I tried to tamp down the surge of anticipation, to treat this like just another casual hangout. I focused on his age—fifteen—a mantra to ground myself.
I watched the door, every nerve on high alert. This was wrong, I knew. A dangerous line I shouldn’t be crossing.
The instant his knuckles rapped against the wood, a subtle tension tightened in my muscles.
*Keep it together,* I reminded myself. *You’re the adult.*
I opened the door, and Harry stood there, a blush staining his cheeks. He looked… perfect. And impossibly, achingly *mine*.
I gestured him inside. Now that he was here, the desire—the raw, consuming need—flared hotter.
“This is wrong,” I said, the words a sigh escaping my lips.
“I disagree,” Harry murmured, his voice hesitant, then bolder. “Daddy.”
The word hit me like a jolt. I shoved him back against the wall, hands gripping his shirt, my body pressing against his. The power dynamic, the forbidden thrill, was intoxicating.
“Say it again and I’ll make you get on your knees and say it,” I growled, my lips hovering inches from his neck. The threat was laced with a desperate hunger.
I felt the pulse of his carotid artery beneath my lips as I finally closed the gap. A soft moan escaped his lips, a sound that ignited a wildfire within me. I sucked on his skin, leaving a wet, possessive mark.
“D-daddy,” he whispered, the words trembling with uncertainty and a burgeoning curiosity. I met his gaze, and saw the lust mirrored in his eyes—a dangerous, addictive pull. I gently but firmly guided him to his knees, my gaze locking on the space between his legs. My own body, hidden by my shorts, was close enough to feel his breath. I watched him lick his lips.
“Kiss it,” I commanded, running a hand through his soft hair. His hair was unbelievably soft, as was the way his lips met my tip.
“Louis…”
“Yeah?”
“Can we watch a movie and kiss and hold each other first?”
The question hit me like a cold splash of reality. The weight of his age crashed down. I was exploiting a vulnerability, taking advantage of him. Shame flooded through me.
“Oh, Harry, I’m so, so, so sorry.” I knelt beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“N-no, I like it a lot b-but I like you more than this.”
I held him longer, until my own arousal subsided. As soon as it did, I quietly led him upstairs to my room. My bed was made, and the late-night show was already playing on the tv. Harry, looking adorably vulnerable, crawled into bed.
“Come join me, King Louis,” he said, a playful invitation.
“As you wish, Prince Harry,” I replied, a wry smile playing on my lips.
We laughed softly as I joined him, enveloping him in my arms.
Before I knew it, Harry had fallen asleep, his breathing slow and even. I was left awake, caught between happy and harrowing thoughts. The guilt gnawed at me, but a part of me—a dangerous, selfish part—was already anticipating the next time he whispered *Daddy*.