Playing With Spencer by Izaia Winter

Chapter Seven

Spencer

“Ican’t believe you did this.” Turner’s smile belied his reprimanding tone.

“It suits you.” Leaning against the low, carpeted wall separating our table from the skating rink, I smirked at the cheap plastic crown perched squarely on his head. “Very regal.”

The dollar store crown wasn’t anything special, but the giggle Turner made every time he reached up and adjusted it made the five-dollar purchase well worth it. Besides, Turner deserved it. While still a little rusty on my feet, I’d held my own on the floor. The only way to look even remotely confident on skates was to act confident, and I’d somehow managed to pull it off. But Turner? He was in a league of his own. He’d skated circles around me the second we’d stepped onto the floor.

“I love it,” he said, spinning on his feet as he paced in front of me. “Although, people did start wishing me a happy birthday when I went to the bathroom earlier.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I forgot. Happy birthday.” I smirked and started humming the birthday song.

“Stop it,” he said, eyes bright as he reached out to push his hand against my chest.

Snagging it before he could escape, I tugged him against my chest and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Make me.”

“Now you sound like a sub. Behave,” Turner said in a low voice, his eyebrows furrowed deep with warning. “Make me,” he replied to himself, his voice high and eyelashes fluttering.

“I was thinking more of a kiss to shut me up, but if you want me to be your sub, then I guess I can give it a—” I laughed against the desperate press of his lips to mine. “Apology excepted.”

“Good,” he said, giving me another kiss. “I’d make a terrible Dom.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s the last song of the night.” The few people left in the skating rink groaned and booed as the clerk spoke over the PA system. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Have fun and make it count.”

“Is it nine o’clock already?” Leaning back in my arms, Turner pouted at the giant, neon yellow clock. “That can’t be right. I feel like we just got here.”

“Come on,” I said, helping him upright. “You don’t want to miss the last song.”

“You’re right,” he gasped, using my hands to push himself off. “Let’s go!”

With his hands in the air, Turner shifted his weight in time to the music. I watched him make a lap by himself. I would have been happy just to watch him all night, but there was something better. Chasing after him as soon as he lapped me, I followed in his wake for a few turns, mesmerized by his lust for life and the way he moved his body.

Then he was laughing and skating backward. “You can’t catch me!” he yelled over the loud music.

I lifted a brow and bent my knees a bit more. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes! I’m the gingerbread man!”

“Run, run, run,” I said, shifting my weight hard to build up more speed.

“Oh no.” Twisting around, Turner shot off, but I wasn’t that far behind. “Oh no!” he laughed.

“I’m gonna get you!” I taunted, pinching the hem of his shirt and giving it a little tug.

“Spencer, I’m sorry!”

“You’re only sorry because you’re losing!”

“Duh!”

Letting him stay ahead of me by a few paces, I teased and taunted him until the song ended, basking in his laughter and the huge smiles he threw over his shoulder.

“Woooooo!” he cried out with his arms straight up in the air as he let his speed slowly fall off. “I won!”

Skating up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his body and placed my chin on his shoulder. “And what does the birthday boy want for winning?”

“Ice cream!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the rink without the music to mask the sound. He slapped his hands over his mouth. “Oops. I didn’t realize I was that loud.”

“Come on,” I said, steering him toward the exit. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Sitting him down at our table, I worked on untying his skates while he unlaced his shoes. “Where do you want to get ice cream from?”

“Wait, I’m actually getting ice cream? I mean” —he quickly schooled his features and tried to play it cool as I slipped his shoes on— “there’s a lot of fast-food places around here that have ice cream. We can stop and get some on the way home.”

After switching my skates out for shoes and gathering up all our stuff, Turner and I headed for the front door.

“Bye, Turner,” the clerk said from behind the counter as we passed. “See you next time.”

“Bye, Tracy,” he replied with a small wave, driving home once more just how often he liked to skate.

After a short detour to get some soft serve from a nearby drive-through, I pulled into the driveway that disappeared behind the large Victorian shop to the small garage house where Turner lived. When picking him up for our date, I’d instantly recognized the game store where we’d first met. Finding out the boutique he’d told me about —Turner’s Treasure Chest— anchored one end of the shopping center and that he lived behind it had been one hell of a shock. I’d pictured a little shop somewhere out of the way, and a small house in a cute neighborhood. This was something vastly different. Turner was a successful business owner, and honestly, it was kind of a turn on.

“I still can’t believe when you told me you lived nearby you meant you lived right here.”

“You’re not supposed to tell strangers where you live,” he said primly, taking a bite of his cone. “Stranger danger,” he continued with his mouth half full.

“Stranger danger isn’t an effective form of abduction prevention,” I said on autopilot. My mind focused more on Turner’s tongue dipping into his ice cream cone than on my words. “Children don’t really have a clear definition of what a stranger is and most will be taken by someone they know.”

“Do you do that often?” he asked, turning sideways in his seat to face me.

“Do what?”

“Spout out random facts.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I think it’s cute.” Turner polished off his cone and played with his wadded-up napkin. “So  uh, do you want to come inside?”

I leaned back in my seat and stared at him. “And what will happen if I say yes?” I asked, trying to manage my expectations. I told my dick not to get his hopes up, but he wasn’t listening. He never did.

“I don’t know. I just thought” —Turner sucked in a deep breath— “I have to get up early tomorrow, so I was only going to go to bed, but I thought you could maybe help if you wanted to. It was just a thought,” he ended on a whisper, his insecurity showing in every line of his body.

My heart was in my throat, and the urge to throw up was intense. Not because of anything Turner had said, but in fear of screwing it up. This was it, a make-or-break moment. Saying no felt like copping out but saying yes? Saying yes felt really fucking hard.

“I’d love to,” I whispered back, my voice cracking a little at the end.

Turner’s smile was understanding. “You can’t mess this up. It’s just bedtime,” he said as if reading my mind.

“How did you…?”

“Spencer, you look terrified.” He placed his hand on my arm in a soothing manner. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I’m not pushing or anything. This isn’t an ultimatum.”

“I want to,” I said with more confidence as the shock wore off. “Just… just don’t call me Daddy yet.”

My relationship with that title was too complicated by far. I hadn’t earned it by a mile, and after years and years of denying any connection to being a Daddy, just thinking of the title was almost enough to give me hives.

Leaning over, he rested his head on my arm. “I think I can handle that.”

“It’s nothing against you—”

“I get it,” Turner interrupted. “We all have our issues.”

I leaned back and lifted a brow. “Are you saying I have issues?”

“Maybe,” he said, giggling as he pulled back and reached for his bag.

“Get out of my car.” Turning off the engine, I stared him down as I unbuckled my seatbelt. The threat of a chase was clear in the way Turner watched me like a mouse about to make its escape from the big, bad cat.

Leaping out of the vehicle, Turner raced for the front door, his laughter following him the entire way. Leisurely following after him, I stepped through the door he’d left open in his attempt to escape and closed it behind me.

His living room was exactly as I had pictured. Tasteful and understated with pops of color in the form of throw pillows, a blue geometric rug on the floor, a fancy bowl of rocks on the coffee table, and a ton of puzzles framed and displayed on every wall. The only thing that really stood out was a massive rocking chair with a rather garish, orange floral print on the cushions.

“Ohh, Turner?” I sang. “Where are you?”

He popped out of a doorway and stood there innocently as if he hadn’t been teasing me seconds earlier. “You called?”

“Come here.”

After taking a few steps in my direction, Turner stopped in the kitchen.

“A little closer,” I said, pointing at a spot on the floor right in front of me.

He crept forward, keeping a watchful eye on any sudden movements. “Yes?”

I cupped his face and took his lips in a deep kiss. He tasted sweet like the ice cream he’d so recently devoured. He was hot and sweet, a perfect armful.

“Thanks for taking me skating,” I said, my breath heavy as I stared down into his hazy eyes. “I had a great time.”

“Me too,” he sighed.

“It’s my turn to pick our next date. You get the one after that.” As I’d learned that night, Turner was a fountain of great date ideas. I secretly hoped the water park idea was still on the table. But knowing him, I was probably going to have to be the one who surprised him with that first.

“Okay.”

“Now bedtime,” I said, leading the conversation back around. “What’s the routine?”

Twisting in my arms, he pointed toward the refrigerator and his homemade bedtime chart, complete with crazy fonts and cartoonish clipart. Waddling over with Turner still attached to me, I read the first item on the list. “Clean up toys.”

“I already put my skates in the closet,” he said, his chin up as if he expected some reward.

Not being one to disappoint, I brushed a kiss high against his cheek. “And the rest of the house?”

Sighing, Turner dropped his shoulders and tugged me toward his bedroom. I bit back a smile at the pile of building blocks smack dab in the center of the floor.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing the large bin that Turner had obviously discarded after having dumped the blocks. “You need to help.”

I picked up several handfuls and dropped them in the bin only to find Turner to the side building a little tower. “Turner,” I said, getting his attention. “It’s not playtime anymore.”

“Right. Sorry.” He blushed and dropped his tower into the bin.

Once we put away all of the blocks, Turner lifted his lace bed skirt and shoved the box back into what I assumed was its customary spot.

“What’s next?”

Springing up, Turner raced to the kitchen to read from the chart I knew he had memorized.

“Brush teeth and take a bath!” he yelled, running past the bedroom door toward what I assumed was his bathroom with his shirt already halfway off.

Not sure how much help Turner wanted in the bathroom, I stood and looked in the direction he disappeared to find him brushing his teeth with the door wide open and his shirt partially hanging out of a nearby hamper.

Leaning against the doorway, I crossed my arms and legs and forced myself not to stare at his half-naked body and the way his shorts hung low on his hips. Or the way his nipples beaded in the air. Or the dark pink lines that laid across his left shoulder and hip, his scars right where a seatbelt would be. I’d always found scars sexy —and that hadn’t changed— but there was something about seeing them on Turner that infuriated me. They were a constant reminder of what had to have been one of the worst days of his life, but I still wanted to lick them.

“How independent are you?” I asked once I could focus on something other than Turner’s body. “How do you see my role here?”

After spitting, Turner stood up and looked at me through the mirror. “I don’t know. I’ve had to learn how to do all this on my own. I’ve never thought of things in terms of ‘this is what I do’ and ‘this is what you do.’ Would it be too much to ask if we just wing it?”

“No, but we do need safewords.”

“Right.” Turner stared at me with a blank expression on his face. “Do you have any preferences?”

“I don’t like using traffic light colors,” I said, then moved to explain when he looked surprised. I didn’t blame him for his reaction. Sometimes it felt like the traffic light system was the darling of the BDSM community.

“I’ve found that in some instances —especially during CNC scenes— by the time a submissive has said yellow, they should have said red. Things can happen quickly, and having that instant stop —even for something small— isn’t something I play with. And you’ve never done this with a partner. You don’t know how you’ll react either. I could be bathing you, and if something happens, I’d rather you use a safeword than continue if you’re uncomfortable.”

Turner turned and leaned back against the sink, holding his toothbrush up in the air. “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

I nodded. “Most people don’t. And I think some subs abuse yellow when they need to say red because they don’t want to disappoint their Doms. With a safeword, you’re either with me or you’re not, and I want you with me all the way.”

“Do you have a safeword?” he asked.

“I’ll use yours. Out of the two of us, you are the one who’s most likely going to be using it more. Therefore, it should be something easy for you to remember but shouldn’t be something that could come up in a scene. And since we’re both into roleplay,” I said, giving Turner a wink, “there are a lot of words that don’t work.”

“Right.” Tilting his head back, Turner stared up at the ceiling. He rocked his head back and forth as he mumbled to himself.

“Dragonfly?” he said suddenly, his head popping back up. “I mean, if we’re outside and I see a dragonfly, I’m going to point it out to you, but that’s not me using my safeword. That’s me showing you a dragonfly. I can’t think of any other situation where I’d use it.”

“No,” I said, agreeing with him when I couldn’t come up with anything. “It sounds good to me. Dragonfly it is.”

“Dragonfly,” he said to himself in the mirror. “Safeword equals dragonfly, dragonfly, dragonfly.”

Taking him at his word and winging it, I stepped around him and started to run his bath. Grabbing a bottle of tear-free, apple-scented bubble bath, I popped the top, took a sniff, and then poured a generous amount into the running water, pleased when the bubbles immediately began building on the surface.

“I like it more on the cool side,” Turner said from behind me, his mouth still full of toothpaste by the stilted way he talked.

“Spit before you talk,” I said as I turned the shower faucet more toward the cold.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice still funny.

Taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, I tilted my head back and watched as Turner rinsed his mouth and set his toothbrush back into its designated holder.

Seeing him look suddenly unsure, I nodded to the space between my open legs. “Come here, Turner.”

Stepping up to me, Turner rubbed his palms against his shorts. Giving him plenty of time to use the safeword we’d so recently set, I reached for his waistband. He sucked in a breath when my fingers grazed his soft skin and slipped his button free. The sound of his zipper lowering was loud over the sound of the water gushing into the bathtub.

“Wait.” He placed his hands over mine, stopping me from letting his shorts fall to the floor. “What about… what happens with…?”

I followed the direction of his gaze and lingered on the bulge starting to grow behind his navy briefs.

“It’s a healthy reaction,” I said in an educational tone as if I were a teacher speaking to a student or… or like a parent to a child. “As we grow up, our bodies start changing.”

I swirled my fingers through the small patch of hair that trailed down from his navel and disappeared into his underwear.

“Things like this happen,” I continued, brushing the backs of my fingers down his erection. “If this happens again, you should come to me, and I’ll take care of it, but not right now. It’s bath time.”

There was something about denying Turner his orgasm that really set him off. A shiver lifted the tiny hairs on his arms, and his toes curled into the rug. Dropping his head back, he closed his eyes and let out a quivering breath.

Letting his shorts drop to the floor, I gripped his briefs and pulled them down, staring at the hard cock suddenly in my face. Turner was a grower. While soft, he was a nice handful, but hard, Turner was a thick six inches. I licked my lips, wanting to know how he’d taste on my tongue. I wanted to trace the heavy ridge that ran under his cock and flick the sensitive underside.

Placing my hands on his hips, I twisted him to face the tub. “Get in,” I said hoarsely, taking no notice of the need coursing through my veins.

Ignoring his bouncing cock, Turner stepped into the tub and sighed as the bubbles enveloped his body. I didn’t particularly appreciate how they hid him from me, but it was a necessary evil: bubbles were a bath time must. Spying a small bucket of toys Turner had sitting on the floor near the tub, I reached down, grabbed the container, and set it in my lap. Picking through the various toys, I picked one at random and tossed it into the water, smiling when Turner laughed and pounced on the toy like a cat. After throwing in a crocodile, Turner snatched it up and used it to hunt the innocent jellyfish I’d thrown first.

“You better run,” he said from the crocodile to the jellyfish. “You look like a tasty snack. Tasty, tasty, tasty. Yum, yum, yum. I eat you now.”

“No, please don’t eat me,” he pleaded as the jellyfish shivered in place. “I have a family. Think of the children.”

Snorting, I dug through the bucket and found a squishy octopus—a perfect mate for a creature with multiple limbs. Reaching over the bath, I dropped the toy next to the jellyfish.

“No,” he said, turning the jellyfish toward the octopus. “What are you doing here, Martha?”

“Martha?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly. “Martha and… and… and Magnus are newlyweds.”

I nodded solemnly. “And they already have children?”

Turner leaned toward me in a confidential manner. “It was quite the scandal,” he whispered.

Laughing, I placed the bucket back on the floor since Turner seemed content with his three toys, leaned back against the toilet, and watched him play. Despite the desire his naked body so close to mine inspired, something about watching him craft his stories and the way he was so carefree in my presence soothed the hurt part of me that had never healed from the snubbing I’d received when I’d still cared. The wound had been with me for so long that I knew it would never completely vanish. Maybe with Turner’s help it could finally scar and become something that no longer bothered me when touched. Instead of a place of pain, it could be a reminder to be careful—careful with Turner and careful with myself.

Noticing the wrinkles forming on his fingers, I dipped my hand into his bath and noted the cool temperature of the water. Without a word to interrupt his playtime, I grabbed a clean washcloth from the stack conveniently located on a nearby shelf. After dipping it into the water, I added a dollop of body wash and reached for Turner’s arm.

“What are you—” He cut himself off and watched as I slowly and thoroughly began washing his body of the sweat he’d worked up on our date.

Wordlessly, he twisted and turned and presented various parts as I cleaned him. When he stood so I could wash his legs, his cock was hard again, but neither of us commented on it. Even when I wrapped my hand around his shaft and slowly stroked him, the thin cotton the only thing separating our skin, Turner gasped but made no move to stop my intimate administrations. Catching his eyes as my hand slipped from his cock to his balls, I gently rolled his orbs in my palm as the soap gathered on his delicate skin. Still maintaining eye contact, I slid my hand further between his legs and brushed my washcloth-covered hand over his needy hole. Turner whimpered and the water in the tub sloshed as he spread his legs to give me more access.

“Spencer,” he moaned, his hands falling to my shoulders.

As the washcloth fell into the tub and my other hand reached up to join the first, a new understanding dawned on me. I’d always assumed my need for CNC was something separate from my desire for a little of my own, but there was something about the way Turner stood in his bath and let me touch him without a word passing between the two of us that triggered that same feeling CNC scenes gave me. Watching him submit to me without clear expectations, I felt that familiar satisfaction burning in my gut.

Trusting he’d use his safeword if he needed to, I let him go and stood. Stripping quickly, I tossed my clothes to the ground, stepped into the bathtub, and returned my hands to his hips. Turner’s eyes burned as they trailed a path down my chest and rested on my aching cock. He licked his lips, and I knew he wanted a taste, but I denied us both. I wanted nothing more than to spin him around, pin him to the wall, and sink into his willing body, but we weren’t ready for that just yet. My hand around his cock would have to do for now.

“Spencer,” he whined, his hands clutching at my shoulders  as he fought to stay upright. “I can’t….”

“Are you going to come for me?” I asked. I didn’t call myself Daddy, but I swore Turner heard it anyway by the way he moaned and curled his toes.

“Now be a good boy,” I continued, my voice husky with need, “and come for me.”

Turner pressed his head to my neck and groaned as his body shuddered. With nails digging into my back, he came all over my hand, his hot cum splattering against my skin.

Still hard as a rock, I held his sated form to mine and reached for his shampoo. It was awkward as hell, but I managed to clean his hair with one hand while my other held him up. Turning on the shower, I knocked the stopper out of the drain with my foot and maneuvered Turner’s body under the spray. With quick and efficient movements, I rinsed his hair and washed away the soap residue from his bath. A few minutes later and his hair was conditioned and smelling sweet and appley.

“All clean, baby,” I said, dropping a kiss to the top of his head.

I helped him out of the shower and leaned out to wrap a towel around his waist. “Do you know what you need to do next?”

“Pajamas,” he said as he dropped down on the toilet and stared at me through the clear shower curtain. “But I… I wanna watch.”

Bracing a hand against the cold tile wall, I watched his face as I wrapped my hand around my shaft. I was already halfway to coming as it was, and Turner’s words only inched me closer.

“Have you been a good boy? Do you deserve to watch me come?” I asked, the words only pushing me closer as I worked my hand along my cock.

I was so fucking hard it felt like a soft breeze would be enough to push me over the edge.

“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes glued to the head of my cock as it slipped in and out of my fist. “I’m a good boy. The best. So good.”

Imagining his sweet lips stretched around my cock as I fed it into his mouth was the right motivation I needed. Biting back a curse as my balls drew tight to my body, I grunted and tightened my grip as my cock jerked in my hand and spewed my seed into the water that swirled around my feet. Closing my eyes, I dropped my head down and savored the feeling of release and contentment swamping my system. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come as hard and fast as I just had and knew it was all because of Turner’s presence.

Finally feeling my body return to my control, I ducked my head under the spray and quickly ran through the rest of my ablutions. I finished washing the conditioner out of my hair and turned to find Turner still sitting on the closed toilet seat, his eyes fluttering and his head bobbing as he fought to stay awake.

“Come on, baby,” I said as I turned off the shower and stepped out. “Let’s get you to bed.”

I grabbed a towel, quickly wrapped it around my waist, then helped Turner up. He grumbled and snuggled into my side as I walked him to his bedroom. Once there, Turner crawled into bed—damp towel and all.

“Where are your pajamas?” I asked softly.

Lifting his head, he squinted and pointed toward a dresser across the room. “Second drawer.”

I dropped a kiss to his sleepy cheek just because I could. Crossing the room, I grabbed a large t-shirt from the drawer alongside a pair of loose jersey shorts, then returned to Turner’s side. Rolling him over, I made quick work of dressing him and tucked him under the covers.

“Are you staying the night?” he asked while yawning as he reached for his phone.

“Do you want me to?”

He slid over and lifted the covers in response.

Dropping my towel, I crawled into bed with him, wrapped my arms around his body, and tucked him in close to my naked form.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” he asked as he fiddled with his phone.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to set an alarm?” He looked up at me, his finger poised over the screen. “So you can get home and change in time for work.”

“I have a spare set of clothes in my car,” I replied, then told him what time I needed to get up.

“That’s about the same time I have to meet the delivery guy. I’ll just set one alarm and wake you up when I leave.”

“That works for me,” I said with my eyes closed.

“Spencer?”

“What is it?” I whispered as sleep threatened to take me under.

“I usually listen to a story before bed,” he whispered. “I can’t sleep without it.”

“Do you want me to read you something?”

“No.” Turner lifted his phone and showed me the cover of a science fiction and fantasy book by the alien that graced the front. I made a mental note of the title and author before he reclaimed his phone. “Do you mind? I only listen to about thirty minutes of it a night. I’m usually asleep before it’s over and have to rewind it. And you don’t have to worry about it running all night. I have a timer app that’ll shut my phone off.”

“Go for it. I think I’m gonna pass out as it is.” I hugged him tighter as a low, masculine voice sounded from the phone. “I see why you like this,” I said, thinking he was clever for finding ways to be little on his own. If he couldn’t have a Daddy read him to sleep, he’d get an audiobook to do it for him.

“Goodnight,” he whispered and brushed his lips against my cheek.

“Goodnight, baby.”

“Spencer?” he whispered a few seconds later.

“Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Not yet,” I replied with a small grin.

“I really enjoyed what we did. You know, the nighttime stuff. The little stuff,” Turner continued to explain.

“I did too,” I whispered back.

“Good. I hoped you would. I—”

“Go to sleep,” I ordered, my eyes feeling heavy.

“Yes, D—Spencer.”

I was a bit sad he’d cut himself off but brushed it off. The more time I spent with Turner, the easier the idea of being a Daddy was. I knew it would be sooner rather than later that I would crave the title coming from his mouth, but it was still too soon. That I was even contemplating the idea of revisiting my stance after one bath was a bit surprising.

Holding Turner’s body against mine, I listened to the narrator’s soft voice as he described his interactions with his crewmates aboard his spaceship. Five minutes in, the captain was ordering his crew to their battle stations, and Turner was softly snoring. Smiling, I closed my eyes and joined him in sleep.

Waking up hours later, I stretched out my legs and groaned in pleasure. Reaching for Turner, I frowned when my arms met empty space. I sat up and looked around the room, finding Turner slipping on his shoes.

“Hey,” I said, my voice gravelly from sleep. “Morning.”

“Good morning. I was just about to wake you,” Turner whispered as he leaned over and kissed me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your keys and got your bag out of your car. I left it by the front door for you.”

“Thanks, baby,” I said, the endearment feeling natural on my tongue.

“I didn’t want the delivery man seeing your goods.”

I nodded. “I totally would have gone out there naked.” Not really, but it was fun to tease.

“I had a feeling,” he replied impishly. After checking the time on his phone once more, he leaned down and kissed me again before heading out the door. “I got to go. Bye.”

“Bye,” I said to his retreating back.

Laying back down, I rubbed my face and yawned. I was not a morning person in the slightest, but I forced myself out of bed. I grabbed my bag from where Turner had left it and headed for the bathroom. A good fifteen minutes later and I was once again perfectly respectable. Tugging at the cuffs of my dress shirt, I entered Turner’s kitchen and snagged an apple from the bowl on his counter. With breakfast taken care of, I checked the time on his microwave and saw I still had about twenty minutes before I had to leave. Deciding to get a kiss or two from Turner before I left for work, I wandered out the front door and looked toward the large Victorian house that was his shop.

Spying Turner on the back porch surrounded by boxes, I walked over, climbed the stairs, and stopped next to him. “Do you need any help?” I asked, tapping a foot against one of the cardboard boxes.

“Oh, umm.” He wrung his hands and shuffled his feet as a furious blush stained his cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you’d think this wouldn’t be awkward for me anymore. Just grab a box and follow me.”

Staring at him as he disappeared through the back door toting a large package, I shrugged, grabbed the nearest box, and followed him inside, not seeing what the problem was.

With my curiosity fueled by his reaction, I glanced into the first room I passed, not pausing to look but just taking a little peek. Stopping as if I’d slammed into a brick wall, I stared blankly down the hallway as my mind flashed with images of dildos and vibrators and butt plugs in all shapes and sizes and colors. Convinced I’d imagined heaven, I took a huge step back and looked into the room once more. Nothing had changed. If anything, there were more toys and trinkets I hadn’t noticed.

“Spencer?”

Still picturing Turner bent over his kitchen counter while I pushed the pretty lavender dildo I was staring at into his ass, I glanced back down the hallway and found Turner watching me sheepishly.

“Are you okay?” he asked as if he hadn’t just given me nirvana.

I licked my lips and imagined him on his knees with his mouth wrapped around my cock and the cute butt plug I could still see out of the corner of my eye holding him open. “You own an adult store?”

“Yes?” He rocked back on his feet as he awaited my reaction.

“Your boutique is an adult store that sells adult toys?” I asked for further clarification.

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Oh, Turner baby, you are just full of surprises.” Dropping the box I held to the ground, I reached out and ran a finger along the length of the lavender dildo I’d been admiring. “Do I get a boyfriend discount?”