Playing With Spencer by Izaia Winter

Chapter Nine

Spencer

Standing in front of Turner’s door, I rocked back on my heels and stared at the keys dangling from my fingers. I knew they weren’t for me to keep, but it was a symbol of the trust Turner had already given me. I couldn’t adequately explain how it had felt when he’d slipped the little bit of cold metal into my hand. Joy, pride, excitement, and satisfaction had waged war with the fear that lingered in the back of my mind.

I’d clipped the key to my keyring so I wouldn’t lose it, and it had looked right hanging there. Like it belonged. The thought of giving it back to Turner when our playdate was over left a sour taste in my mouth. I wanted to keep it. I liked that tiny bit of proof that I was welcome.

Shifting the grocery bags I carried to free a hand, I juggled the keys until I held his, slipped it into Turner’s front door, and unlocked it. Pushing it open, I crept into the quiet house and softly closed the door. I didn’t want to wake Turner if he was still sleeping. He’d assured me he was a heavy, late sleeper on the weekends, and by the silence in the house, I knew he was still in bed.

I dropped my overnight bag off by the door while I toed off my shoes. In nothing but a pair of dark gray dad sweats and a plain white t-shirt, I padded to the kitchen, placed the grocery bags I carried down on the counter, and then made my way toward Turner’s bedroom. I’d planned on starting breakfast as soon as I’d arrived but couldn’t fight the need I had to see him, to assure myself he was cuddled safely in his bed.

Bracing a hand against the open doorway, I looked into Turner’s bedroom and smiled at the pretty picture my boy painted. He was on his stomach sprawled across his bed with his legs tangled up in the blankets he’d pushed down sometime in the night. A box fan balanced on a nearby chair blew cool air across his body that teased at the edge of his shirt, exposing a good portion of his back and his tight briefs. The little bits of ass cheek that hung out of the bottom of his underwear begged me to nibble and bite.

I reached up and pressed a hand to my heart.

There was something innocently intimate about watching him sleep. I thought about stripping out of my clothes and joining him but resisted the urge. I knew if I did, we’d only lounge in bed all day making love. Not that I was against the idea, but when Turner had invited me over to play, I knew this was one more step in the right direction, one step closer to being a Daddy—his Daddy.

I went over the tentative plans I’d made in my head for the day and smiled. Not that I had a plan. My time spent around Marshall and Ollie had taught me that things never went with the program if a little was involved. I had a few ideas if we got bored, but I was more than willing to let Turner direct the day if he wanted. Once I had a better picture of what little Turner liked to do, I knew I could take more control, but until then, I was happy to follow his childish whims. I was even expecting a few surprises from Turner that I would never have thought of.

Leaving Turner to sleep, I returned to the kitchen and began unloading the groceries I’d picked up the night before. Turning to the refrigerator, I paused. After the night I’d spent with Turner, I felt comfortable in his house, but what was expected of me now was something different, a level beyond comfortable. This was free rein. If I was to be his…  his Daddy for the day, I needed to be confident, to treat his house like it was my own.

Opening the refrigerator, I smiled at the juice boxes, the tubed yogurt, and the little plastic cups of oranges and apple sauce that sat next to the more adult food he had. Smiling, I put away everything I didn’t need to make our breakfast.

Then I began familiarizing myself with Turner’s kitchen. Most of it was common sense. A junk drawer by the sink was full of odds and ends, and his dishes were stacked neatly in the cabinet over the dishwasher. The cooking utensils were in the drawer next to the stove, the silverware in the next drawer over, and his spices and other cooking necessities were in the cabinet overhead.

And then there was his little cabinet. I stood there with my hand on the door as I silently cataloged its contents. There was nothing overtly childlike about his little dinnerware. Sure, everything was made from brightly colored plastic, his plates were divided into different compartments, and there were sippy cups in front and a few baby bottles shoved to the back as if he’d tried them once and hadn’t liked them. Notably, there were no cartoon characters or kiddy patterns. Smirking, I could tell Turner’s adult need for aesthetically pleasing and coordinating dishes had overtaken his little’s desire for chaos.

With a slight tremble in my hand that was easy to ignore, I grabbed a divided plate, a plastic fork, and a sippy cup. Next to them, I set my own plate, fork, and glass. I looked between the two place settings, and the differences were stark. And exciting.

Stomach growling, I returned to the task at hand: omelets.

It didn’t take long. A few diced veggies here, a bowl of whisked eggs there and they were ready to go. I sliced a banana for us and split it between our plates while the bacon cooked. Unscrewing the top of his sippy cup, I inspected the inside to ensure it was clean before filling it with orange juice and placing it back in the refrigerator to stay cold until Turner needed it.

Lifting my head, I looked toward the hallway and the bathroom beyond when I heard the sound of the toilet flush.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” I yelled as I flipped the bacon in the pan.

A second later, I heard the sink run and Turner’s hands interrupting the flow of water. “Thank you.”

Turner shuffled down the hall and stopped when he rounded the refrigerator. He stood there staring at me with sleepy eyes and a small, loopy smile. His large t-shirt covered most of his thighs. I pictured him as he’d been asleep in his bed and wondered if he’d put on some shorts or if the only thing he wore under his shirt was his briefs. Forcing myself not to think about it, I looked down to find him dragging a big teddy bear behind him by the arm.

Seeing him like that was almost too much for me to handle. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and snuggle his body into mine. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to toss him over my shoulder, take him back to his bed, and fuck him until we both couldn’t move.

“Good morning,” he whispered, his voice soft and gentle. He lifted his hand and rubbed at his eyes as he yawned, making him look just that much younger.

“Good morning, baby. Did I wake you?” I whispered back, sensing Turner liked his mornings quiet and easy. Before he could answer, I lifted my arm and beckoned him to me.

Nodding as he shuffled forward, Turner rubbed his face against my side as he wrapped his free arm around my waist. “I smelled bacon.”

Hugging him to me, I returned my attention to the stove. “How do you like your bacon?”

“Crispy,” he mumbled back. “But not too crispy.”

Giving it a few more minutes, I kept my arm around him, anchoring him to my side. It was peaceful, having Turner next to me, enjoying his presence without the need to talk and fill the silence.

Seeing the bacon had finished cooking, I leaned down and dropped a kiss to his head as I pushed him toward the table. “Breakfast is ready. Eat up.”

Nodding, he stumbled to his stool and scrambled up as I placed a few strips of bacon on his plate. “Thank you,” he said as he picked up his chunky, childlike fork.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Grabbing his sippy cup from the refrigerator, I placed it down by his plate. “And here’s your orange juice.”

Humming in response, Turner rocked his head to a tune only he could hear as he kicked his feet and ate using his hands as much as he used his fork.

“How is it?” I asked, taking a drink of my orange juice.

“Deeee-licious,” he said, emphasizing the first syllable of the word. Then he leaned into my side. “Don’t tell my mom,” Turner said in a confidential whisper as he lifted a finger to his lips, “but your omelets are better than hers.”

I laughed as he shoved a big bite into his mouth then used his fingers to catch the parts that didn’t quite make it past his lips, moaning as he chewed.

“I won’t,” I promised. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Eggggs-cellent,” he said around a piece of banana, the word not quite sounding right with his pronunciation.

“You know,” I said, narrowing my eyes on him. “You sure do use a lot of big words for someone so tiny.”

Turner nodded as he lifted his chin proudly. “I’m precocious.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“Mm-hmm. It means I’m adorably smart?”

“Adorably smart?”

Turner nodded thoughtfully as if he was teaching me the secrets of the universe. “It sounds adorable. Listen. Pre-co-cious,” he said slowly, sounding out each syllable. “Adorable.”

“Alright,” I said to keep the cute look on his face. “Adorably smart it is. So, what do you want to do after breakfast?”

“Well.” Turner pointed toward the living room with his last strip of bacon. “I started a new puzzle last night.”

“Do you want to work on it while I clean up?” I asked, taking his empty plate and stacking it on top of mine.

“Yes, please.” Jumping off the stool with a happy squeal, Turner grabbed his bear from where it had fallen to the floor, snatched his sippy cup from the table before I could add it to the dirty dishes, and raced to the living room.

Shaking my head, I laughed as I set about cleaning up the mess I’d made of his kitchen while Turner grabbed a pillow from the couch, tossed it on the floor, and flopped down in front of his puzzle.

“And you sit here, Boots,” he said quietly as he placed his bear on the floor right next to him.

As I was putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, a flash of Turner’s hand caught my attention. Standing upright, I watched as Turner opened a small drawer in the end table, pulled out something small and green, and plopped it in his mouth. My heart went crazy in my chest. I’d seen the motion so many times from Ollie that I knew exactly what Turner had done. More than the sippy cups and the divided plates, nothing screamed ‘I’m a little’ quite like a pacifier. That and a diaper, but I wasn’t sure if that was the kind of little Turner was. An innate feeling from my dominant side said he might be, but Turner had made no indication he felt one way or another.

As for the pacifier, I’d seen the littles around the club with one for years and more recently with all the time I’d spent around Ollie, but I could already tell it would be different with Turner. If I wanted, Turner would be my little, and seeing my little with a pacifier was like a kick to my system. I stepped around the end of the counter and stared at Turner’s profile.

His pacifier was cute and innocent as he worked on his puzzle, but the way his cheeks hollowed and the soft noise it made as he suckled it were anything but. It was erotic in a way I’d never appreciated before. Turner made it different. No, that wasn’t quite right. I made it different. For the first time, I was allowing it to be different. I wasn’t ignoring the way my cock perked up at the sight or the way my palms itched to touch.

Dropping down on the couch behind him, I wondered how long it would take for me to crack. I’d planned on a nice, nonsexual playdate—with a caveat for bedtime—but everything Turner was doing was throwing my plans out of whack. He was just so… innocently fucking sexy.

It’ll be a miracle if I manage to keep my hands to myself before lunchtime, I thought, my cock liking the idea very much.

Forcing myself to lie back on the couch, I crossed my ankles and did what I would have otherwise been doing if I’d been at home: I reached for the remote. After pulling up the guide, I searched through the listings and settled on an old comedy from the ‘80s I hadn’t seen since—I thought back—since Marshall had forced me to watch it several years prior.

It wasn’t long until a soft giggle caught my attention. Looking down at Turner, I found him with his knees against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His eyes were practically glued to the screen as the two secret agents bumbled their way in and out of trouble. Snorting, Turner buried his mouth against the bear squished to his chest. Content in a way I never expected, I reached down and brushed my hair through Turner’s loose waves.

With a tiny squeak, Turner jumped as he whipped his head toward me as if just remembering my presence. Seeing him look up at me with his wide, blue-gray eyes and his pacifier hanging loose in his mouth, I knew I wanted this with him. If there had ever been a moment for me to step back, to protect my heart, it had long since passed.

I wanted this boy. Period. Full stop. I wanted to be his Daddy. I wanted to sleep in his bed again. I wanted to go to a waterpark with him, and I wanted to love him.

Gruffly, I tugged the hair still wrapped around my fingers. “Get up here you scamp.”

Scrambling up, Turner followed the silent orders my hands gave as they arranged his body on top of mine.

“Comfortable?” I asked, shifting the bear trapped under his chest to stop the hard, plastic eyeball from digging into my side.

Nodding, Turner laid his head over my heart and returned to watching the movie. With my hands traveling up and down his back in a soothing manner, the pacifier in his mouth slowly moving with his sucking, and my knees slightly parted to accommodate his legs, I settled back down.

Pretending as if we did this every day, I grabbed the fuzzy throw blanket conveniently located on the back of the couch. I shook it out then tossed it over our bodies. Hugging him to my chest, I wondered why it had taken me so long to open myself up to a little. If I were one to be honest with myself, I knew the only reason I’d done so with Turner was that he’d somewhat forced my hand. If I’d seen him at the club for the first time and had spied his little blue wristband, I knew I would have written him off as I’d done with all the rest.

Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

No matter my insane attraction to him, I would have once again become Uncle Spencer to the boy currently lounging in my arms, giggling at the television. Fun to tease but never to play with or take home. Those first unknowing dates and my unwillingness to break his heart with a lie had forced me to tell him the truth. About my desires and my past. I leaned down and brushed a kiss against his soft hair, silently thanking him for giving me the chance to have him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, lifting his head to stare down at me, his eyes bright and awake.

Seeing the movie was almost over, I reached up and tugged the pacifier out of his mouth. His parted lips were pink and gleamed with a thin layer of saliva. His tongue slipped out and slid over his lips, cleaning up the mess made by his pacifier.

“What’s next on the agenda?” I asked, my eyes still locked on his shiny lips.

“Umm?” He wiggled against me, his eyes snapping to mine when he noticed my erection. “Umm.”

“Not that,” I said when he wiggled, then popped a hand against his ass in a swat that was much harder than the little love taps I’d given him before.

The little minx moaned, his hips wiggling against me again, and he nuzzled his face against my chest.

“Turner,” I groaned, closing my eyes and dropping my head back.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect it to be so….”

Surrendering, I cupped the cheek I’d hit, wondering if it smarted as I squeezed his flesh. “You didn’t expect it to be so what?”

Turner bit his lip as he pushed back into my hand. “It hurt, but I liked it.”

Nodding, I lifted my hips and ground my cock against his. “Because you’re aroused. Trust me,” I said as I spanked him again. “It’ll feel a lot different as a punishment.”

“Spencer,” he moaned.

I’d never hated hearing my name coming out of his lips as I did at that moment, and I hated myself because I knew it was my fault. He was only following my request. I’d asked him not to call me Daddy. I couldn’t blame him when he obeyed.

Twisting to the side, I sat up. With Turner still stretched out, he suddenly found himself sprawled over my lap.

“Spencer?” —there it was again— “What’s going on?” he asked in surprise. He braced his hands on the cushion and tried to lift himself off of me, but I placed a hand on his back and held him down.

“I didn’t say you could get up.” Slipping my hand under his t-shirt, I pushed the fabric up and groaned at the sight of his tiny briefs. “Do you remember the safeword?” I asked, tugging his underwear down to around his knees. I paused, liking the way the thin fabric looked trapping his legs together.

“Yes,” he moaned, drawing my attention back to his ass as his arms gave out and his cheek hit the couch.

I could feel his cock jerk against my thigh and wondered if my question had caused it or the idea of his first spanking. Placing my hand square on his ass, I rubbed his soft cheeks and set about fixing the mistake I’d stupidly made.

“You look so good like this,” I said softly as I played with him.

I pushed one of his cheeks to the side and growled to myself at the sight of his hole winking up at me.

Soon, I promised myself. Soon.

I couldn’t wait to see his wrinkled flesh stretch around my shaft, to watch his body suck me in deep, but I was patient and didn’t want to screw things up by going too fast. Despite not having known Turner for long, I could tell he was the cautious, romantic type.

“Spencer,” he whined, drawing my attention back to where he needed it.

Lifting my hand, I dropped it down, enjoying the way his flesh rippled and the way he moaned and lifted his hips for more. A bright flash of pink in the shape of my hand was there and then gone in an instant.

“I’ve let you get away with that for far too long,” I said, giving him another lick. “What do you call me when I have you over my knee? What do you call me when I’m taking care of you like this?” I punctuated my questions with my hand.

“Sir?” He flinched and moaned as the heat began building, the pink hue left behind by my hand staying longer on his skin. “Master? Mr. S?” he asked, receiving a spanking every time he was wrong.

Massaging his ass in reprieve, I leaned down and placed my mouth to his ear. “Not even close. What do you want to call me?”

He stilled against me, telling me without words that he finally understood. “Are you sure?”

I was touched he’d asked, but I didn’t want it and let him know with my hand. “What do you call me? And don’t make me ask again.”

“Daddy,” he whispered on a soft breath, his body deflating as if the burden of holding it in had physically hurt.

I knew I’d feel like shit about unknowingly stressing Turner later, but I was too busy relishing in the way it made me feel. “Again,” I ordered, bouncing my hand on his ass. “Say it again.”

“Daddy,” he sighed.

It sounded natural coming out of his mouth like his lips had been made to form the word. I was the one who was having trouble accepting it, the one who needed to hear it over and over again until it stuck. Until it felt right. Until it was mine.

“Again,” I said with my hand. “I want you to say it again and again and again until I tell you to stop.”

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” he cried, rocking his cock against my leg as I peppered his ass.

When his flesh was a pretty red shade that reminded me of the apples he smelled liked and going any further would only hurt, I stopped and reached under his body to wrap my hand around his shaft.

“Look at you,” I said, working his cock as he continued to chant. My hand was at an awkward angle, but I liked the way he felt bent over my knee too much to make him move. “Perched over my lap like a good little boy. Are you Daddy’s good little boy?”

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, finally saying something other than Daddy.

“Uh, uh, uh.” I lifted my free hand and smacked him on his reddened ass, the hit a punishment with how sensitive he’d become. “Daddy’s baby doesn’t say nasty words like that. Only Daddy is allowed to say things like that.”

He winced and moaned, warring with himself between the pleasure I gave his cock and the pain of his sensitive backside. “I sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s much better, baby,” I said, loving the shiver that racked his body at the praise.

Awkwardly twisting out from under him, I settled to my knees on the floor before him, feasting my eyes on his hard cock as I rolled him over.

“I think my baby is gonna like this,” I said to myself as I wrapped my hand around his cock.

Leaning over his prone form, I opened my mouth and licked across his head, tasting the small drops of pre-cum that glinted in the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. I groaned at the taste of him in the back of my throat. It was a kick of sweetness across my tongue with a hint of salt to cut the edge.

Twisting my head up to meet his gaze, I wanted to smirk at his expression of wide-eyed wonder, but my mouth was a little busy. I stretched out my tongue and slid it down his length until his cock disappeared into the heat of my mouth. I pushed down the slight urge I felt to gag when he hit the back of my throat. I held him there, letting him feel the muscles in my throat closing around him, letting him feel the saliva building along my tongue. I pulled back, pleased at the sight of my fluids glistening on his flesh, trailing down his shaft in a mess.

“Look at you,” I said hoarsely as my spit cooled against his skin. “Now you’re my dirty little boy.”

“Daddy, I can’t—” His words stopped on a moan as I took him back inside.

Reaching up, I slipped two fingers into his open, waiting mouth. “Turner baby, get them nice and wet for Daddy.”

He complied eagerly. Turner swirled his tongue between and around my fingers. Pulling back when he gasped, I rubbed my thumb through the slick spit coating my fingers.

“Perfect. Good baby.” Jerking my t-shirt out of the way with my dry fingers, I wiggled my hips and worked my sweatpants down my thighs until my cock slipped free and bounced against my stomach. Taking my shaft in hand, I groaned around Turner’s cock as I rubbed his spit all along my length.

Leaning back over him, I wrapped my lips around him and worked him in time with the stroking of my hand. I swirled my tongue around his head, lapping at the tiny slit that continued to produce the salty-sweet drops that fed my hunger as I rounded my palm around the tip of my shaft. I swallowed him down. Once. Twice. Again and again as I worked my cock from tip to base.

I pushed his shaft out of the way to suck and tease at his balls, my hand venturing downward to do the same to mine.  And when I felt the tensing of his abdominal muscles and the shakiness of his thighs, when I heard his voice crack with pleasure, I increased the pace of my hand to come with him. Taking him down my throat one last time, I swallowed around his cock.

His cum was saltier than the drops he’d been giving to me. He was salty and sweet and musky and everything I loved about swallowing a man’s cum. He was thick on my tongue and warm as he slid down my throat.

Feeling my body react to his pleasure, I curled over and cupped my hand to catch my seed as my muscles tensed. With one final flick of my wrist, I held Turner’s softening cock in my mouth as I spilled into my waiting hand.

Releasing him with a sigh, I rested my cheek on Turner’s thigh and stared at his twitching feet as we both came down.

“I’ll clean us both up in a minute,” I said as the cum in my hand began to cool.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Turner whispered back.

Wanting to watch him, I flipped my head over to find him with his head lolled to the side, his eyes slowly losing their passionate haze as his energy returned.

“You’re welcome, baby,” I replied. “Did you have fun while Daddy played with his toys?”

He nodded in reply, his smile loose and easy. “Daddy should play with his toys as much as he likes,” he said, a cheeky smirk taking over his expression.

“I will,” I vowed as I gave his cock a parting stroke before standing. “Stay.”

I shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen with my sweatpants still tucked under my cock and headed for the sink. I took a few seconds to wash my hands and shaft before fixing my pants and preparing a wet paper towel for Turner.

He was still lying on the couch when I returned, but I could tell he was beginning to get antsy by the way he wiggled and fidgeted with his hands and feet.

“Can we go swimming now?” he asked as I wiped the warm towel over his soft cock, cleaning up the drops of cum my mouth had missed and the spit I’d left behind.

I paused with my hand still wrapped around him. “You have a pool?”

Turner nodded. “It’s round, and I have lots of toys.”

I nodded back, not knowing if he meant a small kiddie pool, a large above-ground one, or something in-ground and permanent. “That sounds like fun.”

I helped him up from the couch and patted his butt as he skipped past me. “I’ll be there in a second if you need help.”

“Okay,” he threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into his room.

Not having expected a swimming excursion, I hadn’t brought a swimsuit with me, but the loose pair of boxers I’d packed just in case would do in a pinch. Grabbing them from my bag, I joined Turner in his room. Since neither of us was wearing much to begin with, changing clothes didn’t take long. By the time I was in my plain navy boxers, Turner was in his short, funky swim trunks and was itching to go.

“Sunscreen!” I yelled as he raced toward the backdoor. “And towels!”

“I’s forgot!” he yelled back as he spun around and ran to the bathroom. Sprinting back out, he stopped before me and handed the bottle over. “Tada.”

Starting at the top of his head, I worked the sunscreen into his skin, making sure not to miss a single spot. I couldn’t help paying particular attention to the two large scars that crossed his body. And once I finished with him, I began covering myself.

“Here,” I said, cupping Turner’s hand and pouring a good amount of sunscreen into his palm. “Get Daddy’s back.”

“Okay.” Skipping behind me, Turner slathered my back with the sunscreen and began working it in. I could tell he was having fun with it because he was still stroking my back by the time I reached my feet.

“All done back there?” I asked as I tried to look at him over my shoulder.

“Mmmmm?” Turner gave one last stroke across my shoulders. “There. All’s done.”

Turning around, I dropped a kiss to the tip of his nose, charmed by the way his speech was slowly devolving into less of an adult tone the more comfortable he got with me. “Thank you, baby.”

“Daddy?” Turner clasped his hands as he batted his lashes at me.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask Simon if he wants to come over and swim with us?” he asked, stunning me for a second. “Just for a little while.”

“And you won’t be….” I trailed off, unsure as to what I wanted to ask.

“Won’t be what?”

Jealous. Suspicious. Defensive. Insecure.

I might not have played with a little before, but many of the submissives I knew could be wildly possessive of their Doms. BDSM relationships could be intense, and having someone else step in even with something as innocent as swimming could be damaging, especially with how new Turner and I were. We didn’t have the rapport that came with time. One wrong move from any of us, and it would all crumble to pieces.

“I’m not saying no,” I said to preface my next statement. “But I think we need to talk about this a bit more. Adult us.”

“Okay.”

I gave Turner a minute to compose himself for an adult conversation. “I need to know how you want me to handle this. Simon is your best friend, and I get that, but this is a little different than inviting him over for a backyard swim and a BBQ or something. I’m assuming you want to be little and so would he. How do you want me to handle that? Do you want me to be completely hands off with him and leave him to you, or do you want me to be the fun uncle that plays but sends him home to his parents at the end of the day? Will it make you uncomfortable if I help him in the same way I help you, or should I just not?”

Turner looked off as he thought about it. “I don’t want you to ignore him. I want you to like him and for him to like you. I don’t think I’ll mind if we’re all playing together or if you help him as long as… as long as we keep it innocent.” He turned back to me and flashed me his pretty eyes. “I know Simon is a flirt, but he’s not like that when he’s a little. At least not when he’s with me. He just likes to play, eat cookies, and cuddle.”

“Are you sure?”

Turner nodded. “Simon and I like to play together, and I don’t want to stop that… if that’s alright with you?”

I pulled him into my arms and kissed his hopeful smile. “That’s alright with me. I’ve been around enough littles to know the line, and it doesn’t bother me. You’re the one I was mostly worried about. I just don’t want you to think that if I show Simon attention it means something against you. How about this. We’ll try it out, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll come inside and watch a movie or something.”

Turner smiled. “Deal.”

Winking, I dropped another kiss onto the tip of his nose. “Go call Simon or text him or whatever.”