Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I turned to him and chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Am I a terrible tourist if I want room service and our naked butts in bed?”
“Yes.” He grinned faintly. “But you’re my perfect boy.”
I lit up. “Are you tired also?”
That made him chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m dead on my feet.”
Room service and naked butts for the win!
Daddy traveled in style. We were talking view of the Thames and Tower Bridge, big windows, giant bed, hot tub in the bathroom, and a mini bar that failed with the “mini” part. It was stocked weirdly too. Like, on top of the fridge was an actual candy bar with fancy selections of chocolate Santas, fudge, and colorful lollipops and gummy sweets.
I couldn’t help but slow down at the sight. “Whoa.”
Daddy grabbed my bag and kissed the top of my head. “Go nuts. And maybe thank Suravi. She saw they were offering different packages, so I told her to pick the most Christmassy one.”
Holy crap. “I can actually take something here?”
He found that amusing. “I hope you take more than something. It’s already paid for.”
I snapped my gaze back to the candy and swallowed.
I’d died and gone to freaking heaven, hadn’t I?
“Just save me some roasted cashews,” he went on. “Now, how about you take a bath while I call room service?”
How could you not love taking baths? Especially when you had an enormous hot tub and massive amounts of bubbles. Daddy was cray-cray. After ordering room service to be delivered at seven thirty, he opted to take a shower instead, ’cause the fancy-pants suite had a separate shower room.
Rich people, I swear.
In the meantime, I dove between the mountains of bubbles and occasionally treated my butt to a massage by one of the jets. My view didn’t hurt either. I could see straight into the shower stall where Daddy was showering.
“I feel an immense love toward your butt, Daddy.”
It was mad sexy.
He chuckled and stepped under the spray to wash off the shampoo. “I feel the same about yours, little love.”
Oh. Little love? That was new.
I was a fan.
Once he was done, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his hips. And he lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the tub.
“Just how much soap did you pour in there?”
I glanced around me. “A healthy amount? In my defense, the jets keep creating the bubbles.”
I’d amused him again!
He came over to me and reached for the showerhead. “You ready to wash the airplane smell out of your hair?”
“Yessir.” I scooted closer to the edge and got up on my knees before him. “What do airplanes smell like, though? I didn’t smell anything yesterday and today.”
“Hm. I suppose it’s just a saying. It sounds better than let’s wash off the travel sweat and airport germs.”
That made me laugh, and I peered up at him and planted my hands on his hips. “You’re funny, Daddy.”
“You must be drunk,” he chuckled. He angled the showerhead over me, and I closed my eyes.
Drunk on loooooove.
Not to mention pleasure. Bath time had quickly become a favorite of mine—Daddy’s too. It was a moment that sort of defined our dynamic and showcased the balance between littleisms and submission. He wanted me to be the goofball who loved the bubbles and splashing water around me, and then he also wanted me to obey him when it was time to get out of the tub. It simply made me super happy. And it felt so good with his fingers in my hair.
I hummed a Christmas tune to myself as he started massaging the shampoo into my hair, and it was tough to stand still. I had ants in my no-pants.
“You don’t look exhausted anymore,” he noted.
“Nope,” I snickered. “I have hotel energy.”
It was a thing. Because it was such a relief to be able to close myself in with my Daddy after all that traveling, and knowing that our only plan for the evening was to eat pizza in bed filled me with jolly joy.
I opened my eyes and brushed my fingers over his towel, and it was his fault because that perfect bump was right there in my face.
“Daddy?” I inched closer to where he’d tightened the towel around himself.
“Yes, baby.”
“What would you say is a more apt name for your cock—pacifier or throat scratcher?”
He coughed and stared down at me.
I smiled sweetly.
I could practically read his mind. He never knew what I was gonna say, and it made me giggle.
“Jesus Christ.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, eyes flashing with mirth. “Never change, Parker.”
Okay, but I hadn’t gotten my answer!
I guessed it didn’t matter. Both were accurate, and I wanted me some throat scratching.
He didn’t say anything when I tested the waters and loosened his towel, though I sensed he was watching me.
“Do you need something from Daddy?”