Page 201 of Daddy's Pride
Brody threw his head back and, with a mighty grunt, came. His load filled Josiah as he continued to fuck him, slower but still so deep, until every thrust squelched obscenely.
Brody leaned down, brushing his lips against Josiah’s ear, his breath hot and heavy. “You were perfect, baby boy. Such a good boy.”
“Please, Sir.” The words fell from Josiah’s lips like a prayer to a saint specializing in sweet torment. The frustration of denied release gnawed at him, leaving him desperate for permission to tip over the edge.
“Now, Josiah. Come for me.”
Brody wrapped his right hand around Josiah’s cock, and that was all it took. Josiah’s world shattered into a million vibrant shards as his climax ripped through him with the intensity of an Alaskan winter storm—wild, untamable, freeing. His body trembled uncontrollably, waves of ecstasy rolling over him as he cried out Brody’s name.
As the aftershocks rippled through him, Josiah lay beneath Brody, spent and sated. The strength of his release left him vulnerable, open in ways he’d never been. But his surrender brought peace, a tranquility that seeped into his bones, whispering to him of trust and the beauty of submitting to this man.
But did Brody feel the same?
Chapter Nine
Steam curled up from the tomato soup he’d made like tendrils of warmth seeking the coolness of the kitchen. The kitchen table was a homey stage set for two, and the dim lighting above them cast a tender shine over Josiah’s features. His boy looked so much better than a week ago. His cheeks were rosy, his skin was glowing, and he’d put on subtle makeup that highlighted his beautiful eyes and pouty lips. As if Brody didn’t have trouble enough keeping his hands off him.
They’d fucked every day, sometimes twice, and true to his word, Josiah was able to take Brody a little easier every time. Just the thought of burying himself inside that tight body again made him half-hard. A horny old man, that was what he was… and proud of it.
“It’s delicious.” Josiah glanced up through fluttering lashes. He was a handful, never really bratty but always pushing boundaries, and Brody loved it.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
Since his arrival, he’d cooked every meal, every day. He liked cooking. It brought him joy and relaxed him. Unlike Josiah, who disliked it with a passion, he’d told Brody. Josiah would rather dedicate himself to his work, which was more art than work as far as Brody was concerned. He’d watched with fascination as Josiah created purses out of nothing, each one delicately decorated with sequins, feathers, special stitches, or roses made out of fabric, all in vibrant colors. Josiah was an artist with all the endearing quirks that came with it.
Brody was content observing Josiah as he ate. The boy seemed to relish every bite. But Brody had more on his mind than dinner, and he took a deep breath, readying himself for the conversation they needed to have.
“So tell me about Chicago,” Brody said. “What made you leave Alaska behind?”
Josiah set down his spoon and leaned back in his chair, tracing the rim of his wine glass. “Well, I guess… it was about needing to find my own path, you know? Alaska was beautiful, but it was isolating. Denali was my only friend, and when he got the job at the White House, I debated moving to DC with him. It would’ve been easy, familiar. But I needed to find my own way, become independent, and so I decided on Chicago.”
“Was it what you expected?”
“Hell no. I didn’t find independence but loneliness. I thought I could handle being on my own, that I’d thrive, but instead, I ended up feeling like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere.”
Hearing Josiah speak about his pain wasn’t easy, but Brody forced himself to listen, to ask more questions. They needed to be honest with each other, and that started with communicating and not walking away from the tough conversations. “You said you tried to join a club?”
Josiah nodded. “I did some research, and it came recommended. So I became a probational member or something and tried to find Doms who wanted to play with me.”
This was where Brody had a hard time understanding what had gone wrong. “You’re so gorgeous, baby boy. I don’t understand why they didn’t want to play with you.”
Josiah’s fingers stopped twirling the stem of the glass, and his shoulders hunched as if they carried the weight of the world. “Oh, they did. At first. I knew I was submissive. Denali and I had figured that out together. But when I did scenes, it never felt quite right, like something was missing.”
“Describe it to me.”
Josiah looked up, his eyes glimmering with emotions—the hope of being understood, the fear of rejection, the courage of vulnerability. It was that very look that stirred something protective within Brody, a desire to be the safe harbor in Josiah’s stormy sea.
“I didn’t understand it until Denali told me more about his dynamic with Milan and Asher, but I’m a submissive who likes to serve. I don’t like pain. Not for the sake of pain, if that makes sense.”
“It does.” He wasn’t a masochist. Easy enough.
“I also don’t like humiliation. It makes me feel even worse about myself.”
That made total sense. “I can see why that wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“Then there’s bondage. I tried it, and it’s boring. I can see the beauty in Shibari because there’s an art to it, but as an observer, not as the one being tied up.”
“Okay…”