Page 25 of Chance's Choice
“Oh no,” I play along, lifting the cloth again, “on your back?”
Those beautiful blue eyes narrow. “No.”
“Under your arms?”
“No.”
“Oh, I know!” I watch as relief starts to creep over him as I lean forward, “I missed your cute little face.”
“What? No!Daddy!” Kade protests through laughter as I swipe the cloth over his cheeks and nose and chin. “You missed a spot…down there.” He pulls one of his hands back out of the water, droplets flying as he points emphatically towards his crotch. Affecting widened eyes and that over-the-top pout again, Kade looks up at me through lowered lashes. “It wasverymessy before.”
There’s my cheeky boy.
Heat lances through me at the reminder of our earlier activities and, though the water is cloudy with the remnants of the soap and bubbles, I catch glimpses of his reddened cock head bobbing beneath the surface, as if it’s straining towards me.
“That’s true,” I eventually find my voice, shaking off my distraction and growing need. “But Daddy’s washing you on his own schedule, Kaden. Not yours. Understood?”
I can tell that he wants to argue. That he wants to demand instant gratification. But I can also see when the realization that this is part of the game -of the role play- takes root and he accepts it, albeit a little grudgingly. There’s still a hint of challenge in his gaze when he bites that pouty bottom lip and nods, offering me a soft, “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy.” Only nowIhave to follow through on my own words. Damn it. Looking him over again, inspiration strikes. “Now, I’m going to wash your hair, baby. Just let me grab the shampoo and conditioner.” I keep both in the shower, in the inset recess between the two showerheads, so I push myself to my feet with a bitten back complaint about my protesting knees and cross the tiles to grab the two white bottles. When I turn back around, Kade’s watching me with the same burning intensity as before, his hand back beneath the water, quite clearly working over his cock. I frown, even though my own plumps up at the erotic sight. “Kaden,” I growl.
His arm freezes, but his hand stays where it is.
“That’s not for you to play with,” I tell him firmly. “Little boys don’t get to get themselves off unless Daddy says so. Daddy’s in charge of big boy touches, remember?”
His jaw drops and he seems to come back to his adult self for a moment. “That’s a serious rule?”
We’ve had plenty of time over the past week to go over the rules and negotiations of our mutual kink, but I chuckle at his disbelief. “It’s right up there with no swearing -except for during sex- and no disparaging yourself, baby. You can only touch yourself when I say you can.”
“I don’t like this rule,” he protests, but he makes a show of letting go of his cock, holding his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Well, not all rules are meant to be liked.”
He thinks over this a bit more, then squints at me. “Can I still touch myself when I’m big? Or is this an all the time rule, like the cussing?”
There’s a primal, possessive part of me that wants to say he can’t get himself off without my permission. A part of me that wants to be in control ofallhis pleasure. But I’m not that dominating or possessive.
To put that rule in place seems especially unfair when we don’t live together and, if this week has been anything to go by, don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like. So, I shake my head. “No, baby. This rule is only for fun when you’re little.” I pause. “You can safe word out of all the rules at any time, you know that, right?”
“Daddy, we talked about this…” he sounds vaguely exasperated, but he’s still smiling even as he huffs and tries to glare at me.
“Okay, okay,” I drop down in front of the bath again, setting the bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the floor beside me. “I’ll stop reminding you.”
He’s already sinking back into little space again, making it seem almost effortless. He shoots me one of his cheeky grins and reaches up with a dripping hand to pat my cheek patronizingly. “Good Daddy.”
I owe Josh about a billion apologies, I think, marveling over just how much I like the slightly bratty behavior from my boy.
“Okay, baby, let’s wash your hair. Water’s really cooling down now. Head back, eyes closed.”
He complies as I use a small bucket from the collection of toys to wet his hair with the bath water, then lather shampoo through the silky blonde locks. Then I fill the little bucket with warm water from the faucet and rinse the shampoo out before smoothing some conditioner through. I use my fingertips to give him a head massage to let the conditioner do its thing, grinning as Kade turns to putty in my hands. Then I refill the bucket from the faucet and rinse the conditioner out, too.
“Mmm,” he says as I card my fingers through his now clean hair, “that was nice, Daddy.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I tell him. “And you were so good for me, that you’ve earned a reward.” At that, I pull my hand away from his hair and plunge it into the water in front of him, finally grasping his cock, which is still hard despite the complete lack of attention it’s been shown in the past few minutes.
Kade’s eyes fly open at the touch, but he shuts them again and tosses his head back, sighing in relief when I stroke him slowly. “Oh, God, yes,” he breathes, rocking his hips into my fist.
I’m so addicted to watching him unravel already. The way he pants, the way his skin flushes -the pink crawling up his chest and neck and over his cheeks- the way he throws his head back with abandon and whimpers as his pleasure mounts. The way his breathing hitches when he’s close to the edge. The way his fingers tense, tightening over whatever he’s holding (right now, it’s the edges of the tub on either side of him), making their already pale lengths turn white at the knuckles. The way he babbles incoherently, muttering praises and cuss words and directions in a jumbled verbal onslaught.
