Page 59 of A Little Christmas: Rivi
He took a deep breath and moved closer to my hip.
As expected, a line at the bar weaved across the large space. It was noisy. Industrial music played through overhead speakers. Other activity had already started. Someone was chained to a St. Andrew’s cross. He wore leather chaps which left his firm ass bare. A few men circled him as one gave him a light whipping all over his back and butt.
There were two breeding benches to the left of the cross. To the right, two harnesses hung from the ceiling. A giant rocking horse, taller than I was, stood on the other side of the room. Couches and soft chairs were scattered throughout. I saw a daddy and a little sitting on one of the couches. They were unfamiliar to me. But some faces I did recognize from the club.
Two guys in black security uniforms conversed by a side exit that must’ve led back upstairs. Ground floor windows went down one side of the room, ceiling-height.
I gripped Rivi’s hand and walked him to the bar line.
“Let’s get drinks.”
“Yes, please, Daddy.” He squeezed my fingers tightly.
Lots of men stared at my boy’s legs. My protective and possessive instinct flared. Of course, Trent would be sure this was a safe space, but I immediately wanted to pick Rivi up and hug him to my chest to show everyone where he belonged.
“Cute slippers,” someone said, passing by with two drinks, one in each hand.
Rivi turned to bury his face against my upper arm. Now both his hands clutched at me, his bear, which he’d informed me was a girl named Ursula, squished between us.
“Is it intimidating because of how they’re dressed?” I asked softly.
“Maybe.” He spoke into my skin, his breath hot.
“Don’t worry, little Pan. I’m right here.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No, Daddy.” His glasses poked my bicep. “I want to see everything. I really do.”
When we got to the front of the line, I said, “What would you like?”
“Coke, please.”
“No alcohol?”
“I’m a baby right now,” he whispered.
I should have seen all the signs. Now it was obvious. Did he need a bottle, too?
I gave my order for a screwdriver, then asked the bartender, “You don’t happen to have baby bottles back there, do you?”
“Of course. The owner has a little. We are well-stocked.”
“Wonderful. Coke in a bottle, please.”
I handed the bottle to Rivi who took it and stared at it. “Daddy?”
“For my baby,” I reminded him. “Follow me.”
We found an unoccupied easy chair. I sat and pulled Rivi onto my lap. I set my own drink in the cup holder and tilted Rivi back against one arm, taking his bottle in my hand. Then I put it to his lips.
“May I feed you?”
His eyes widened. He pushed his glasses up over his curls like a headband, then tipped his head back, staring up at me. “Wow, yes, please, Daddy. I’m littler than I’ve ever felt.”
“You said it just a minute ago. You’re a baby right now and that’s okay. I love it. I’m here for you.”
