Light Me Up

by Rebecca Rathe

It took about three minutes for Ian to call me "Daddy," and another thirty seconds to consider retracting my offer.

Even when he’s outside, or on a different floor of the house, I can sense his presence like an omnipresent tingling awareness that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t like it.

Focusing back on my sketch pad, I shade in the spot where Henry's dimple appears when he smirks. Then I go back to staring at him for a beat too long, thinking about how lucky I am that Michael apparently favors his mother. Because if he looked anything like his daddy, there's no way we could be friends. It'd get way too awkward. Henry Benton is F-I-N-E—fine. With a capital F.

I've had a big, pathetic crush on my best friend's dad since the first time I saw him, freshman year.

"You really fucking like this, don't you? You like getting fucked in that big mouth of yours?" he asks gruffly. "Are you going to swallow my cum like the needy little slut you are?"

"Don't let Ian knock you up," he says jokingly, and I sputter. Ian barks out a laugh. Before I can recover properly, I call out, "If anyone's getting pregnant, it's him," before I realize what I'm saying.

"I don't think I can—you know, like you can." "That's okay. You're doing amazing. In fact, I have to warn you, if you don't want me to cum in your mouth, you might not want to do that tongue thing anymore."

Watching him now, as he saunters across my room wearing nothing but that signature smirk, I have zero issue admitting that I'm fucking obsessed.

We're grunting and panting like animals. The room fills with the sounds of me rutting into him like some kind of beast, filthy words falling from my mouth. "That's right, Daddy. You take it so good⁠—" And that's how Mike finds us. With our pants down around our feet, his father bent over the kitchen table, and my cock buried in his ass.

"Dude. I know you've had the hots for my dad since⁠—" "No, Mike. I'm in love with him. I'm in love with Henry."

"You love me," Ian says firmly, like he's trying to tell me something I don't already know. I roll my eyes. "Against my better judgement. Yeah."

"I like the idea of recreating the date," I say more seriously. "Even if she sees it coming, it'll be really special." "Yeah?" Michael perks up, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, man. The rooftop idea was a joke. You can't use that⁠—" "Thanks, man," he says with a chuckle. He's relaxed until I finish my sentence, and then beer comes shooting out of his nose. "Because that's how I'm going to propose to your dad."