Page 2 of His Dad Will Do
Instead, he says now, “Well then, it’s lucky for both of us that my dick doesn’t make my decisions.”
“Is it?” I lift one hand and drag it down my own chest until I reach my crotch. “What if we both got lucky tonight?”
I cup my hardening dick in my hand, through my jeans, and the back of my hand brushes against the soft lounge pants that Logan’s wearing. There’s an answering hardness under his pants, but he still hasn’t moved closer to me.
Or farther away.
“Silas.” Logan’s voice is low and rough. He swallows and I track the movement of his throat under the scruff of his close-shaved beard. “You were drunk.”
“So drunk,” I agree. I stroke my cock through my jeans, which causes the back of my hand to rub against his cock, too. “Didn’t change what I wanted then. And I’m not drunk now.”
“You just caught your boyfriend cheating on you, Silas. Less than a week ago. You need time to get over him.”
I slow the movement of my hand. Dragging it gently, so very slowly, along the ridge of my erection. Barely brushing over his at the same time. His cock twitches and strains toward mine.
“You know what? I don’t think I do.” I don’t want to talk about Lance, because if I do, I’m likely to say things about him that will ruin any chance I have of getting what I came here for.
Logan’s hands clench into fists at his sides. He’s got broad hands with big knuckles, the kind of hands you’d expect to see on, like, a construction worker or a gardener. Not a corporate lawyer at a white-shoe law firm with a prime address in midtown Manhattan. I imagine Logan’s hand holding the fat Mont Blanc fountain pen I’ve seen him use when I’ve stayed over here with Lance. Then I imagine his hand wrapped around my cock and shiver.
One hand opens and lifts a little, like he’s about to touch me, but then he drops it again and wipes his palm on the side of his lounge pants. “Silas. Even if I did have a natural reaction to you in the taxi, you were dating my son.”
His hand closes into another fist, then opens again. “What kind of asshole would I be if I took advantage of you?”
I shift a tiny bit forward, so that line of my jeans-covered cock brushes against his jutting out under his loose pants. “I’m not dating your son anymore. We’re completely over. I’m a free agent.”
I don’t know if that’s the right analogy—I’m not into sports, like at all—but whatever works, right?
Logan’s eyes drill into mine. I feel like a witness on the stand in a trial for everything that matters to me. “And you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. You’d just be giving me what I’m asking for.”
I reach for Logan’s hand and lift it to my chest, pressing his palm over my right nipple. I sway forward so he can feel my nipple ring against his palm and my dick against his.
“What are you asking me for, Silas?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I give a tiny thrust of my hips. Logan’s hand tightens over my pec. I’m asking him to fuck me. And suck me and let me suck him and do all kinds of other dirty things to me.
“Your boyfriend—my son—just cheated on you with another man.”
“I’m negative, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I got tested the morning after the party, in a flurry of fear and betrayal and rage. And then again yesterday, in anticipation of what I was planning.
“I’m negative and on PReP,” Logan says. Oh. I didn’t know he was on PReP. Will he fuck me bare, then? Because that would be awesome. “But that’s not the point,” he continues.
“What’s the point?” I ask.
“The point is…we can’t, Silas.” But his palm is kind of grinding into my chest, twisting over my nipple in a way that feels freaking amazing. And he lifts his other hand so that he’s cupping my jaw. His thumb strokes my cheekbone and I lean a little into his hand.
“Why not? You want me, don’t you?” I know he does. The taxi wasn’t the first time I’ve seen Logan have a “natural reaction” to me. “You can have me.”
“Silas,” he starts, but he’s still twisting my nipple ring. “For one thing, you’re the same age as my son.”
“Younger, actually,” I tell him. “I skipped a year in elementary school.” I’m twenty-two and have spent the eight months since I graduated from college trying to get the musical I wrote as my senior project staged. And waiting tables. A lot of waiting tables, to be honest.
“Jesus,” Logan says and his voice is a little shaky, but his hands are firm on my body.
“Want me to call you Daddy, then?”
Those are the magic words, apparently, because Logan’s eyes go even darker and the hand cupping my jaw slips down to tighten around my throat. He squeezes just enough to constrict my breathing, but not so much to cut the blood flow to my brain. All my blood runs south anyway, and my dick is throbbing harder than it ever has in my life.
“Do you even know what you’re saying, boy?”
