Page 24 of Balance

I barely held myself back from reaching for him when his gaze skittered away from me. I wanted to cup his face in my hand and force him to look at me, to see the seriousness in my expression and feel how deeply I meant the words I said.

Then, all on his own, he brought his eyes back to mine. It was more shy than before. Tender and hesitant, like he’d passed by nervous and had now moved closer to hope.

“Sorry…”

He paused and the weight of expectation swelled up in my chest and pressed directly on my heart. It stopped and the world stopped with it. I couldn’t breathe through the anticipation of knowing—hoping—what he would say next. And then he said it and the world came rushing back into focus, sharper and brighter and better than it had been even a few days ago. “…Daddy.”

He licked his lip, like he wanted to see how the word tasted once he’d said it. A gentle exhale escaped.

“Oh,” he said more to himself, I thought, than to me, who was so shocked that I still hadn’t responded. Shocked and elated because the awe had yet to fully set in.

I tried to remember what we were talking about and how to reply like a real person might have, but I couldn’t get my brain to function past thinking about how it had sounded when he called me Daddy. About how he looked as if he might have liked it and didn’t know quite what to do with that information.

Instead of trying to continue the conversation, I reached for him and palmed his cheek. I dragged my thumb over his cheekbone and pulled him closer as I leaned in, eating up the space between us.

“How did that feel?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the air rushing through the vents. My chest wanted to collapse in on itself because I held my breath so hard I was suspended in this moment between having nothing and having everything.

Troye closed his eyes, just for a fraction of a second, like an extended blink, but there was a stillness in him that maybe wasn’t there before. Even though it lasted only a split second before his eyes opened again and his gaze was on me, full of wonder.

“It wasn’t weird,” he said, sounding almost confused. “I thought it would be weird.”

His expression was full of wonder and also a little fear. I could see it in the way his mouth pinched, flattening slightly, and the way his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, not letting go of him. Not that I could.

“I—” he started to say something but closed his mouth again.

“If you can’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you fix it.”

Troye sucked in a deep breath, and his shoulders dropped when he let it out. “I was worried that you might think it was weird. That I was weird, or that it sounded bad or not right. I’ve never—this is really new to me.”

“Listen to me.” I leaned in, so close I could practically taste him. “You were perfect. It was perfect. I know you’re new to this, and we have a lot to talk about and a lot to figure out together, but you were perfect.” Unable to resist, I pressed my mouth to his in what was probably the softest kiss I’d ever shared with someone. There was something about Troye that made me want to be tender with him. To teach him that he was precious and worth protecting.

And I also wanted to be rough with him. I’d had dreams about dragging him over my knee and paddling his ass until it was cherry red, until it was hot and hurting, and then I let myself imagine taking care of him after.

He sighed into the kiss like it was something he’d been waiting for his whole life. We kissed until the windows fogged, and then we kissed a little longer and when we stopped, Troye looked rumpled and kiss-drunk and like he was finally warm again.

“Put your number in my phone,” I told him, taking my phone out of my pocket. I unlocked it and passed it over.

“I warn you,” Troye said, tapping out a text to himself. “I love memes. I might spam you.”

“Spam me all you want. In fact, I insist.” I took my phone back from him.

“I should go.” He glanced over at his car and frowned. “It’s so cold, though.”

“Give me your keys.”

“Uh… okay?” Troye shifted around so he could fish his keys out of his pocket.

I flashed him a smile as I took his keys. “I’m going to warm your car up for you.”

He looked at me, his mouth dropped open a little. “I—because I said I was cold?”

“Because I want to look after you. And sometimes that means spanking your bratty ass, and sometimes that means starting your car for you. Wait here.”

Troye blinked at me a couple times, then smiled, shy and small and tentative, like he didn’t yet possess the trust necessary to embrace it. Yet.

“Yes, Daddy,” Troye said as I slipped out of the car.