Taming Tyler

Chapter Ten

Tyler

T he sun hangs low in the sky as I wake up, my right cheek stuck against the softness of the pillow. A subtle scent of pine teases my nose, and I can’t tell if it stems from the woods or from the pillowcase. I blink a couple of times, slowly taking in the room, and remembering where I am. Shit, I can’t remember when I last slept this good. I was out like a light earlier; one minute, I was talking to Mitch and Cal, and the next, I was slipping into a coma-like sleep.

Sitting up, I wipe the drool from my chin, lazily stretching my arms toward the ceiling, my muscles popping in the most delicious way. Everything is quiet and peaceful, aside from muffled voices seeping through the slightly ajar window, intermingled with birdsong. I hear someone—Cal. Yeah, it’s definitely Cal because his voice is just a tad deeper than Mitch’s—call out, “No fucking way, baby! Did you see that?”

His deep ‘ baby’ goes straight to my balls, and my fucking rebellious mind adds a ‘ boy’ all on its own. In an instant, fragments of a dream wash over me, and a pathetic whine slips from my lips. Smacking my hand over my mouth, I look around. What the fuck? I squeeze my eyes together tightly, trying to push back the image of a naked Mitch splayed against the headboard, cradling me against his furry chest, while an equally naked Cal slides his hands up and down my trembling thighs. And just like that, my thighs actually tremble. No, they fucking shiver.

‘Baby boy,’ Cal purrs, his fat fingers digging into my skin, massaging and squeezing it, while Mitch whispers against my neck, ‘You ready for your reward, baby boy? You ready for your Daddy’s reward?’ Wiggling my ass against Mitch’s hard cock, I whimper, ‘Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy. I’ve been a really good boy. Do I get my reward now?’

And holy fucking fuck train! I jump to my feet, standing up in the sleep-rumpled bed, hands flying to my hair. My breath comes out in heavy puffs as I pull at my damp curls, my dick trying to drill a hole through my shorts. I pull my hair forcefully, trying to draw my attention away from the painful erection in my cutoffs, but it’s fucking fruitless. The sting just adds to the heavenly sensation, my balls tingling, and before I know it, my traitorous dick pulses in my pants, and I come with a pained, drawn-out howl.

“Ty?” Mitch yells from the outside, his concerned voice drifting through the window. “You okay, Ty?” Shit. My shorts feel like hot honey has been poured into them, while my asshole clenches and unclenches with the echoes of my blinding climax.

“Yeah, I’m good!” I yell, looking around the room frantically for my backpack. “Just bumped my toe against the…” Fuck ! What did I bump my foot against? My frantic gaze connects with Bree’s well-loved chew toy. “The chicken!” I blurt, my voice ringing through the loft.

“Okaaay?” Mitch calls back, his voice so close, too close. “You need help?”

“No!” I nearly scream. “I’m good.” ‘That’s a good boy.’ Fuck! I pound my fists against my temples. Shut the fuck up, horny brain! “I’ll be right down,” I croak. What the hell is this? I’m having a conversation through an open window in the middle of nowhere, cum in my pants, with my ex-stepdad, who I’m pretty sure I just called Daddy in some deranged sex dream. Shit. As recognition travels through my entire body, my heart starts pounding in my chest. I had a sex dream about Mitch. And Cal. And I’m pretty sure there was some weird-ass Daddy/boy role-play going on. And as much as I know that it’s wrong on so many levels because you shouldn’t have sex dreams about your ex-stepdad and his ‘yes, we’re exclusive’ hot-as-fuck husband, my dick doesn’t seem to get the message. Because as the good boy continues to ring through my head, my dick thinks it’s ready for round two, despite the fact my skin is practically glued to my briefs at this point.

“Get a fucking grip, Ty,” I grit through my teeth, pushing the palm of my right hand against my dick. Down boy. We do not, I repeat, we do not lust after Mitch and Cal, no matter how hot they both are. Because they are. Hot. Never in a million years did I ever think I would think of Mitch as hot. He was only ever just Mitch. Mitch, the caretaker. Mitch, the father figure. Mitch, the best person I knew. But not hot. Never hot. Because I was a kid. And he was a grown-up who only ever treated me like a kid. His kid. But I’m not a kid anymore.

It’s still wrong though. It’s so, so wrong. Even in goddamn dreamland, it’s wrong. I used to call Mitch Dad, for fuck’s sake. And now I want to call him Daddy , apparently. And how fucked up is that? I mean, I always kind of knew that I had Daddy issues, only dating guys twice my age, but this? This is so off-limits. And so wrong. And yet, I’m still hard and my nuts feel like they’re ready to bust.

The irony of the entire situation dawns on me, because isn’t it just typical? My entire life, I’ve wanted to be a good boy and just be loved for who I am. Just for me . My entire bad-boy act is exactly just that. An act. A front I put up so that I don’t get hurt. Or left behind. I don’t need a shrink to tell me that. I know my issues and there are many, believe me. But never in my wildest dreams—yes, pun intended—did I ever imagine that it was this kind of good boy that I wanted to be. Mitch’s good boy. Cal’s.

Wrapping my arms around myself, a chill courses through me, and I’m suddenly cold to the bone. Cal’s low chuckle from the outside reminds me of my loneliness. Of how alone I’ve been lately. Or not just lately, but ever since Mitch left. I’ve been so alone. I hug myself tighter as tears threaten to fall. I wish they were Mitch’s arms wrapping around me from behind, his solid chest a wall that I could just sag up against, safe, and… and cherished. My cheeks burn with shame and yearning and as I close my eyes, I imagine Cal leaning in, brushing his calloused thumbs under my eyes, wiping imaginary tears away.

‘It’s okay, baby boy,’ he’d coo. ‘Everything’s okay now. We’ve got you. We’ve got you, Ty. You’re such a good boy. The bestest boy in the world. Our boy .’

“Yes,” I whisper into the empty, quiet room. “I want to be. I want to be that boy. So badly.” And I recognize the indisputable truth of the words. Because I want to be good. For Mitch and for Cal.

Soft pads against the wooden stairs pull me from my forbidden daydream, and I quickly jump from the bed, grabbing a comforter from the bottom of the bed and pulling it frantically around me.

“Hey,” Cal smiles, slightly out of breath, as he leans his right arm against the doorjamb. “You okay? Mitch said you hurt yourself.” His eyes are filled with worry as he takes me in, his hazel gaze coasting along the comforter, his dirty-blond bangs caressing his forehead.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” I murmur. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Cal takes a step into the room, reaching for me, his fingers locking around the comforter. He’s in a simple white tank top that’s glued to his pecs, his massive muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin as he pulls me a little closer. And suddenly I want to be the blanket that’s being squeezed by his solid grip. No, fuck that. I want to be dough. Never before in my life have I been jealous of dough, but it is now my number one rival. I want to be dough in Cal’s hands as he kneads my aching muscles, turns me into goo, and sweeps me… “Tyler?” Cal frowns at me, his warm gaze zeroing in on my bottom lip. Shit, I better not be drooling.

“Yeah,” I whisper, wiping at my lips, holding my breath, because I’m two seconds away from dropping to my knees and wrapping my arms around his thick thighs, sobbing. “I’m just… I’m just a little cold,” I manage to say. Cal tilts his head but says nothing. Instead, he bends down and picks up my backpack from the corner where it was playing hide and seek, the little traitor.

“C’mon,” he nods toward the door. “Let’s get you warmed up.” And those innocent words from Cal’s full lips are like a punch to my gut, my head immediately going to all sorts of forbidden places. Warm, possessive hands rubbing along my skin, teasing me, spreading me wide open until I’m nothing but a needy, whimpering mess. “The shower’s outside. Follow me,” he smiles, as he starts down the stairs. “Mitch is cooking hot dogs. You’ve got just enough time for a nice, hot shower.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble in all the right places while my brain continues to go to all the wrong ones. Hot hands, hot lips, hot thighs. Hot breaths, hot whispers, hot tongues. Oh shit, what is happening? What is happening? I’m in free fall, and I half-stumble down the stairs, bumping into Cal, who just continues to smile at me as he steadies me with his big hands.

“You good?” he asks, a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I stutter, my gaze dropping to his broad chest as I gulp. “I’m good.” I’m a good boy.