Page 60 of Dirty Hit
He swallows, and licks a spot of sauce from his lower lip. The movement is automatic and innocent now, but my dick reacts anyway because my body is a traitor. I ignore it, and keep my focus on how his hands are shaking less with each bite and his breathing’s starting to even out.
“You’re quiet,” he says, after studying my face. “That’s not normal for you.”
“I just had you kneeling for me,” I say, watching as he takes another sip of water. “I figured giving your ears a break was the polite thing to do after fucking your mouth.”
He chokes on a laugh, almost dropping the water bottle. “You’re—” He swallows. “You’re so vile.”
“There he is,” I say, relief sliding through me at the spark. “There’s my brat.”
“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, catching the trap. His eyes flicker down, then up again. “I’m not your anything.”
The words are there, but they’re thin; habit, not conviction, and we both know it.
“Mhm, sure,” I say, letting it slide for now. “We’ll revisit that when you’re not high and crashed at the same time.”
He goes quiet again, more thoughtful than spiraling now, but the shift comes fast. I see it hit him like a cold wind—like he’s suddenly remembering every piece of his upbringing in one shot.
“Hey,” I say, stepping between his knees in one smooth move so he has to deal with me instead of staring holes into the floor. “Eyes up.”
He drags his gaze upward, reluctantly, and the look on his face kills the asshole in me somewhat. It’s that particular mix of pleasure-lag and horror I’ve seen before. The “I just did something that felt incredible and now every programmed voice in my head is telling me I’m a monster for it”look.
If I were a different man, if I didn’t care about keeping him in one piece, I’d let him stew, let that guilt sink its claws in and tighten. It’d make him easier to manipulate later. I could weaponize it.
But the thing about owning someone is you actually have to maintain it if you want it to last.
“What’s going on in that overeducated head of yours?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
“Bullshit,” I say. “Try again, baby.”
He stares at a point over my shoulder. “I just… realized what I did,” he mutters. “And how, if my parents ever found out, they’d probably have a stroke and then try to exorcise me themselves.”
There it is, sliding in under the joke. I can almost see him starting to shrink from the inside out—mentally backing away from his own body, wanting to climb out of his skin.
“Hey,” I say, and I tap his chin with two fingers until he looks at me. “Stay here with me. Don’t go crawling into whatever shame cave you’re building in your head.”
He swallows. “Kind of hard not to. I just… I’ve never… done that. Or called someone…” He trails off, face going scarlet. “You know.”
“Daddy?” I supply.
“Yeah,” he mutters, visibly cringing. “That.”
“You said it very pretty,” I say. “Ten out of ten. Five-star review. Would absolutely love to hear it again.”
“Dominic,” he groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet, mortified. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask. “Don’t praise you? I told you, I’m not letting you walk out of here and decide the narrative by yourself. I know what subdrop looks like, Brendon. I’ve seen people leap off a high and crash so hard they forget which way is up. I’m not having you ruin this for yourself in your head.”
His brows draw together. “Subdrop?”
I nod. “You went into a headspace where you gave up a lot of control. You did things you’ve never done before. Now your brain’s catching up, and your body’s coming down, and everything feels too big and too wrong—big spike, then the dip. But it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong; it just means your system’s recalibrating, and that’s normal. That’s not God smiting you, or the universe punishing you, for calling me Daddy.”
His eyes widen, color draining a little. “You… can see that?” he whispers.
“Yeah, I can see it. You’re shaking, and quiet in the wrong way. Your eyes keep doing that thing.” I wave a hand vaguely near his face. “That out-of-focus thing, where you’re replaying shit and rewriting it worse than it was.”
“I’m just…” He swallows and looks down at his hands. “I’m thinking.”
