Page 48 of Daddy's Pride

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Lunch?”

“Great plan.”

We buy fish and chips and sit on a bench to eat them. Seagulls flock to us, coming closer as they eye our food. One tries to snatch a chip from me, but I let out a stern no, and it gives up, squawking indignantly as it flies off.

“I don’t remember there being so many seagulls when I was a kid,” Harris says.

“Or maybe there were more people to hassle.”

“Probably. We always came during the summer holiday. It was packed. It’s much quieter now.”

“And colder.”

“That too. Did your family have anywhere special you used to go on holiday?”

“No. My parents never took me to the same place twice. We didn’t tend to go abroad either. They said there was plenty to discover in the UK, so why bother? Besides, they preferred exploring to sitting on a beach. They were always active.”

“Ah, so that’s where you got your sense of adventure?”

“I suppose so.”

“Did they support your decision to enlist?”

I purse my lips and stare at the sea. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“They were worried but also proud. They got all dolled up for my passing out parade. The way Mum sobbed, you’d have thought I was getting married. They were relieved when I decided to quit.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes. I tell them everything. Almost everything. They don’t know I’m into kink.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t tell my parents that either. Or Nigel.”

“I get the feeling he might use it against you.”

Harris frowns. “How so?”

“If he knew you were submissive, I mean. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I rub my neck. Fuck.

“No. It’s fine.” He sighs. “You’re probably right. He certainly likes to remind me I should be going above and beyond because we’re family.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to take advantage of you.”

“I know.”

I finish the last of my chips and screw the paper they were wrapped in into a ball. “What next?”

“I don’t mind as long as I’m spending time with you, Daddy.” He winces. “Too needy?”

“Not at all.” I kiss him. He tastes of salt, vinegar, and desire now.

We put our rubbish in the nearest bin and walk along the seafront, gazing at shop windows, whether open or closed. Toward the end of the beach, we find a shopfront painted in bright pink. The sign over the door says it’s a party-decor shop. Amazingly, it’s open.

Harris drags me inside. “We should look for ideas.”