Page 85 of Dangle

I interrupted him and said, “Even though you just?—”

And he returned the favor. “Be sure to grab some snacks for the flight. The shit they give you on the plane sucks. And before you say you’re a twenty-one-year-old hockey player, letme remind you…you’re an elite athlete. A fucking hockey player. You need decent fucking food, not junk.”

I shook my head. The man had issues about food and what those he cared for ate. At first, I thought it was just me, but the few times Ewen hung out, I noticed it extended to him as well. “Your feeding people fetish is showing,” I said, then suggested, “Go make Ewen breakfast. I promise I’ll look for healthy shit so your skin doesn’t crawl from afar.”

“Brat.”

I smiled. “Old man.”

Our laughter echoed through both sides of the call when we hung up. I strode through the airport, heading for the Sky Club to grab breakfast and snacks to take onboard with me. These were the kind of perks I liked about being a Malachek: last-minute first-class seats and the VIP lounge.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Malachek. You’re cutting it close,” the gate attendant said as I scanned my ticket.

They weren’t lying. The area around the gate was vacant.

“Last-minute trip home,” I explained as he followed me to the door, shutting it behind me as I raced down the jet bridge.

The flight attendants greeted me as I stepped aboard. “Good morning, sir. Anything I can get you before we take off?”

I shook my head as the guy assigned to first class stowed my bags, and I dropped into the first-class front-row seat I’d been tickled to see available when I purchased my ticket. I was even more tickled to see I had the row to myself. Settling in with my stack of breakfast bagel sandwiches and my large iced coffee, I unwrapped one of them and pulled out my phone, snapping a quick photo of breakfast and texting it to Slone.

Slone

Not bad for an airport, baby boy. Good job.

It looks good, too. Let me know what you think of them, and I’ll make some for you.

The man had fetishes oozing from his pores. I knew this already and reaped the rewards many times over from just his need to feed those he cared about and the praise-giving kink, which made me uncomfortable at first. Now, I craved it. It fed my soul in a way nothing ever had before.

But then, there were the things he did to me, along with the erotic shit he read while I warmed his cock. Fuck me, those blew my mind, and that’s just the things I experienced or understood. I had a whole list of fucking curiosities in my Notes app of things I didn’t understand, or thought were impossible, that I wanted to research.

Which—I glanced around the cabin with a smirk—I could do right fucking now. Shoving the last of the first sandwich into my mouth, I shot off a text to Slone.

Me

Fucking delish.

It had some sort of sauce on it.

Slone

Maybe Hollandaise. Was it yellow?

Me

As if I knew what fucking Hollandaise is. He was a culinary wizard. I ate whatever people put in front of me. Shaking myhead with a laugh, I pulled up the list on my phone and set to figuring out what sort of a hit I was in for.

By the time we reached altitude, I realized what a bad fucking idea this was. My cock—rock hard and throbbing—was leaking precum as if I’d turned on a faucet. I’d broken out in a cold sweat and I really, really,reallyneeded to get the fuck off before I got the fuck off in my shorts.

I made my way to the lavatory, phone in hand. If I had to jerk off alone, I could at least tease the Daddy Dom in my life. Pants around my ankles, cock in hand, and my head and shaft glistening in the awful lighting, I opened my texts with Slone and snapped a photo, sending it to him.

Me

[IMAGE]

Slone

Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck are you doing with your cock out?