Page 25 of Knox's Boy

Sending the message felt illicit, a rush of adrenaline that beat any corporate takeover I’d orchestrated in the last five years. I felt alive. The gray monotony of my empire had been pierced by a streak of blond hair and needy blue eyes.

Later that evening, back in my office, the sun had dipped below the horizon, turning the sky into purple. I should have gone home hours ago. Instead, I was reviewing a merger agreement, though I had read the same paragraph four times.

Sarah came in to drop off the final pouch of mail. "You're in a good mood today, sir," she observed, her tone carefully neutral.

I looked up, surprised. "Am I?"

"You've been... smiling all day."

I stiffened. And I didn’t even care about it: a small part of me wanted people to notice the effect that boy had on me. "Gamification of the workflow. It's quite engaging."

She didn't believe me, I could see it in the way her lips pressed together, but she nodded. "Of course. Goodnight, Mr. Knox."

"Goodnight."

When the door clicked shut, I abandoned the merger. I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang once before he picked up.

"Daddy!" His voice was sleepy, soft, stripped of the bratty armor he wore over text.

"Florian," I said, leaning back in my chair and watching the city lights flicker on below. "Tell me exactly what you're wearing."

The breath he let out was shaky, audible. "Just... just my boxers."

The admission hit me harder than the whiskey I sometimes poured myself at this hour. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness of the office wrap around me.

"Good boy for telling me," I murmured. "Keep them on. I want to see you in them when I close my eyes tonight."

"Okay, Daddy," he whispered.

We talked some more before hanging up, about his day, his friend called Luna, his shift at the grocery store. I felt myself smiling all along. When we did hang up, I placed the phone on the desk and let out a breath. I was a man who had built a fortress. I wanted solitude to protect myself from the chaos of emotion.

That’s why I hired boys in the first place, so I would never feel anything real. But now, I was willingly lowering the drawbridge for a boy who brought chaos with him like a storm.

The phone vibrated again almost as soon as I set it down. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. If my assistant saw me now, she’d schedule an intervention.

Florian: [Image Attachment]

I opened the photo, expecting perhaps a messy room selfie, a sheepish smile, maybe even that ridiculous stuffed dog hesometimes confessed to sleeping with. Instead, what I received was obscene.

He’d angled the phone low, catching himself from thigh to chin. He was sprawled on an unmade bed, sheets tangled around his knees, one hand resting behind his head as if he’d just woken up that way. The boxers were pale blue, clinging to the outline of his cock, which was straining against the fabric with no attempt at disguise. His skin was flushed, bitten pink at the hips, and he was looking directly into the camera with a challenge.

My cock twitched in my slacks, as if it had been waiting all week for this exact moment of weakness.

Florian: missing you, Daddy, I think I'll have to rub a quick one.

God, the brat was going to kill me.

I typed back, one-handed.

Me: Don't you dare touch what's mine without permission.

Florian: but if it’s yours, shouldn’t you come claim it? Seems lonely over here…

Me: Don’t push it, Florian. You’ll regret it when you can’t sit down for your exam tomorrow.

Three dots flashed and vanished. I imagined him squirming in his tiny bed, half-terrified, half-thrilled. I pictured the way he’d blush, the way the air would tremble between us if I showed up at his door. My cock twitched painfully.

Florian: no I won’t regret it, it might even make me ace it. can i call you before i go to sleep? promise i’ll be good.