Call Me Daddy Page 3

  I heard him laughing at his own joke, and I was glad I couldn’t see his smile. It would have torn me apart.

  “Um, I’ll do them later.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” he called.

  I needed to get away. My mind was a fucking mess. “I’m going to head back downstairs for a bit, okay?”

  “Hey, can you grab the new shampoo and bring it up here first?”

  And look my dad in the eyes? Fuck no.

  “Um, I’m kind of busy.”

  “I was just about to hop in the shower, but I guess I can wander down there naked.”

  My heart stopped and I died. “No!” I screamed, far louder than appropriate for anything except being chased by werewolves or seeing Neil Patrick Harris at a Starbucks. “I’ll bring it up.”

  I tossed my empty water bottle into the recycling bin and grabbed the shampoo from the linen closet before heading upstairs. I wandered into his room but there was no sign of Dad. Good. I’d drop off the shampoo and run as fast as I could back down to the basement, AKA: the shame dungeon.

  I was just about to toss the bottle on the bed and flee, when I heard Dad behind me, coming out of the master bathroom. I turned to face him slowly, and my mouth fell open. Jesus tapdancing Christ. He wasn’t naked, but fucking close, just a white towel wrapped around his waist. I’d seen him even less clothed before; he and I played basketball a few times a month and he was always down to shorts and sneakers after about fifteen minutes. For some reason, this felt so much more. More naked, more intimate, more amazing.

  “Hey, thanks. I knew the threat of seeing your old dad naked would do the trick.” He winked at me and my brain melted.

  Silently, I handed him the shampoo, careful not to let our fingers touch… I couldn’t have handled it. My cheeks burned as I tried not to let my eyes roam his exposed skin. His towel hung low on his hips, giving me a peek at his Adonis belt, the ridges directing me to the one place I wanted to go. Was the dark fur below his belly button as soft as it looked? I imagined rubbing my cheek against it as I made my way lower, my mouth on a cock-seeking mission.

  Was my dad a leaker like me? Or would he just have a single drop of precum on the tip of his undoubtedly perfect cock, glistening as it waited for me to lick it up, sweet on my tongue?

  Oh my motherfucking god in heaven.

  I was staring at my father, in a towel, fantasizing about sucking his cock.

  And my mouth was watering.

  I was going to hell, the special part of hell reserved for Republicans and men whose cock got hard for their fathers.

  “Hey, still with me?”

  Oh my god, Julian. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

  “Sorry. Just distracted.”

  Dad grinned at me, his deep green eyes sparkling. “Well, thank God it’s Friday, right? We could all use a little distraction.” His towel started to slip and I didn’t know if I wanted him to grab it, or let it fall.

  I was a lying liar who lied. I would have given my left arm to see that towel on the floor at his feet. I had to get the fuck out of there.

  “Plans tonight?” he asked, resecuring the towel much to my dick’s dismay.

  I swallowed hard. “Nope.”

  “Wanna get a pizza? Watch a movie?”

  Yeah, no fucking way. I shook my head.

  “Oh.” His smile dimmed immediately and my stomach fell. “Okay.” He gestured with the bottle in his hand. “Thanks for the shampoo, kiddo.”

  Even when I wasn’t trying hard not to imagine what his cock tasted like, meaning every second of every day I’d been alive before about an hour ago, I hated to see that look on his face. Dad was amazing. He never pushed me into anything, never made me feel bad for maintaining my independence, but I know he really enjoyed the time we spent together. Blowing him off because my perverted brain and twisted dick had joined together to betray me seemed like such an asshole thing to do.

  It was just pizza and a movie. I could handle that. “Dad?”

  He turned to face me. “Yeah?”

  “No pineapple, okay?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion before I was rewarded for my selflessness with an enormous smile, treated to a glimpse of his dimple. I’d never wondered what it tasted like before, but now I was dying to find out.

  “Fine. But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  I groaned. “Fruit was not meant to go on pizza.”

  “What about tomatoes?”

  “Gross. The only people who call tomatoes fruit are science teachers and sociopaths.”

  Dad laughed and something inside me loosened. I could do this. It could be normal again.

  “Fine, you order the pizza.” He headed into the en suite bathroom, but left the door open a crack. “I get to pick the movie though!”

  Good. Perfect. He would pick something dumb and not sexy and we would eat pizza and stay six feet apart and when it was over I’d run away and try to figure out how to control this beast that my caller had unleashed in me.

  Unfortunately, the beast was as poor as I was. “Dad, can I have money for the pizza?”

  “Yup. My wallet is in my jacket, on the chair,” he called over the white noise of the shower.

  I crossed to the armchair in the corner of the room, where Dad had clearly undressed after work. His pants were draped over the arm, jacket hanging over the back, underneath the white dress shirt he’d obviously worn today.

  My eyes darted to the shower door. Dad was singing some old song about how he saw a sign that opened his eyes or something. Someone should show him a sign that said “You’re tone deaf. Please stop.”

  I gently picked up his shirt with every intention of placing it on the seat of the chair so I could get to his jacket, but my hands were apparently in cahoots with my deviant brain and slutty cock, because instead of putting it down, I raised it to my face, inhaling deeply. It smelled of our laundry soap and his deodorant, with a little bit of that musky, end-of-the-day scent that was just so… Dad.

  I took another deep breath, savoring, wondering what it would be like to fall into his strong arms after a long day, nuzzle into his neck, just inhaling him, placing kisses along his jaw.

  I dropped the shirt like it was on fire.

  Julian, stop! This is in-fucking-sane.

  I shook my head, as if that might shake loose these feelings that were taking over my thoughts and karate chopping all of my common sense into oblivion. I needed to get a goddamned grip. I grabbed his jacket and shoved my hand in the pocket, fumbling for his wallet, when the tie he’d been wearing that day slipped to the floor. It was blue.

  Baby boy blue.

  “Did you find the wallet?” Dad called from the shower, but his voice was far away.

  No.

  Just… no.

  My brain was trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

  I laughed, a loud, frantic sound echoing in my ears. There was no way.

  I searched the room, looking for… I don’t know, my sanity? Reality? Reason? Oxygen? All things that were currently eluding me, because there was no way on the face of Jesus Johnson’s good green earth that the perverse, delicious idea implanting itself in my brain was true. My gaze locked on a small bottle on Dad’s nightstand and I could taste my heartbeat.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” I murmured, in the hopes that saying it aloud would make me believe it.

  It didn’t.

  Lots of guys have blue ties, I told myself. Lots of guys have lube by their bed. My imagination was making things seem real, more meaningful than they were.

  “Jules?”

  The room spun around me and my knees buckled. I grabbed the back of the chair so I didn’t land on my ass and my mind went completely blank except for the memory of one earth-shattering moment.

  Oh, god, my sweet baby boy. I fucking love you, Jules.

  Gray suit. Baby boy blue tie.

  And he called me Jules.

  I searched my b
rain, desperate to come up with another reason this was all bullshit, coincidence, a fucking hallucination, but I knew the truth. I could feel it in my gut, reality a cold, salty wave crashing down on me, stealing my breath.

  My dad’s most secret fantasy, his deepest, darkest desire was… me.

  🐝

  Want to spend more time with Julian and his sweetly devious daddy? Sign up for my newsletter and you’ll be the first to know when additional stories are published.

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  Or for another taboo pairing, check out my deliciously twisted twincest story, Off Limits, available now!

  https://geni.us/offlimits

  A year ago, Jack made a mistake that forced him to run as far as he could from the one person he couldn’t live without. But now he has to go back, has to face his twin, has to remember that no matter what happens, sweet, innocent Christian is off limits. Which is why Jack is bringing an insurance policy: his boring boyfriend, his penance, Everett.

  * * *

  This time, Jack won’t make any mistakes. But Jack isn't the only one with plans for his visit home...

  * * *

  OFF LIMITS is a 21,000 taboo twincest story that shouldn't be read if you're looking for sweet romance... or, hell, any romance. Is there an HEA? Yes, love. Is there some hot, taboo loving? Also yes, you sweet thing, you. Is there some fucked-up shit by twisted minds? Oh, yes, you needy little kinkster, because that's how I roll. Dirty. Twisted. Sexy. Hawt. With just a dash of HEA at the end... because everything is sweeter with Honey.

  Sneak Peek

  Off Limits

  Jackson

  I had been taking deep breaths since we’d arrived, trying to steady my nerves and prepare myself, which proved worthless the instant my eyes settled on Christian. My breath caught sharply in my throat, as my eyes roamed over his body, gazing for the first time in over a year at their one true obsession. I had to physically restrain myself from rushing over to him, wrapping my sweet brother in my arms, and kissing the worried look off of his beautiful face.

  No, Jackson, I chastised myself. That’s not how this is going to be. I refused to let all of my efforts the past year have been for nothing. I would maintain my resolve, I would be strong. I had to. For my brother.

  “Hey, Christian,” I said, making my voice friendly but neutral, praying no one could tell I was six seconds from falling apart.

  My stomach clenched as I watched him tremble, almost imperceptibly. Christian’s fingers were twitching, as if they were unconsciously reaching out to me. Even after everything that happened, everything I’d done, his body still wanted to be close to mine.

  Christian had always been a physical child, especially with me. Hugs and kisses were how he showed people he loved them, and how he wanted to be loved. As toddlers, we were inseparable. We played all day or snuggled up with books, whispering to each other in made-up languages. Christian always wanted to be touching me.

  Everyone cooed over us. Aren’t they precious? They didn’t know that me holding his hand was the only way to get Christian to interact with people outside of our family.

  I realized Christian was a walking ball of tension as soon as I could process that kind of cognitive thought, but it took longer for our parents to notice. His social anxiety knotted him up inside even in grade school, and the only way I knew to comfort him, to get him to relax was to touch him. If we were in the same room, I made it a point to sit close to him, rub his back or hold his hand.

  As we got older, people didn’t think our constant physical affection was quite so cute anymore. Mom and Dad never made us feel badly about our relationship – they loved that we were best friends – but relatives, neighbors, teachers… they all started voicing their concerns to our parents.

  “Don’t you think the boys are a little too close?” they’d ask, voices lowered but not enough so that we couldn’t hear them shaming us for not fitting neatly inside whatever box they wanted us in. My parents were polite, but firm in their support of our closeness. I never cared what anyone fucking said, and I told Christian that frequently. There was nothing wrong with our relationship.

  That was true for almost twenty years.

  And now, as I stared into my brother’s eyes, I was falling off a cliff but never hitting bottom.

  Christian stood awkwardly to the side of the room, rubbing the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other, and my heartbeat went into overdrive. Our secret sign.

  I swallowed hard, though it did nothing to get rid of the painful lump in my throat.

  🐝

  Want more? Grab your copy of Off Limits right here: https://geni.us/offlimits

  * * *

  …and then come hang with me in my reader group, where I’m co-writing a serialized exhibition kink incest story called Private Show and giving it away to the group for FREE: https://geni.us/dirtysecretgroup

  About the Author

  With a name like Honey London, she was always destined for greatness. Being born with two left feet and no ability to fake orgasms eliminated stripper and porn star from the shortlist of career aspirations, but thanks to Mrs. Hinkle’s eleventh grade creative writing class and the invention of internet porn, Honey has realized her true calling – writing deliciously twisted little taboo tales about men who shouldn’t love each other… (but can’t keep their sexy little hands to themselves!) Honey’s books are full of heat, angst, and twists you didn’t see coming, but don’t worry your pretty head, darling, you’ll get your HEA… because everything is sweeter with Honey.

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  Subscribe to Honey’s newsletter: https://geni.us/honeynewsletter

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  Honey London, Call Me Daddy

 

 

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