Page 15 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Felix
“We’ll let this settle. Then I’m driving you home.”
His eyes widened at the promise. He opened his mouth to protest—“I can get a cab”—but fell silent when he saw I was firm.
“Yes, sir,” he murmured. Relief flickered in his gaze.
When his breathing had evened out, I helped him into his clothes. He was slow, careful, still haunted. Outside, the cold hit him like a slap. He shivered, goosebumps rippling over bruised skin. I shrugged off my coat and wrapped it around him.
“Car’s this way.” He followed wordlessly.
In the car, he sat bundled in my coat, staring at the passing streetlights. I punched in the address he gave me. He didn’t speak until we were halfway home.
“Thank you, sir. For…everything.”
“You’re welcome.” I kept my tone light, but my eyes never left him.
“I didn’t mean to cause problems. I—”
That confession clutched at me. He wasn’t like the usual drama-seeking subs. He just tried so hard.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Clayton,” I repeated.
He nodded silently, gaze fixed on the dark road.
His house was out in the quiet suburbs—an empty driveway, cold windows. Inside, the lights were off. He fished a key from his pocket, hand shaking so badly I had to cover it with mine. The entry way was sparse and frozen. I flipped the switch, but nothing flickered on.
He muttered a curse. “They were working earlier.” I didn’t know what to say. A sub, fresh from a cane scene, living alone in a freezing house—this wasn’t acceptable.
“Change of plan,” I said. “You’re staying at my place tonight.”
He stared at me, stunned. “But—”
“Where’s your bedroom?” He stammered but pointed. I found a duffle in his closet and packed a few essentials: underwear, a shirt, shower supplies, shaving kit, and grabbed some meds I saw.
Back in the kitchen, Clayton sat on a chair, shoulders hunched, hands knotted in his lap. I led him to the car again and locked the house behind us.
My condo was on the seventh floor—glass walls, river view, all bright warmth after his dark, cold home. He hesitated at the door, as if expecting to be scolded.
“Shoes off,” I told him gently. Then, “Shower.” I set the water running gently, waited for the steam to billow. He stripped and slipped in, seeming to delight in the warmth. I stayed in the bathroom to make sure he didn’t pass out.
When the shower stopped, he wrapped himself in a towel, wet hair plastered to his forehead, flushed from heat. I took a robe from the hook, but instead of just passing it to him, I wrapped him in it, then took the towel to rub his hair. His eyes grew huge.
“Okay?” I asked.
He nodded, voice barely there. “Yes, sir.”
I guided him to the kitchen island. “Food. Are you allergic to anything?” He shook his head, so I made toast and eggs. He ate in tiny bites, like he wanted it to last. Then I set a mug of hot chocolate in front of him, and I blinked in shock as his face changed. He reached for the hot chocolate like it was made of gold, practically beaming for the first time and hugging the mug like… Shit, that reaction almost reminded me of Alice, Max’s three-year-old baby sister.
I made a tea for myself and sat opposite him. I’d just been going to take him straight to the guest room, but now I wanted to get to know him a little better. He was obviously having money problems, but what else was going on? He stared at the mug like he’d never seen one before.
Didn’t even sip at first. Just wrapped both hands around the ceramic, knuckles white, eyes fixed on the rising steam. I wondered how long it’d been since anybody had bothered with him. A real meal, a warm drink, a coat around his shoulders. He peered up at me once, then down again, cheeks going pink.
I let him have a minute. The food was mostly gone. He’d eaten every crumb but acted like if he scraped the plate he’d be punished for it.
I didn’t say a word. Not until he was halfway through the cocoa and the color had started to come back into his face.
“Apart from us, was tonight the first time you played since your last relationship?” I steepled my fingers, watching him. “At the club, I mean.”
He choked a little on the drink. It took him a second to swallow. “Yes, sir.” Voice thin. “I’ve been working.” He shrugged, slow, like moving his shoulders still hurt. “I just needed to get out of the house.”
