by J. M. Dabney
“Fielding.”
“Ew, you used my name, put it on so you can spank me.”
“What?”
“Put the damn ring on, now.” He held out his hand. “Right here.” He wiggled his finger.
“I don’t think you deserve it.”
“What will make me deserve it?”
“Undress.”
He’d never get tired of his man’s gruff voice—dangerous and commanding. Two months ago, Livingston told him he wasn’t going home, but he still couldn’t get his head around how lucky he felt to belong to Livingston. His Daddy took care of him. Always made sure he was happy and safe. He never went without anything.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He bit his lips to hide his smile as Livingston lifted him off the counter, then the man stepped away from him to pull out one of the kitchen chairs. He slowly removed his clothes as he watched Livingston remove his holster and laid it carefully on the table.
He pushed his sleep pants off his hips and let them fall, kicking them aside when they pooled around his ankles.
His face flushed as he stepped forward and Livingston patted his lap. He shivered as he rested his stomach on Livingston’s hard thighs. Livingston’s forearm came to rest on his lower back. The rough pads of Livingston’s fingers and palm scraped seductively over the curves of his ass that was fuller than it was when he’d moved there. He didn’t have to starve or torture himself anymore, he still worked out, but he didn’t need to kill himself in the process.
“I think you’ve earned twenty, if you lose count I start again, boy, do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He braced himself for the first strike, when it came he flinched and counted. The more he was punished, the harder it became to keep counting. His cock hardened against Livingston’s thigh. Livingston gentled him between smacks, soothing the burn to intensify it with the next time his hand connected with his burning, abused flesh.
He barely remembered to say twenty before he collapsed over Livingston’s lap. He was lifted off Livingston’s lap before being pulled down and cuddled. Livingston kissed the tears from his cheeks. Traced his wet lashes with the tip of his tongue.
“Can I have it now, Daddy, please?”
“Give me your hand.”
He raised his left and Livingston slipped the cool metal onto his ring finger.
“So, is this a yes?”
“Of course I was going to say yes. You said you didn’t think you could be happy without me. I don’t think, no, I know I couldn’t be happy without you. I love you.”
“I love you too. Thank you.”
He pressed a soft kiss to Livingston’s small smile.
Epilogue
Killing Little Would be the Highlight of His Wedding Day
He glared at Little who was shielded by Sin, Saint, Fielding, and Lily. The supposed hippie looked pissed enough to commit murder because he’d threatened her precious adopted pain in the ass son. Linus, Pure, and Raul were holding him back as he clenched his jaw.
“Don’t make me arrest every fucking last one of you today,” Camden roared from his spot on the porch. He already had his service weapon out and pointed at them.
“What the fuck did I do? Your boys, my boy, and Little along with Little’s bestie, Lily, decided a party south of the border sounded like a good idea. I think I have a right to kill his fucking ass. It will be the highlight of my wedding day. If your father-in-law hadn’t been around to fly Peaches down, my boy would still be in jail.”
Sin and Fielding were trying to hold in their giggling. He didn’t know how much they smoked on the way home, at least Saint had behaved himself enough to fly.
“I’ll handle my own boys, and who the fuck woke up in one of my jail cells this morning?”
“I didn’t throw that first fucking punch. That fucker was asking for it.”
He’d been minding his own business when the stripper Little sent to Brawlers tried to get in his lap, and the man’s boyfriend showed up. The asshole boyfriend got a little rough with the stripper, and he’d knocked the fucker out. He was doing a public service.
“Livingston, do you want to get married in jail today?”
“No,” he pushed out through gritted teeth.
“Now, get in the fucking house and get your suit on, and, no fucking in my house. Eric, Ellison, in the house now.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Sin and Saint said in unison and slowly ascended the steps.
Camden swatted both of them as they passed and he shook his head at the big man.
Camden let out a heavy sigh. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“Fielding, let’s go get ready, and, Little, we’ll finish this later.”
“You put your hands on my son, Livingston, and I’ll make your boy a widower.” Lily wrapped her arms around Little’s waist and led him away toward his van.
“I think Lily would do it,” he whispered to Fielding as he nudged his boy toward the house. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“They said they were taking me somewhere. I thought Vegas or something like that, I didn’t know we were going to Mexico, and Lily had friends there. It wasn’t like I could fly myself back.”
“You want to run off to Vegas and skip this whole freak show?”
“Lily would kill you a second time if you don’t let her perform the wedding.”
“We can run away and never be seen from again.”
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t think—”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I know these people too well.” He led him into a small downstairs bedroom and closed the door. “Do you still want to marry me?”
“Um, are we going to have this talk today? If you didn’t want to marry me all you had to do—”
He slammed his mouth down on Fielding’s to shut him up.
“I didn’t say that; our lives aren’t going to be normal. Have you seen our friends?”
“Those aren’t friends, Daddy, that’s family.”
“I preferred being an orphan.”
“Get all handsome for me. I’ve been dying to see you in your tux.”
“I do love you, Fielding.”
“I love you too. I’m going to wash off the stench of weed and jail. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”
“I’ll never leave you.”
Fielding lifted onto his toes to kiss him again and went into the bathroom. There was a knock on the door, and he opened it to find Peaches standing there. She looked beautiful in a cream-colored linen dress that made her tattoos and the thread wraps in her hair appear brighter.
“Hey.”
“Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure, you look beautiful by the way.”
“Thanks, Gib had Lucky make it for me.”
“What’s going on?”
She took his hands and held them in hers. “Lily already did the whole groom’s mother thing with Fielding, but I threatened her to stay away from you.”
“You don’t have to do anything special, Peaches.”
“Yes, I do. When you started attending our crazy little family things I began watching you. You always stood to the side, out of the way where no one could see you, but I did, Livingston, I saw you. I saw the sadness in your eyes. That longing no one else would notice. When I saw Fielding, I knew he would be perfect for you, but I also understood why you’d send him home.”
“I didn’t think I was best for him.”
“You’re just as deserving of love as the rest of us. He looks at you like you’re the only man in the room. You did good, son, you met your person, and he is so lucky to have you. Almost as lucky as I am to have you for a son.”
She released his hands and brought them to his cheeks, and then she tugged him down to place soft kisses on his left cheek then his scarred one. Lingering a few seconds longer and he closed his eyes.
“Congratulations, son, this is for you to give your young man.”
“You always joked about being the beast without the escape clause, but you didn’t need to be anything but yourself.”
She turned back toward the door, opened it and stepped back out. He glanced at the bathroom as he heard the click of the lock. He awkwardly worked the tiny closure on the locket and found a picture of him and Fielding at their engagement party. Fielding looked so happy, but the surprising thing was he looked even more so as he looked down at his boy. He’d finally learned to live, and all it took was a bratty boy and a dysfunctional extended family.
He sensed Fielding watching him.
“Thank you for loving me.”
“For that, Livingston, you never have to thank me.”
* * *
THE END
About the Author
J.M. Dabney is a multi-genre author who writes mainly LGBT romance and fiction. She lives with a constant diverse cast of characters in her head. No matter their size, shape, race, etc. she lives for one purpose alone, and that’s to make sure she does them justice and give them the happily ever after they deserve. J.M. is dysfunction at its finest and she makes sure her characters are a beautiful kaleidoscope of crazy. There is nothing more she wants from telling her stories than to show that no matter the package the characters come in or the damage their pasts have done, that love is love. That normal is never normal and sometimes the so-called broken can still be amazing.
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