Page 75 of Coiled Tight
“Um. Why?” Honorifics were not a thing I’d cared too much about before. Given all the times I’d caught him stopping or doubting himself, though, I pinned him down with a stare until he gulped and tried again. “Why, Daddy?”
“Much better.” The praise came unbidden. “I just think you need some TLC.”
Cam squirmed. “Is that what you’re getting from me asking about punishments?”
“That’s exactly right.”
There wasno doubting my words or my plan of action. After I’d tipped the waitress and we scampered out of the diner that I’d make a note not to revisit, Cam climbed up on the back of the truck. I spared a glance to make sure weweren’t being watched and did the same from the opposite door. The parking lot was empty save for a couple of larger delivery trucks, but they were far enough, and I suspected the drivers were using the gas station for a pit stop before moving somewhere better.
Cam looked uncomfortable, unsure of what to do, his brows furrowed, and his hands clasped together. It lasted two seconds, though. A carefully placed hand cupped his jaw, and he melted into the touch like the touch-starved boy I’d suspected him of being. He didn’t protest when I pushed him closer.
There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver, and pushing him to my lap meant he was squished between me and the back of the front seat. It wasn’t a position that could be maintained for long. I was aware. Being aware didn’t stop me. Being aware just meant I set a mental reminder to not let us spend an hour or two like this.
Maybe next year, if we hadn’t made him run for the hills by then, and he didn’t resent my guts for one thing or another, I could let him persuade me into those plane tickets he’d wanted to buy. Privacy would still be an issue, but I’d certainly have more time with him like this.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You do?” Cam’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, the skin there wrinkling with the force of someone who would have the lines of having lived before what society would consider his time. “Um. Why?”
“After Damian’s,” I pointed out, “I was focusing so much on the boundaries you’d set. I think I forgot the one thing you asked for more than anything. I don’t think I’ve kept my end of the deal.”
I didn’t need to close my eyes to see it, the desperation in his eyes, the embarrassment and need when he asked to be kissed, to make out, to do anything that kept my mouth onhis. The way he’d leaned forward every time he’d thought I was going to go for it.
I wouldn’t say I hadn’t kissed him in the last two weeks, but had I dedicated hours to it? The time he clearly craved? The time Iwantedhim to crave?
“What are you talking about?”
Words got trapped in the back of my throat. The good, responsible thing would be to explain my logic, the inner monologue that I knew had a point even when I suspected he’d fight me on it.
“Can I kiss you, darlin’?”
Instead, the question was what came out.
Apparently, it was a good choice of words, given how fast and fiercely Cam nodded.
I ignored the pit in my stomach. Had I been taking him that much for granted? Mistreating him this badly, that the idea of getting my lips pressed to his deserved such a response?
I grunted, shushing the lurking voices in my head. Then I gave him what I’d offered—lips against his, exploring, teasing, nibbling until he parted his mouth and let me slide my tongue inside. He was the one making the noises afterward, and I was more than happy to let him—to relish in it, in how easily he seemed to mold to my body, to my very whim.
It was heady—the kind of feeling that could become an addiction easily. The kind that—albeit different—had been behind why I didn’t pull the brakes with Roy in time.
Fuck.
Cam’s brain wasn’t the only one that thrived when pouring buckets of ice-cold water on him.
I leaned back, my lungs fighting for more air. It hadn’t been the reason I’d pulled back, but it gave me an excuse to not have him overthinking the move before I could find my words.
“How good are you at writing lists, darlin’?”
“Um.” Cam gasped for air. I noted how his hips buckedup in the air, seeking friction I wasn’t quite giving him. My hand went to meet him there without much input from me. “What do I get in return?”
“I take care of you.” In more ways than one, but I made the meaning clearer by dragging my gaze down to the bulge in his sweatpants, the one I’d made my best to ignore back when I was driving and not looking forward to an accident, a ticket, or worse. “Sounds good?”
Cam’s chest heaved up and down for two, three beats. “Y-yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”
“Good boy.” I rumbled the words, my forehead pressed to his. “I love how you use your words for me, darlin’.”
The constant praise came easily with him. It wasn’t forced, or unnatural, or an exaggeration. I’d had months of witnessing how he struggled with every other person unless he was talking about the animals. I’d seen him stop using his words before he panicked and found an excuse to get some space. Yet here he was, pressing himself closer to me, pushing through whatever discomfort he was battling with, andtalkingto me. Giving me answers. Sharing his thoughts.
