the inky night sky.

“Do you think she was telling the truth?” Ian asks.

“Who? Rhonda?”

“Yeah. When she said she locked me in my room to protect me from her tricks.”

I kiss his forehead. “I do. There are a lot of sick fucks in the world who would love to get their hands on a little boy.”

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