Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Nonsense. I could easily put together a little package of those fun-sized boxes of cereal, a single-serving milk container, maybe a fruit, and a note about how much Daddy missed his secret places.
“Make sure to add your favorite cereals too, just in case,” I said.
“Yes, Sir. Breakfast list now?”
“Sounds good.” I undid a couple buttons on the front next, by his stomach.
He shifted on me and swallowed. “For breakfast—if I have work—I eat something light, ’cause we usually have craft services on location. So, like, again, milk and cereal—or a bran muffin or a yogurt with berries… Stuff like that. But if I don’t have work till way later, or if I’m off that day, I will almost murder for waffles and pancakes and a sausage egg McMuffin and bacon and… That’s distracting, Daddy.”
I inhaled deeply and stroked his soft, toned stomach. “I think you can manage.”
James should be here any moment.
“This is how Sadists set sweet, innocent boys up to fail,” the brat insisted. Yet, he willingly and rapidly gave me all the access when I leaned in and started kissing his neck. “Hnngh. For the record, why can’t Daddies have homework? I wanna know your favorites too. How else can I surprise you and stuffs?”
I smiled and trapped his earlobe between my teeth. That was a ticklish spot for him, I’d discovered.
He giggled and squirmed.
“I can give you a list,” I offered. “You ready to write it down?”
“Gosh—okay.” He hurriedly grabbed his pen. “I’m ready, Daddy.”
Adorable.
“Texts. Long or short—share your day with me.” A few more buttons came loose, and I slipped a hand between his thighs. “Photos of you and what you’re doing. Your crafts, your illustrations, work… Doesn’t matter.”
“This is standard stuff I’m planning on doing anyway, Sir,” he said. He turned to me and smiled. “I’m talking about sweet gestures. What do you like? Other than Jolly Ranchers, considering the billion wrappers that fell out of your glovebox when you asked me to grab your multitool.”
Oh, he’d known about my obsession with Jolly Ranchers before then. He’d left a duck or two in there after all.
“Fair enough.” I withheld my smirk and dropped an openmouthed kiss in the curve of his neck, making him shiver. “Your monkey bread. That’s the list. Sweet or savory, I’m all over it.”
He made a note.
Perfect time for me to cup his cock in my right hand and tease two fingers along his ass with my left.
“Gah! Daddy!”
“Yeah?”
“Ugh, you’re being all…!”
All what?
He huffed, abandoned his notebook and pen, and he wriggled around until he was straddling me. But before I could take advantage, he cupped my face in his hands firmly and leveled me with the most serious look.
“You’re not being fair, Mister Daddy Ash Riley,” he told me. “These past few days, you’ve been very focused on learning my likes and dislikes, but when I ask you for your favorites, you sort of dismiss it.”
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “How so? We discussed kinks, limits, and curiosities for hours yesterday. Including mine.” Honestly, we’d glided into that topic several times since last weekend.
“That’s not the same. I mean all that!” He gestured toward his notebook. “You’ve already proven you’re gearing up to be the most attentive Daddy in the world, but when I asked you what you wanted for your birthday next week, you literally told me to just keep on existing. And now—monkey bread and selfies? That’s your idea of me going the extra mile for you?”
The fire and strong opinions stole my focus—hell, they swept me away, because I’d always liked feisty people. People who burned so brightly for their passions and beliefs. But I quickly realized he was expecting an answer, and maybe I could concede he had a point. While I hoped to show him that he was on my mind when we couldn’t be together, I wasn’t giving him the same opportunity.
I gathered his hands from my face and kissed his knuckles. “You’re right.” Ironically, what I was about to tell him was similar to what I’d told my kids. “When you told me you make fridge magnets out of popsicle sticks and personalized door signs, I thought that sounded cool.” I paused. “I always have and always will appreciate homemade gifts more, whether it’s something you’ve made in your crafts studio or it’s your potato chips. You can send me off to work with one of your chocolate chip cookies, and I’ll be like a pig in shit all day.”
The look in his eyes softened, and he snuck his arms around my neck and kissed me. “I’ll make you all the cookies, Sir.”
A river of pleasure flowed through me at those words, and I had to squeeze him to me.
He hummed and played with the hair at the back of my neck. “I have a suggestion, Sir.”