Page 26 of Knox's Boy

I should have said no. I should have let the anticipation build. But my willpower was paper-thin, and I’d spent all day playing the part of a man who could control everything.

Me: FaceTime. I want to see those boxers.

I barely had time to pour myself a drink before the phone rang, his name illuminating the screen with that flower emoji he’d set for himself.

I answered. There he was, in his tiny cinderblock bedroom, bathed in the blue light of his laptop. His hair was a mess, his face bare and vulnerable and young. He looked up at me with those eyes, and I felt the thread in my gut snap all over again.

“Hi,” he said, voice small and shy, so at odds with the picture he’d just sent.

“Hi, boy,” I replied. “Show me.”

He angled the phone down, and I got an even better view: his thighs sprawled, legs splayed, the fabric tented obscenely. He kept one hand on the waistband, thumb hooked dangerously close to slipping it down. He looked nervous, gnawing at his lower lip, watching me through the screen for any sign of approval or warning.

"Do you remember what I said, Florian?" I asked, letting my tone drop to that register I knew made him shudder.

He bit back a grin. "Not to touch. But I'm not touching," he pointed out, waggling his hands above his head.

I arched an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Within seconds, the bravado wilted. His hand dropped, hovering on the comforter.

"But my brain wants me to," he admitted. "It won't turn off."

"Good."

He blinked. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk so my face filled his screen. "I want you aching. I want you thinking about this, about me, every time you get hard in class, or in the shower, or when you roll over in the morning. I want you ruined before I even touch you again."

He made a helpless, soft noise. I relished it.

"I can be good," he said, the plea coloring his voice. "I swear, I'll wait however long you say."

Such a good boy. He was the kind of boy who needed limits, who needed to test every last one placed in front of him. And I'd make him do it.

"Slide your hand under the waistband," I instructed.

His eyes widened. He obeyed instantly, slipping his hand just under the band, fingers flexing against the straining fabric. I could see him fighting to keep it chaste, to show me he hadn't lost control.

"Now drag your nails, lightly, just above the shaft. You may not touch yourself directly."

He shivered, following the command, biting down even harder on his lip.

"Every time you feel an urge to stroke it, remember how I bent you over the back seat and made you cry for me," I said. "Remember how helpless you felt, how much you needed the pain before you could feel safe. I want you to picture that every single time you ache for release."

He let out a shaky breath, hips twitching up involuntarily.

"Now stop," I said.

His hand froze, then withdrew, leaving a visible wet spot on the boxers. He whined, the sound pure and desperate.

"You did so well for Daddy, and I'll reward you," I said, softer this time. The brat craved discipline, but he also craved praise. "Sleep like that. Don’t you dare touch yourself without permission. Do you understand? I want you desperate and aching for when I put my hands on you."

"Yes, Daddy," he whispered, eyes huge and shining.

I slept deeply that night, thinking of my boy.

Chapter 13. Knox

The following day, I met him at the mall. The suggestion had been his. I told him to choose this time, and he said it was his favorite place to hang out. I only agreed because was curious what possessed him to drag a man like me, a man who had the resources to have anything delivered, a man who hadn't set foot in a real mall since the Bush administration, into that monument to American adolescence. Maybe he wanted to see me out of my element. Maybe he just wanted a cheap thrill. Either way, I found myself parked between a battered Subaru and a dented Honda Civic, feeling vaguely anthropological, studying people’s behavior.

I shouldn't have been this excited about meeting a boy. But Florian wasn't any boy. He was totally different from anything I'd ever had. He wasn't impressed by money or power, never tried to flatter me, and didn't hide his messy, vulnerable side. He was honest. He challenged me, pushed back just enough to keep things interesting, but when I drew a line, he melted into obedience, trusting me in a way that felt addictive. With Florian, there were no games, no masks. Just raw, restless need, and a kind of openness I'd never realized I craved.