We Have Till Monday

“Let me show you the right way to worship an amazing chef.”

Interest sparked up in his tired gaze, and he stayed still while I unbuttoned his shirt and undid his pants.

“I don’t care about your autograph,” I admitted. “I prefer orgasms.”

His grin overpowered a yawn, making his eyes glisten. “I already like your way better.”

I pulled him with me until the back of my legs hit the bed, and I sat down on the edge and thought, fuck, me too. Because his cock was something else. Long, thick, cut, smooth-looking. I leaned in and kissed the base as I gripped his cock loosely, loving the softness of the skin that stretched around him. And nothing in between us. A once-in-a-lifetime indulgence for me outside of a relationship.

August let out a long sigh when I sucked him into my mouth. His hands disappeared into my hair, and I took him all the way in, wanting to feel him grow harder and thicker at the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he exhaled.

I went all in, coating him in spit, sucking hard, and tracing my tongue along every ridge.

“Did it feel weird when I called you boy earlier today?” he murmured.

I hummed and hollowed out my cheeks as I inched back. “Not in a bad way. Just don’t confuse it with a Little.” I peered up at him with a smirk and sucked him in again.

“It was just my way of recognizin’ that you’re younger than your years.” He smiled down at me and touched my cheek. “I get the feelin’ you’ve been shouldering a dominant role because it’s expected of you once you reach a certain age.”

He wasn’t far off. I attracted younger men like shit attracted flies, but we didn’t want the same dynamic.

“My God, the way you use that tongue,” he muttered. “Get on all fours. I’ve waited long enough.”

Finally. It’d been too damn long since I’d bottomed. Unless, with my sad love life, I wanted to count a collection of toys.

I still had the salty flavor of his pre-come on my tongue when I got into position in the middle of the bed, and it made my mouth water with want.

August opened the drawer in his nightstand and lubed up his cock, and it shone in the faint glow of the light on the nightstand. It was the only lamp switched on in the room.

“You were wonderin’ about why we don’t share a room before, weren’t you?” He crawled onto the mattress and kneeled behind me.

“Among other things,” I replied.

He took his time to respond, instead using the next several frustrating beats wiping off excess lube onto my cock and balls. I dropped my chin and breathed heavily, watching his hand work me over between my legs.

The bastard teased me too. He slid two fingers between my ass cheeks, too softly, too seductively, which made it impossible not to move into his touch.

“The Daddy in me and the Little in Camden and are the happiest when he’s regressed,” he explained quietly. “I get to be his protective caregiver, and he’s my carefree little sprite.”

I bit down on my lip and screwed my eyes shut as he kept rubbing and stroking me in all the right places. But with entirely too little pressure.

“The problem is, he reaches a stage in his regression where he stops being sexual,” he continued. “I don’t mind it for shorter periods of time, and he doesn’t want to go that far very often anyway. But it makes for some tricky balancing and constantly being alert for when he reaches that point. His room is his safe space. In there, no one assumes anyone is up for play.” He released a breath. “I have no words for how much you turn me on, Anthony. Your ass was made to be fucked.”

“Then get to it,” I grunted. “I’m not good at begging.”

He chuckled huskily. “We can work on that. Another time.” Another time sounded good. Fucking finally, he released my cock and guided his own to my ass. “Where were we? Right—Camden. I’m not just a Daddy. I’m a partner too, and he gets lonely.” He rubbed the head of his cock around my hole. “Camden’s safety is my number one priority, and he prefers to sleep alone in his own room with all his toys when he’s Little—not just regressed. Which means I sleep alone in here most nights.” Damn. So Camden had three or four stages of himself. Who he was in a vanilla setting and presumably when he worked. Then the everyday Little who could balance both the kinky world and their marriage. Lastly, his regressive stages, one as…sexual? And one as nonsexual. “Throw in guilt because we always want to be everything our loved ones need,” he finished.

August was, in a way, a single parent. It was the only comparison I could make. So…he was torn between wanting to be the best Daddy and keep his little one happy, and also wanting to satisfy his other needs as a man.