Page 15 of Matteo's Mettle
Fuck, even him saying the word -not calling himself Daddy, but just asking hypothetically- has my dick twitching. I swallow. “That’s the main draw for me, to be honest. Being cared for, I mean.”
“I figured as much,” he acknowledges, still warm and kind, but there’s additional heat in his gaze that I hope to God I’m not imagining. “But what does that look like to you?”
“Attention,” I blurt, feeling pathetic as the admission escapes me. “Like…a lot. I’m…I’ve been alone for a while and I just-”
“Want to be someone’s priority?”
It’s as good a way to phrase it as any other. I nod. “Yeah. So, like, having Daddy take control at home, making my decisions for me, giving me rules and structure and schedules. Lots of affection and reassurance, because I’m, well, a needy little boy.” I look down at my lap, picking at my cuticles.
An index finger lifts my chin. London’s expression is still open and free of judgment when I’m forced to look at him. “What else?”
“Uh,” my thoughts are a jumbled mess, that simple touch doing more to me than I can process, “So, I like it when Daddy does stuff for me. Cuts up my food. Makes sure I’ve been drinking my water and eating healthy. Orders for me at restaurants…but not off the kids’ menu. Uh, and I like it when he chooses my outfits and dresses me?”
“Why is that a question?”
My cheeks burn. “I don’t know.”
Except I do. I want to know his limits. How much of this would he actually be okay with? Because I’m willing to compromise on any of it. And there I go getting ahead of myself again. He’s asking out of curiosity, not because he’s decided to be my Daddy.
“Matteo.”
Fuck me, Daddy voice is back. I don’t even hate the use of my full first name when it’s said that way. In fact, it’s more arousing than I could have imagined. Funny how I’ve never felt that way when Charlie does it, though.
“I just…can you tell me if something’s too much?” I cringe even as I say it. “Not that…not that I’m just assuming you want to be my…that you’re considering…”
Those blue eyes light with understanding. “Oh, sweetheart,” he reaches out and pulls me in for a hug, running thick fingers through my hair, “I thought it was obvious. That’s why I’m asking.”
The hope I was trying to stomp down inside me breaks free, tendrils of it curling through my veins and into my heart and head, making me giddy. Could it be that he does want more than a one-night club hook-up? With me, of all people?
“You’re not freaked out by this?”
“Not in the least. Honestly, I assumed most of it anyway, having seen Cherie and Kate’s dynamic. But I know everyone’s a bit different, so I just wanted to know whatyouwant as a little.” He cocks his head. “The dressing thing…do you prefer diapers or training pants or-”
“You know more about this than you said you do.” I cut in, pulling out of his embrace and settling back in my seat, facing him again. I realize how silly the sentence sounds once it’s out, but London seems to understand my meaning.
“I did a bit of research back when Cherie first told me about her and Kate. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t gonna put my foot in my mouth or be taken completely by surprise.”
I wonder if there’s more to it than that, but I accept the explanation readily enough.
Then he repeats the question about my preferences.
I sigh, feeling my cheeks heat even before I answer him. “I like the diaper. It…uh, it helps me sink deeper into little space faster.” Taking a steadying breath, I might as well go all in. “And the whole changing routine does that, too. Like being laid out and powdered and having it wrapped around me and secured…it’s more intimate than just stepping into a pair of tight underwear, I guess.”
“I can see that,” London’s voice is still steady and kind. “Do you use them? Or is it more a sensory thing for you?”
I wish I could get even a hint of his feelings on the topic. It’s understandable that this is a hard limit for a lot of people, littles and Daddies alike. For me, it’s not a deal-breaker, though I won’t lie and say that the level of trust and intimacy involved isn’t heady, nor that being able to sink so deeply into little space isn’t incredibly freeing. Still, it’s never been something I’ve indulged in often, either. Trent only went with it to humor me whenever I was incredibly stressed and needed the additional release, if you’ll forgive the pun.
“Not for years, and never often. Usually only when I’ve been so stressed that I needed to go real deep into little space.” I eventually answer, studying him closely for any sign of discomfort, “But wetting isn’t something I desperately need as part of my little experience if it’s a hard limit for my partner, and it’s also not something I’m comfortable trying early on with a Daddy, either.”
If he’s relieved, or even disgusted, he doesn’t show it. He just bobs his head. “That makes sense. And, honestly, I don’t know that I’d be ready to jump straight into it from a Daddy perspective, either. I’d want a bit more practice with the diapering process first. For us both to be comfortable with each other. To trust each other implicitly.”
My heart leaps into my throat. He seems so confident about this, even though it’s all new to him. It’s like he’s made the decision to jump in feet first and that’s that.
It’s everything I’ve been wanting, that I’ve been dreaming of, foryears. And now it’s within my grasp and…I’m afraid. Afraid that I’m going to get attached too quickly. Afraid that he will hate it, though he obviously has every right to. Afraid it’s not going to work out and that he has the potential to hurt me more than any of the jackasses in the clubs have, if only because my hopes are climbing too high now. But, mostly, I’m afraid that I won’t recover if it doesn’t work out.
“Hey, you’re shaking,” London’s concerned now, reaching out for me again. I go willingly into another hug, tensing when he asks me to explain where my thoughts had gone.
This strange, almost instant connection I feel with him only serves to fuel my inner turmoil. It’s ridiculous that I should feel so strongly after knowing the guy for barely a few hours. Am I so desperate for affection that I’m latching on to the first person to show me the kind of attention I’ve been yearning for for years? I don’t want to use the guy. He’s too good for that.
