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He shoves my plate away and takes a last sip of his tea, then gives me a hard look. He says nothing, but is evaluating, and I don’t think I’m passing the test. He cares about me, and it hits me again that this is exactly what a Daddy is. Gavin has never hurt me, even when he was irritated. I feel safe. Even when I’m pushing his buttons, I feel safe. I trust him. With everything. I said it last night when he dragged it out of me. And now I get it.

Doesn’t mean I won’t use it though.

“Please, Daddy?” I almost whisper, batting my eyelashes.

His eyes widen, then narrow.

“Don’t you play that card with me unless you are ready for the consequences,” he growls.

I shift on my stool. I’m ready.

I’m covered in our cum. And it is glorious. He braces above me on one hand, the other still around his cock as he catches his breath. Head bowed above me as he pants, he finally raises his face to mine and opens those stormy grays, then leans back on his heels. Strong fingers trace through our mingled cum, then he flattens his palm and rubs cum into my skin, over my chest, up my neck, then down, tugging at my spent cock and balls, coating me everywhere. The thin layer dries quickly, making my skin feel tight.

When I’m sufficiently covered for his caveman brain, he rolls onto his back and pulls me into his side.

“You’re sleeping like this,” he grumbles. “So you know who you belong to.”

“Okay,” I agree, snuggling into him, draping an arm across his torso.

“Okay, what?” he replies tightly.

Does he want… oh. “Okay, Daddy,” I answer, and he kisses the top of my head.

40

GAVIN

Ben's club on a Friday night for fish fry is not what I expected. I pictured something quiet. A handful of regulars, maybe a TV playing golf reruns nobody's watching. Instead, the patio's packed wall to wall, local guys in polos still sunburned from their afternoon rounds, a couple of tourists clearly steered here by a hotel concierge, and somewhere in the mix a toddler shrieking with delight loud enough to carry over all of it.

“That's Jasmine,” TJ says, following my eyes toward the noise before I even ask.

Geoff's got her on his hip, working through a paper basket of fried fish like it's a full-time job, and she's matching his effort piece for piece, mashing more of it into his shirt than her mouth. He doesn't seem to notice, or doesn't care, deep in conversation with someone from Ben's pro shop, occasionally glancing down to wipe fish from her face.

“That shirt's ruined,” I say.

“His shirts have been ruined since the day she learned to grab things.” TJ's grinning, watching them with the soft look he gets around kids, one I've started paying close attention to. “Geoff doesn't care. He'll wear fish grease like a badge of honor.”

Ben finds us before we've made it halfway across the patio, clapping a hand on my shoulder in a way that's a lot easier to take than the diner waiter's had been.

“You made it,” he says. “Good. TJ, you look like hell, no offense.”

“None taken. Feels accurate.”

“Sit, eat, don't overdo it.” Ben nods him toward a table where a couple of the pro shop guys are already waving TJ over, clearly delighted to have him back on his feet even half-well. Then Ben turns to me, and something in his face shifts, a little more serious. “Gavin. Walk with me a bit.”

TJ catches it too, gives me a look I read easily enough. Go, I'm fine. And he lets himself get pulled into the table's conversation, already fielding questions about how he's feeling, reaching his arms out for Jasmine to climb onto his lap and mash fish onto his shirt. She lifts her hand, sharing, and he leans down and pretends to nibble, and she shrieks with delight.

Ben leads me toward the edge of the patio, away from the noise, close enough to the rail that we can see the ninth green going gold in the last of the light.

“You skipped the Tour Championship,” he says. Not a question.

“I did.”

“Figured. Wanted to check you're doing okay with that, is all. That's not a small thing to sit out.”

“It's not.” I watch a couple of guys finishing up on eighteen, unbothered, no idea what it costs to walk away from a tournament like that. “But TJ needed someone. I didn’t want to leave him. Wasn't really a hard decision when it came down to it. I wanted to be with TJ more than I wanted to do the Championship.” I huff a little. “I could have taken the guy who won, but no regrets about the choice.”

Ben goes quiet for a moment, and when he looks at me, there's something almost soft under the usual easy grin.