Page 31 of Chance's Choice
Not that I need his approval, but knowing he’s in my corner and doesn’t think I’m crazy settles any remaining doubts that might have been lurking in my subconscious.
“Well then,” he says, as if that’s that, “when can we meet him?”
Chapter Fourteen – Kade
Thankfully, the week passes without any additional veiled threats from Don, which has me hopeful that he’s no longer keeping tabs on Chance. Or me, for that matter. On Wednesday night, Chance comes over to my place and we have dinner, then he changes me into my pjs and reads me a bedtime story. The short, sweet indulgence of my Little side helps get me through to the weekend without a repeat of last week’s build up of stress and energy, though I do wish that Chance could have stayed the night.
Still, it’s a much more relaxed version of me that pulls up in Chance’s driveway on Friday night. This time the anticipation buzzing beneath my skin is pure excitement to see my boyfriend, to reconnect with him and spend time with him however he chooses.
“Hey, baby,” he greets me at the front door, having opened it and stepped out before I’d even shut off my engine. He takes my bag, tosses it just inside the entryway, and then yanks me into his arms for a deep, delicious kiss.
“Mmm,” I murmur when we separate, my fingers curled around his belt loops, “I could get used to that.”
“I hope so.” Chance smiles and brushes a floppy lock of hair out of my eyes. His expression is doting and warm and…I have to stop myself there. It’s only been three weeks. I should not be getting ahead of myself.
And yet, as Chance leads me into the living room and sits me on the couch, my heart flutters anyway.
“So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, a curious expression on his face. He looks almost nervous, but excited, too. “I…uh, I’ve been researching…um…stuff. And, look, there’s no pressure, but I bought some things and, well, I hope you’ll be interested in trying them? Not right now. But…maybe we could talk about them and how you feel about it and…yeah.”
My mind races with possibilities. “Is it diapers?” I ask him. “Because I already said I’m happy to wear them, just-”
“No,” Chance cuts me off, and it is equal parts concerning and amusing to see him so flustered. “Here,” he says, pulling a nondescript black plastic bag out from the other side of the couch, “why don’t you just, y’know, look at them and, uh, tell me what you think. But, remember, there’s zero rush or pressure or…”
He trails off as I arch an eyebrow at him and open the bag wide. The first thing I see is a long, furry…something. I reach for it, pulling it out from the bag and hear myself breathe, “Whoa.”
It’s a tail. Not of the butt-plug variety, but the kind that attaches via a harness or a belt. It’s super soft, a tawny blonde color, and kind of addictive to run my fingers through.
Setting it aside gingerly, not wanting to ruin the pretty faux-fur, I dig back into the bag with gusto. This time I come out with a pair of soft ears that match the tail, set on top of a headband rather than into a restrictive hood or mask.
Still standing in front of the couch, Chance fidgets. “I didn’t want to get the hardcore stuff yet. I thought maybe you’d prefer to start light and just…see what it feels like first, you know?” He clears his throat. “Although, the second tailisa plug, but you don’t have to use it.” He pauses, seemingly rethinks his words, and rushes to explain, “Not that you have to useanyof it, but-”
“Breathe, Daddy,” I demand, then look back down at the ears in my hand. I stroke over the soft fur with my fingertips, excitement and anticipation zinging through my veins. “This is…these are…” I pause to gather my thoughts. “I love them.” My eyes meet his and I swallow. I’d mentioned my interest in puppy play once.Just once. Weeks ago, and during an otherwise insanely emotionally charged evening. But he remembered. Not only did he remember, but he’s also gone and made this really sweet gesture. “I love you.”
Those last three words are spoken softly as my heart hammers in my chest. I know it’s early, but at the same time it’s been twenty-odd years in the making.
“Kade,” Chance says my name on a reverent exhale, crossing the small space between us and dropping to his knees in front of me. “I love you, too. I don’t think I ever stopped.”
Suddenly, the remaining contents of the bag are forgotten, unimportant in comparison to the desperate need to have my arms around Chance’s neck and his lips on mine. As our mouths crash together, I pour over twenty years’ worth of longing and love into it. Our tongues move together, our breath mingling, our hands clutching and holding on to one another’s bodies as though we’re both equally terrified that we’ll be separated again.
Chance breaks away first, pushing to his feet and pulling me up from the couch. “C’mon,” he says gently, “let’s have dinner.”
I know I’m frowning back at him, a little incredulous. Other parts of my anatomy are demanding attention, and one look at the bulge in Chance’s jeans says he’s in the same boat. “Dinner?” I echo.
He chuckles and cups my cheek, stroking his thumb across my skin in a gentle display of affection that never fails to have my legs go a little wobbly beneath me. “Dinner,” he repeats. “And after we eat, I’m gonna take you to bed.”
The sentiment sounds so similar to our activities on Wednesday night, but the heat in his delivery leaves no question to his intentions.
I grin. “Dinner it is.”
* * *
“Oh, yes,Chance,” I say his name like a prayer as he lays me out on his bed, kissing and nuzzling the crook of my neck while his fingers pluck at my belt.
We teased the ever loving fuck out of each other over our meal, playing footsie under the table like teenagers, reaching out to touch each other and share kisses between bites of the delicious chicken parmigiana he’d had baking in the oven. It was all either of us could do to even make it to the bedroom by the time we’d cleared our plates.
“I’m not gonna last,” I warn him with a self-conscious huff of laughter, my fingers carding through the slightly curled hair on top of his head. “Not with you edging me over dinner.”
Chance leans back from where he’s been doing his best to give me beard rash above my collarbone, and smirks. His gorgeous whiskey-hazel eyes seem to twinkle with mirth. “Baby, that was just flirting. If I’d really been edging you, you’d be incoherent right now,” he promises.
