Page 38 of Little Fangs

“Would that make me your—familiar?” he snickered.

“I just want you to be with me.”

Harlan slowly released my hands from his. “I want you to be with me too, I’m just worried about knowing I’ll eventually break your heart. Or you’ll break mine when I’m—I’m too old and I lose my mind, and you can’t take care of me.”

A tear fell from my eye, streaming sticky residue down my cheek. “Take it back,” I said, reaching over and pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll never leave you if you’re like that. And that’s only one version of a future, it’s not right now. I’m not scared of the future anymore.”

“You’re not?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I’m going to embrace whatever comes my way. And I hope—I hope that’s you.”

He stared at me, pulling me across until I was straddled across his hips. “I was giving you an out, Micah, but if you don’t want to take it, I’ll be the happiest man in the world . . . if you stay with me and explore what we have together.”

Choked up, my words were strained. “You mean it?”

He kissed me hard, then again, each time like it added another year to our relationship. So many kisses, now all over my face. “You’re precious, and I know how to take care of precious things.”

All giggly and ticklish as his hands rested on my hips, I didn’t know what to do next. But Harlan knew. He carried me out of the truck. Misty and Muriel quickly occupied themselves outside, not looking at us after the scene inside the truck.

He took me straight inside and to the bathroom, where he could finally see how much smoke was on his skin. And I finally saw some of the cuts and markings they’d made on his body with those stupid torture ropes.

“Let me show you what I can do,” I said, unbuttoning his shirt. There were parts of it burned, with holes. I threw it into the wash basket. “Not that,” I said with a snicker.

“I was going to say, I didn’t recall you telling me you played basketball,” he said, stroking fingers down the side of my face, gently tapping as he went down. “So, what else can you do?”

I finished undressing him, in little space, servicing my Daddy. I reached into the wash basket and pulled out his T-shirt and shorts to wear as I washed him clean in the shower, becoming drenched. The old baggy T-shirt and shorts stopped his wandering eyes from distracting us both.

“You’re cute,” he whispered.

Lathering a coconut-scented bar of soap across his chest, I forced him to smell like a piña colada. “Just cute?” I asked, pressing my nose to his chest, taking a small spot of suds away.

“Adorable, handsome, mine,” he said and wrapped his big wet arms around me, rubbing all his suds on the T-shirt. “And I’ll never let go of you. Never ever never.”

I did love him, but I was afraid to say it. Love was one of those things I never thought would happen for me. I was afraid to love, afraid to get attached, and afraid most of all for the mortality of others.

Daddy Harlan took me right out of that mindset with his hold. My human weighted blanket, removing every ounce of stress and anxiety from my body—from my bones. We washed off all his smoky musk and turned him back into the handsome protector Daddy he always was.

We were in our own world, coming together after what had happened. We were both naked when he took me to the bedroom and decided to show me just how much I meant to him. He laid me out on the bed and told me to keep my head back.

From the angle, I watched him pull my legs, sliding me down the bed to where he was waiting, like I was on a conveyor belt about to find myself inserted into his mouth. Both my legs were on his shoulders, locked at the ankles, and he pulled until my ass was at his lips and his tongue was deep inside me.

“Oh my god.” I let out in an unholy moan, tearing at the bedsheet, a fistful of fabric in my hand.

“That’s a good-boy sound,” he said, kissing up and down my thigh, then back to tongue fucking my ass, his fingers spreading my cheeks until I thought he might split me in two. Then his tongue flicked up against my taint and tickled at my balls as they dangled delicately. He was so gentle and soft, I could only moan, lifting my head a little to watch his head bobbing.

This was everything I’d ever dreamed of happening, everything I’d ever fingered my ass and jerked my dick to. Everything I’d fucked holes in my bed about. Harlan Cartwright was the man of my dreams, and I think he knew that.

His facial hair tickled as his chin touched all my sensitive areas while his tongue worked up my dick, licking at veins, seams, and the trickle of precum he was forcing right out of me.

“You’re delicious,” he said before going deep on my dick, his chin in my balls, tickling them to the point I thought he was going to make me come in his mouth right there and then. He didn’t. He stopped himself—and me. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

My lip trembled. A confession. “I’m yours,” I said. “Do what you want to me.”

“Only if you make me yours,” he said, making his way up my body, his body still dripping from the shower. “I want you to bite me. Maybe not in the—” He paused, our faces together, his strong, muscular arms outward, right by my head, flexing his ability to keep himself in that position over me. “I don’t think I’m ready to become a vampire, but I want you—I want you to bite me.”

My heart almost stopped. Turning a human into a vampire wasn’t a light activity. It meant draining the body until the point of death, then bringing it back to life with almost as much of the vampire blood coursing through me. And that was the easiest way.

I touched my little fangs with my tongue, not wanting to hurt him. I couldn’t answer him. My lip quivered.