Page 20 of Chance's Choice

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Obviously, he’s had someone keeping tabs on his son. I know I should tell Chance, but our current relationship is so new and tenuous, I can’t bring myself to do it. I mean, what would I say? “Hey, so your Dad said I shouldn’t be hanging around with you and your type, so I guess he’s spying on you?” Yeah…that’s a no from me. It would only cause more drama than is healthy for us right now. Besides, he knows his father better than anyone: he’s probably already aware that the guy’s keeping track of him, even if they are estranged.

Thankfully, nothing else out of the ordinary happens during the rest of my week. My days are filled with campaign proposals, overseeing the results of our latest catalogue release, negotiating rebate deals with our suppliers and trying to get the sales guys excited about our increased targets. I would have liked to have gone out on a date with my new boyfriend (and thinking those words still gives me such a thrill) but he’s also been swamped at work, so we’ve had to make do with phone calls and texts.

By the time Friday night rolls around, I am a jittery bundle of energy. I’m excited to see Chance again, to spend the weekend with him, but I’m also feeling…odd. It’s like a thrumming under my skin. A need I can’t quite express. Excitement and anxiety and yearning all bundled up together in a strange mishmash of emotion.

Chance takes one look at me when he opens his front door -because his place is bigger and more private, given that he lives on a property twenty minutes’ drive outside the city proper- and his eyes soften as he reaches for me.

“Oh, baby,” he croons, pulling me in for a hug, I melt against his larger frame, soaking in the affection like a sponge. “Long week?”

“The longest,” I complain with a whine that sounds so unlike the man I’ve tried to be. Chance’s presence does this to me. He brings down my walls, sending me hurtling back to a much younger headspace just by reminding me of my youth.

“Come on, let’s get comfy on the couch and see if we can’t get you relaxed.” He gently tugs me forward, taking my overnight bag from my hands and placing it on the worn timber floor inside the foyer, shutting his front door behind us.

His place is the antithesis of mine. Where mine is modern, his is dated. Mine is a high-rise apartment, his is a single-story cottage. Where I have gleaming tiles and chrome, he has scuffed timber and gingham. His is colorful, warm, and cosy. Mine is stark, cold, and impersonal.

“It’s not much,” he says self-consciously, leading the way from the front door into a little living room with a big, plush beige couch and a crackling fireplace, “but it’s home. And I got it for a great price about ten years back.”

I can tell Chance is trying to sound casual and nonchalant, but the tense set of his shoulders and the rosy tint to his cheeks tells me that he is actually worried about my impression of his home. I let my eyes sweep over the room we’re currently standing in, taking in the reds and golds of the decorations, the knickknacks on the side table and the photos on the walls, and I grin.

“I love it,” I tell him honestly. It’s veryhim. Comforting. Inviting. Personal and homely. I can see myself playing on the rug by the fire, or snuggled up against him on the couch while he reads me a story. I can picture us playing cards at the dining table I caught a glimpse of through the archway behind us, or drinking beers on the back porch.

“You do?”

Chance’s vulnerability reminds me of when we were kids. He was always the shy, sensitive one. I was the bold, feisty ‘don’t give a fuck’ guy, even if it was just a mask. Though he’s grown up to exude masculinity in ways I never can, I can tell he’s still a soft soul at heart. He’s still the same boy who approached an ostracized new kid in the cafeteria and offered a hand in friendship, just because seeing other people alone and sad upset him. He’s the same kid who would make up excuses to invite me to his place because he knew I was struggling being alone with my mom. The same guy who obviously knew I was more camp than a row of tents, but never pushed me to come out. Not even when he bravely did so himself.

“It’s gorgeous,” I tell him, moving forward to run my hand over the soft fabric of his couch, squeezing the plush high seat back. “My place has, like, no personality. Yours is full of life. It’s ahome, Chance. Not just a place to crash.”

His big, bearlike arms wrap around my waist from behind, and he rests his chin on my shoulder, kissing my neck. “I’m actually really relieved to hear that, Kade. After seeing your place…” he trails off and sighs. “Anyway, I just want you to be comfortable here. Happy.”

My heart squeezes and I fight the urge to pinch myself. A week ago, anyone saying such things to me was a pipedream or a fantasy I couldn’t allow myself to indulge. But now the guilt is still gone, and I’m allowed to have this. I’m allowed to have the hot boyfriend -a Daddy no less- and to be taken care of. I’m allowed to be happy. I’m allowed to want to be happy.

A rush of giddiness almost overwhelms me.

I’ve never felt like this before.

Chance must feel the hyperactivity in my posture, because he presses another kiss to my neck and then turns me around to kiss my lips properly, keeping it sweet and chaste, before pulling back. “Let’s sit down before you vibrate out of your skin, baby.”

I feel the blush crawl up my chest and neck and up to my cheeks and ears as he pulls me around to the front of the couch, tugging me into his lap as we drop down onto the seats together. I avert my gaze. “I don’t know what’s up with me today,” I explain, a hint of that whine creeping back into my tone. My leg bounces with nervous energy and I chew my lower lip before I add, “I’ve never felt this…unsettled?” That’s as good a word for it as any.

“Hmm,” Chance smooths a strong hand through my hair and I arch into the touch, “how often do you usually let off steam at the club? Like…Little play or spankings or whatever it is you need?”

I blink at him. I usually visit a couple of times a week. Being able to be myself without anyone else’s expectations weighing on me -and without the oppressive silence of my lonely apartment- usually relaxes me, even if I’m not visiting to hook up for a scene.

It didn’t feel right visiting without Chance, or at least without having discussed it with him, so I haven’t indulged in any sort of kink or kink immersion since last Friday.

“Holy shit,” I exhale as the realization washes over me.

Chance swats my butt. “Language,” he admonishes.

“Sorry, Daddy,” I reply on instinct, then beam at him. “God, that feels good.”

“What does?”

“Calling you Daddy.” Already the tension inside me is unwinding. “I feel stupid for not realizing how much I rely on the club -on the lifestyle- to get through my work week.”

Chance’s brows draw together and he shakes his head. “Not stupid. Things have changed quickly for you. You don’t feel like you deserve punishment, so I guess you haven’t felt to urge to visit for that reason. And, from what you said last weekend, you’ve never really visited just to let go in Little space, so it wouldn’t occur to you that you needed that.” He sighs. “That’s on me. I should have touched base. I should have asked if you needed-”

Pressing my index finger to his lips, I shake my head. “No. Nu-uh. If I’m not at fault, neither are you. This is new for both of us.”