He begs for more, whimpering my name, his moans unravelling me. I don’t let up, pounding him, wrenching every ounce of pleasure from him, owning all of him, branding myself to his fucking insides.
“I can’t hold back anymore,” he rasps.
“Then come, baby.”
I’m not far behind him, filling him up, loving when my cum’s leaking down his thighs. I spin him around, giving him another kiss.
“Hi.” I’m still panting. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t have that smoke I was craving.
He laughs. “Hi.”
I kick my jeans the rest of the way off and tug him over to where my chair is behind the desk. My cock’s still got a little life in it, enough to have him sit on it facing me while I memorizethose pretty eyes of his for the thousandth time. That means he’s got to lose the boxers. I happily tear them off him, sitting, pointing to my cock. Shaking his head, he sits himself, sliding down my cock till his ass meets my thighs.
He pushes the hair off my face. “Wanna be closer to me?”
“Yep. Tell me about your day.”
“Fucking sucked. Gutters. Why do gutters get so fucking clogged?”
“He’s teaching you life skills.”
“Funny, I’ve never seen Dash clean a gutter a day in his life.” He taps his chin with his finger, pretending to think.
“I tried … once. Stacey insisted that he do it.”
“And you let that stand?”
“Wasn’t a battle worth fighting.” I shrug.
“Next question, was that baby shit I saw on your computer? Something you wanna tell me, Trav?”
How do I tell him? How do I express what came over me during that conversation?
“Stacey and Dash taunted me with grandfatherhood—I can’t stop thinking about it. It would be a great do-over.”
“Still wish you could go back in time and change things, huh?”
I rub a hand over my chest, massaging away the pain inside. Dirk’s hand joins in. “There’s still a little space here—you should get another tattoo.”
I’d been saving that spot. It’s right over my heart—something important should go there.
“You want your name there, pretty boy?”
“I want my name on your dick, Trav—I’m that level crazy. I was thinking something for Dashie here.”
I already have Dash’s birthday inked on my forearm, but I haven’t gotten anything to commemorate us being a family again. That’s a long time coming.
“I know you feel like you don’t deserve it, which is why it would be good for you and Dash.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn perceptive for your own good?”
He smirks. “And then maybe, just maybe, you’ll lay the Robin thing to rest?”
I reach out to smooth my thumb over his cheek. He’s been clear that it bothers him, but I don’t think I realized how much until just right now.
“Can’t be Grampa Nolan in jail,” I say instead of naming all the things in his eyes, breaking my heart.
Those words mend everything, because he knows what they mean. “Good. Can I help you pick out onesies, Grampa Nolan?” he teases.
