Page 29 of Bear’s House

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Daddy’s got you.”

His grip was perfect. Firm, warm, his thumb brushing over the head with each stroke, spreading the pre-come that had been gathering there since he’d taken my temperature on the couch. The water moved around us, bubbles shifting and popping, and I could hear the sound of his hand moving under the surface.

“You’re so hard for me,” he said, and the approval in his voice went straight through me. “Such a good boy. Taking everything I give you. Always so ready.”

I made a broken and wanting sound, and his free hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip, and I turned my face into his palm and pressed a kiss there without thinking about it.

“Eyes open, baby. Look at me.”

I opened my eyes. He was watching me, focused, and his hand never stopped moving, the rhythm steady and relentless, and I was already close — embarrassingly close, after barely two minutes — and he could tell, because his smile turned knowing and his thumb pressed harder against the sensitive spot just under the head.

“Not yet,” he said. “You’re going to wait for me.”

“I can’t… Daddy, please…”

“You can. You will. Breathe.”

I breathed. His hand slowed, just enough to take the edge off, and I whimpered because it was cruel, and he leaned forward and kissed my forehead, his beard scratching gently against my skin.

“Good boy,” he whispered against my skin. “So good for me. My big boy.”

His hand sped up again. My hips moved, chasing, and he let me, his grip tightening just enough to make me gasp, and I was so close I could feel it building behind my navel, a hot, tight coil that was about to snap, and he read it in my face because his eyes went dark and his voice dropped even lower.

“Come for me, Sawyer. Now. Let go.”

I came with a broken sound, my hands gripping the edges of the tub so hard my knuckles went white. He worked me through it until the pleasure tipped over into something almost painful and I had to grab his wrist to make him stop.

He did. His hand went still, resting warm against my thigh under the water, and I sat there shaking, my chest heaving, bubbles clinging to my skin and my hair plastered to my forehead, and I looked at him and I loved him so much it hurt.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice wrecked.

“You’re welcome, baby.” He leaned forward and kissed me, slow and deep, his beard wet against my chin, and I kissed him back with everything I had, my hand finding the back of his neck and holding him there.

When we broke apart, his eyes were dark and his breathing had changed, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

“Move,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow at my tone but he moved, shifting back on the stool, and I pushed myself up in the tub, water sluicing off my body, and climbed out. Dripping on the bath mat, bubbles sliding down my legs, I knelt between his knees and reached for his belt.

“Sawyer,” he said, warning in his voice, but I was already unbuckling him, and I looked up at him with what I hoped was my most innocent expression.

“I’m showing gratitude,” I said. “It’s only polite.”

He laughed and then his hand was in my hair and I leaned into his touch, intent on returning even a fraction of what he’d given me all day.

I knew how to please him. Daddy had taught me, over years, with the same patience he brought to everything, and I’d learned because I wanted to make him feel good, because giving something back to him after he’d spent the entire day taking care of me felt right.

His hand tightened in my hair. I started moving my hand, giving him long strokes, then short ones, fast and slow, my thumb over the head, changing the pace.

“Fuck, Soy…” The sound of my nickname in that rough voice went straight through me. “Baby, I’m close…”

A moment later he went tense, then slowly relaxed again, his breathing rough. I stayed with him until he caught my wrist and stilled me.

“Enough,” he said, his voice rough. “That’s enough, baby. You’ve made your point.”

I sat back on my heels, dripping on the bath mat, my hair in my eyes, and grinned at him. He looked wrecked. His shirt was still on, his sleeves still rolled, but his hair was mussed where my hands had been and his face was flushed and his eyes were soft.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled me up into his lap, water and all, and I went, folding myself against his chest, my face pressed into the curve of his neck, and his arms came around me and held me there.

We sat like that for a long time. His heartbeat against my ear. The bathwater cooling behind us. My skin drying in the warm air, goosebumps rising along my arms, and he reached for a towel and draped it over my shoulders without letting go of me.