Owned

Kairo

Weeks after chapter 20, right before Christmas.

My house on the Van Doren Estate is deep within the trees. Deeper than everyone’s. My closest sibling is Noaz, which is fortunate because I like to visit my nephews. I like it best that I don’t need to go to the big house to do so.

My conversation with Jalon is far too raw, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back. It’s not entirely unheard of that I remain in my house when I’m at the Estate. I’ve never been social with my family. I’ve never just hung out.

I agreed that I wanted Jalon back in my life as my brother and not as a parent. It wasn’t a lie. I do. Since I don’t know how to be… personable on a conscious level, I’ve avoided him like he stabbed me. Trying to tell myself that the man I am in Chicago when my family is nowhere around is actually who I am. It’s been over two weeks since my conversation with Jalon, and I don’t know how to be that Kairo.

Nobody hurts you quite like family. Especially when they don’t understand how they’ve hurt you. I’m not going to tell them. I mean, they didn’t actually do anything. Which might be why it hurts so much.

Fingers on my jaw make me jump, and I look up at Malcolm. I didn’t hear him come in. Usually, I hear the front door, but this man is a stealthy bitch.

“What’s wrong, Kairo?” he asks gently.

“I want to be held,” I answer, and my heart dances in my chest when he smiles in approval. It makes my cheeks heat. The way he always looks at me like he’s proud of me.

Malcolm is only a few inches taller than I am, but he’s big like a professional wrestler. Despite me being a grown-ass man, he picks me up like I’m nothing more than a small child. A fuzzy memory of Jalon picking me up as a kid flashes behind my eyes, but it’s unclear. Too far in the past in the mind of a child to be distinct.

It fades as Malcolm wraps me in his arms and then brings a blanket around me, tucking me away from the world. Oftentimes, I feel foolish being nearly forty but held like I’m three. Yet, this is my favorite place to be.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” Malcolm murmurs.

I shake my head a little because I don’t truly know. It isn’t one thing. Not even a lot of things. Between Malcolm and Jalon, I feel like I’m constantly falling and the ground isn’t getting closer. I don’t know how to deal with the big emotions in me. I flounder between wanting to let go of all the defenses I’ve held onto for damn near my entire life, but the thought of everyone surrounding me has me on the verge of screaming.

“I have something for you,” Malcolm says.

Shifting on his lap, I lean back a little. Still keeping my head on his shoulder, but now I can see something other than his neck when I open my eyes. “I don’t need anything.”

He hums. “One of my favorite things is giving you gifts.” Malcolm holds up a small box. I’m reminded of the box that Jalon gave me with the bracelet—the bracelet that’s still on my wrist. The bright colors are likely why one-year-old me saw it. Now it’s just kind of gaudy, and I stupidly love it.

However, this box isn’t a rectangle as that one had been. It’s a square. Not a boxy square like a ring box, but wider, though still a jewelry box.

I take it in my fingers and trace the edge as I look at it. “I love when you give me things too,” I admit.

His hum as his arms tighten around me has my cheeks flushing again. In some ways, Malcolm is my trial and error. I force myself to say things. My thoughts, my feelings. It’s fucking difficult, and I’d rather claw my own eyes out most of the time, but the way he praises me for being brave never fails to have me catching my breath.

I’m a fucking slut for positive reinforcement, I guess. Praise, specifically.

Like my brother, he doesn’t push me to open the box. He’s patient. Waits quietly with his arms still wrapped around me, head leaning against mine as I gather the courage to open the box.

It’s a necklace with a pendant. My skin burns immediately when I read the words carved into it—Daddy’s Baby Girl.

“Oh my god,” I mutter.

I feel Malcolm’s smile against my head. My finger traces along the letters before I pick it up. The texture on the back has me turning it over. On the back, it reads Daddy’s Good Boy.

Now my skin is hot into my hairline, covering my ears, and burning down my neck. “Put it on me?” I whisper.

We adjust so Malcolm can take the delicate chain with the tiny clasps in his big fingers and lock it around my neck. I touch it, taking it between my fingers and shyly looking into his eyes. The way he’s looking at me is a combination of soft affection and burning desire flashing in his eyes.

Licking my lips, I say, “Thank you. Daddy.” You wouldn’t think that my skin could get hotter, but I’m pretty sure I feel a new wave of fire under the surface.

Usually, I only call Malcolm Daddy when we’re in the bedroom.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, gently nudging me forward so he can kiss me. I sigh into his kiss and close my eyes, fingers still holding onto my new pendant like it’s giving me strength.

The arm around my back remains, but his other hand drops between my legs to rub my cock through my pants. I let one of my feet fall to the floor so he can touch me wherever he wants. His hands on me are the only thing I ever want.

That’s a lie. More than that, I want him to want me in all ways. Above and beyond his wanting anyone else.

Malcolm’s thumb moves along the underside of my cock, smoothing along my growing length without any true heat behind it. Just touching me.

“Jalon wants us to have dinner with him and Levis tonight,” Malcolm says after a few minutes pass.

“You want to talk about my brother with your hand on my cock?” I ask, my head once more on his shoulder.

“I want to talk about anything and everything with my hand on your cock,” he counters.

I huff.

“Now be a good boy and talk to me about dinner with your brother.”

Jalon does what Jalon does. He hasn’t pushed his presence on me since our conversation in his office. He hasn’t called or texted. He’s waiting for me to find my footing. Because that’s who Jalon is.

If I were to guess, he didn’t ask me outright about dinner because he didn’t want me to feel obligated. Posing the proposition to Malcolm gives me an out.

I both want to take the out and want to have dinner with him. I kind of want dinner to be just the two of us, and I also abhor that idea because then we’re alone without buffers to make the silences that will no doubt stretch between us less awkward.

Or more awkward. Who the fuck knows?

“Just the four of us,” Malcolm assures me.

Honestly, I don’t think I deserve the kind of consideration that Jalon’s offering. Not when my every visit has been punctuated by me being a dick to literally everyone I came across—family and staff alike.

For a minute, I ignore the question and concentrate on Malcolm’s finger moving along my dick. There’s still no sexual context to his touch. My dick figures this out quickly since it’s not as hard up as it usually is when he touches me. This touch is simply intimate. Not sexual. There’s a difference, though I didn’t know that until Malcolm.

“What’re you thinking?” Malcolm asks softly.

Because I crave his praise, I tell him the truth. “The difference between your intimate touches and your sexual touches.”

He chuckles quietly. “Do you want me to stop touching you like this?”

I’m shaking my head before he gets the words out. “No. Never. I always want you to touch me.” I want to know that you want me. I want to feel it. I never want doubts!

Malcolm sighs. I’m pretty sure he heard my unspoken words. His hand cups my junk, and I take a breath. Still not sexual. Not really. I turn my face into his neck and take a deep breath.

“Even something sexy that we do can simply be intimate and not about sex. It’s not something we’ve explored yet, but you know there’s a difference there too, don’t you?”

“No.”

He presses his smile to my head. “How about a lesson? We’ll finish this conversation during the lesson.”

I’m suddenly dreading what’s to come, but I nod anyway. I trust Malcolm.

He urges me to my feet and undresses. When I try to take my clothes off, he swats my hands away so he can do it once he’s finished his. Then I’m on my back, legs spread wide as he lubes my hole. I’m still waiting for this lesson while I rub my new pendant between my fingers.

Malcolm comes down on me, and immediately, his cockhead is pressing inside me. He’s a big man. While I’m not entirely sure what ‘proportionate’ means when it comes to genitals, I’d have been shocked if he were any smaller than he is.

He watches me, eyes trained on mine as he slowly works his cock inside my body. I grip him tightly as I work through the stretch. It’s always the same—a deep, delicious burn as he makes room in my body, which acts like it’s the first time every time.

His cock doesn’t bottom out. Not this time. And he doesn’t thrust. Instead, his body weight comes down on me, pinning me breathlessly to the couch beneath us. His hips rock slowly, minusculely. Nothing truly stimulating.

Still, I’m breathless. My body hums with need that feels like it’s being held at arm’s length. Malcolm kisses softly along my jaw, my neck, my lips. For many, many long minutes, he does this until I’m a flaccid noodle beneath him, practically humming at the soft caresses and loving kisses he covers me with.

“Intimate,” he murmurs in my ear. “Not only sexy but intimate.”

I sigh. “Feels good,” I answer just as quietly.

“Good. I want to spend every day making you feel good. Introducing you to new ways to feel good, whether that’s sexy ways, intimate ways, big and loud ways, or something we share in silence.”

“I—” Alarm spreads through me as I literally bite my tongue to stop the words.

Malcolm sucks gently on the sensitive spot below my ear, and I jolt with a sudden wave of pleasure. “I know,” he says quietly. “Me too. But we don’t need to say the words until you’re ready to hear them out loud again.”

My breath is shaky as I nod and cling to him desperately. He continues his soft, gentle, constant rock and kisses, his hands on me until I’m once again mush beneath him. Forgetting my momentary crazy and basking in his affection.

“Good boy,” he whispers. “Such a good baby boy for me. Aren’t you?”

I nod. “I want to be your good boy,” I tell him. “I want to be your baby girl. I want you like this forever.” I make it a point to say the words at least once a day. At minimum. Because sometimes I lose myself in my overly emotional panic and lash out, so I make sure that I always tell Malcolm exactly what I want. So he knows.

His arms tighten around me, practically pinning me in his hold. “That’s good. Now. Let’s talk about dinner with your brother tonight.”

My shoulders tense. “With your dick in me?”

His chuckle sends shivers all along my spine. “Yes. With my dick inside you. Talk to me about how you feel concerning dinner with your brother.”

I scowl and close my eyes. This is not what I want to talk about right now! I will, grudgingly, because this man owns me and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

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