His Dad Will Do by Anna Kensing

Author:Anna Kensing [Kensing, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensing Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Logan

I’m cutting raw meat into chunks for dinner when Silas comes back downstairs and joins me in the kitchen, so I can’t pull him toward me for a kiss. He perches gingerly on a stool on the other side of the island and props his chin in his hands.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asks.

“You can open that wine bottle,” I say, jerking my chin at the Riesling on the counter. I generally prefer red wine over white, but this recipe calls for deglazing the pan with half a cup of white wine and it’s a waste to not drink the rest.

Silas is familiar enough with the kitchen that he knows where I keep the wine key and the wine glasses. He opens the bottle with the efficiency of an experienced waiter and pours me a glass without being asked. He sets it near the cutting board where I’m slicing pork loin into chunks, but out of the way of stray raw meat juices.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

He smiles and resettles on the stool. He lets out a small hiss and stills, then shifts position, no doubt to accommodate his blistered ass.

“Feeling better after your spanking?”

His cheeks flush a dark pink and he ducks his head so his hair falls into his face. “Why was that so hot?” he mutters to the countertop.

“The pain gives you an endorphin rush,” I tell him. “Endorphins are also released during sexual activity. For you, they’re essentially the same.”

“Do you like pain?”

“Not the way you do, baby. But I like hurting you.” My skin tingles with the memory of watching my hand mark up his ass. I was hard the entire time I was spanking him, though I don’t think he noticed, and my cock is still half-hard behind the prison of my pants. It’ll keep, though.

“Isn’t that kind of fucked up? You wanting to hurt me? I mean, would you still want to hurt me if you, like…” his throat works in a swallow. “Cared about me?” he finishes.

“I do care about you, baby.” I shove down how very much I care about him. “But what else do you feel along with the pain? Can you tell me how you feel right now?”

“Well, my ass is freaking sore,” he says, and I think he means to be snarky, but his tone is too languid to manage it.

“What else?” I insist. “What about the rest of you? Inside your head?”

He doesn’t respond right away and I wait. I chop two chicken thighs into roughly bite-sized chunks before he answers.

“Quiet,” he finally says. “Calm, I guess. Like I don’t have to think about anything and I can let go and just be here.”

“And that’s what the pain gives you. The cage does it too, doesn’t it?”

I look at him until he nods. “Giving up control. That’s what you need, baby boy. That’s what I like to give you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How do you get to this place in your head? Where it’s all quiet and

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