Stephen - Sean Michael Page 0,2
Something we should explore.”
“We don’t even know each other yet. Whether there’s…chemistry.” God, there was chemistry, tons of it. Loads.
Champagne snorted. “Whether there’s chemistry? You can feel it, boy, as much as I can.”
“Maybe, but I’m not one to just jump into bed.” God, he wanted to though.
“I knew you wouldn’t have just handed out your address the moment I saw you.”
“No. No, never. I’m not reckless. Marc’s just very…spontaneous.”
“He’s going to get himself in trouble. His ad was right about something—he needs a strict Daddy in the worst way.”
“I’ll…I’ll do my best to find him one. I have a few contacts.” Maybe this guy could give Marc what he needed… His mind shied away from that thought.
“You’re not responsible for him, boy. Now, maybe we can talk about you instead of him. You’re a much more interesting subject.”
“Me? I— What do you want to know?”
“How long ago were you in the lifestyle? How come you left it? Do you not feel the connection I do?”
“It’s been a few years. I had a series of bad breakups.” He wasn’t answering the last question.
“That’s no reason to give up on what you need altogether. And I noticed you didn’t answer whether or not you feel what’s between us. That in itself is an answer. I know that you do.”
God, Champagne’s gaze was intense.
“I just…it’s hard, you know? To disappoint over and over. It’s easier to quit.” He hid in his coffee. “And who wouldn’t feel something with you. You’re hot, charismatic…hot.”
Champagne preened, purred a little. “You said hot twice.”
“I did.” He shrugged. What could he say? It was true. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m glad you think I’m hot, boy. And I, ah, inherited a lot of money. It lets me do what I want.”
“I’m a graduate student. Textile arts.” Whoa. Good for Champ— “Did you say your name was Champagne?”
“I did. My friends call me Champ. I also said you could call me Daddy. And textile arts. How fascinating. What kind of things do you make?”
“I make fine art, design fabrics, whatever I can. Champagne. Wow. Great name.”
“Thank you. My mother was very unique.”
“That’s cool. Are you close?” His mother had left him when he was a baby, and his foster mom was amazing.
“She’s got her life and I have mine. It isn’t traditional, but it works for us. Are you close to your parents?”
“My foster mom is great. She lives with her new husband in Germany. She emails me every day.” He wasn’t physically close, but psychically? God yes.
“What happened to your birth parents?” Champ wasn’t afraid to ask the big questions.
“No one knows. It doesn’t really matter after all this time, I guess. What matters is someone who wanted me found me.”
“Indeed. Seems like a very similar situation is happening to you again.”
“Oh, that was clever.” He had to laugh, had to, because something had to ease his tension.
“Oh… that’s lovely.” Champ smiled at him.
“What is?” He glanced behind him, curious to see what the man was looking at.
“You. Your laughter. A beautiful sound I’d like to hear more of.”
Stephen’s cheeks heated, and he met Champ’s eyes. “Flatterer. Thank you. Very much.”
Champ held his gaze. “It’s not flattery, boy—simply the truth.”
“I told Marc I was going to run you off.” Instead, he wanted to rub off on Champ.
“That would be such a shame.” Champ leaned forward and took his hand this time, thumb rubbing his skin.
It was like electricity bubbled up along his skin, making him buzz and shiver.
“I feel it too.” Champ’s voice was pitched low, deep and husky now.
“Do you think it’s static?”
“It’s not static, boy. And I don’t believe you think it is either.” Champ held his gaze, eyes so intense.
“You have beautiful eyes. Like ice.” Even if they were different colors of ice.
“Thank you. Yours match mine and are also lovely. Even if you did change the subject.” Champ still had his hand and it continued to tingle wherever their skin touched.
“I need to be careful, you understand that, right? I want to just climb you and beg.”
“What’s holding you back? Who hurt you so badly?” Champ growled a little.
“I—” He felt a jolt of pure pain overtake the lust. He could remember the trio of Doms and their “intervention.”
No one will ever want you if you can’t change. No one wants a boy like you. No one can be expected to wait for you to grow the fuck up.
“I need to go. I have studying to do. I’m sorry. Thank you