Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

I chuckled under my breath and willed myself to stay focused on not rushing anything.

But yeah, I wanted this.

And I wanted Lee to walk in on us.

I wanted him to catch us.

“Say you’re sorry.” I kept my voice low too. “Daddy’s sorry, but he just has to touch his boy. Say it.”

“Oh God,” he breathed. He swallowed hard and tugged at his tie. “Daddy’s very sorry, but I just have to touch you, my beautiful boy.”

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, and I stayed in my position; I kept my hands planted on the mattress behind me, effectively giving him more to see, more to access.

“Where do you want to touch me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer verbally. He slid a hand onto my thigh and scooted closer to me, his breaths falling heavier on my neck.

I threw a glance at the alarm clock. We had time, but as an idea hit me, we also had a lot to do. Lee would be home in about an hour, give or take.

I tilted my head and dropped a soft kiss to Franklin’s jaw. “Do you wanna make a dirty movie with me, Daddy?”

He sucked in a sharp breath and nodded quickly. “May I keep it? To watch at home?”

I chuckled and rose to my feet. “I can send it to you later. I’ll be right back. Lose the suit.”

“Yes, S…” He trailed off as a flash of confusion appeared in his expression. “What am I supposed to call you?”

“Hold that thought.” I left the room, feeling both amused and horny, and I ducked into our closet space the next door over, where I grabbed our tripod and my laptop.

At some point, Franklin was gonna learn that dominance wasn’t in the labels.

I’d never identified as a Sir or Master. I’d been called Baby Master once or twice when I’d co-topped with Lee. I’d found that cute. And a bit hilarious. But it just didn’t matter to me, because I wasn’t a Dom for the lifestyle, rather just the playtime. I could invoke high protocol for the hour, labels and kneeling positions to showcase submission included, or I could just run with it and be Tate, the man I was every day—and the results were the same. I was in control.

Before I returned to the bedroom, I fetched rubbers, coconut oil, and lube from the bathroom.

I tossed them on the bed when I got back.

Franklin was in the middle of folding his shirt and suit pants. He stacked his clothes neatly in the window.

I positioned the tripod at the foot of the bed and attached my phone to the clip. The height was important, as was the zoom. I wanted a perfect view of his cock pumping in and out of me. Before I got my turn. “We’re gonna see what damage we can cause as age players,” I told him distractedly as I checked the settings on my phone. “You’ll be Daddy. I’ll be your little boy. What you call me is up to you. This scene is still gonna end with me railing Daddy’s slutty asshole.”

Had I mentioned I loved the blush on that forty-seven-year-old man?

“I can’t believe this is happening between you and me,” he admitted, adjusting his cock in his boxer briefs. “I can’t believe I didn’t see your assertiveness before.”

I shrugged. I was always going to be primarily submissive. But regardless, what was it with these assumptions? Lee didn’t walk around with a sign on his forehead that flashed “Master” or “Dominant.” Nor did Colt or KC or Reese or any of the other—well, Lucian. Lucian definitely had Master written all over him. But my point was, we were just people.

Franklin wouldn’t have been able to guess Lee’s kinky inclinations if it hadn’t been for all the stories I’d shared.

“Next time there’s a pet-play event at the house, I’m gonna introduce you to Shane,” I said. There, the app was running, so we could stream the recording live on the laptop. “He’s a beefcake—an arrogant, cocky bastard. Fifty years old, whole body covered in ink, owns a fitness chain, has three grown daughters, and when he flips the kink switch, he’s Mistress Penelope and Ella’s on-again, off-again puppy bitch who gets off on glory holes and being rented out to men.”

Franklin blinked.

I grinned and passed him to set up the laptop on the nightstand.

“So he belongs to a woman, but he plays with men?” he questioned.

“His relationship with Penelope and Ella is nonsexual, but they’re close friends. Really close.” I bent over and logged in on my laptop. “He used to be married to a woman, though. He’s labeled himself homoflexible in our online forum.”

“I read about that the other day. I think that’s what I am too.”

All right. To me, homoflexible and heteroflexible were just degrees on the bisexual spectrum. In a time when we hated being categorized and grouped together by others, we sure were awesome at coming up with new labels for ourselves.