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“I’m spoiling you,” I remind him.
“Even so—”
“It’s fine,” I promise him. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I couldn’t afford it.” I lean a little closer. “Is there something you’d like to call me in public?”
I wouldn’t be against him calling me Daddy here. The restaurant is busy, but there’s enough background noise that it would be hard to eavesdrop on neighbouring tables, so no one would hear. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about being a Daddy, but being out is not the same as shouting my kink out loud.
“I’d like that. I’m happy to call you Daddy when we’re in private,” he whispers. “But I think a pet name would be better in public.” He laughs. “I used to call you my big jock.”
“That was accurate.” I smile. “It still is. But only use it if it’s not going to make you sad.”
“By reminding me of the past?”
I nod.
“We have lots of happy memories together, Tanner. There was only one bad one.”
“I know.” I sigh. “But it was the mother of all bad ones.”
He dips his gaze. “Yeah, that’s true.” He looks up and flicks his gaze over me. “Muscles? Rip because you’re ripped?”
I chuckle. “Either. You choose.”
He shakes his head. “No. You should choose. Tell me what to call you.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Rip,” I say. “Because it will make me smile every time you say it.”
“I need a nickname too,” he whispers.
I used to call him baby, but I don’t want to suggest that now for the same reason as him calling me his big jock probably isn’t a good idea. “Sweet thing,” I say. “Because that’s what you are.”
“Thank you.”
“What kind of Daddy was your ex?”
“Rex?”
I nod.
“He was only one in the bedroom.”
“Was that enough for you?”
“While I was getting into it, yes, but what I really want is someone to take care of me at other times too. Not necessarily a total power exchange arrangement, but something between that and bedroom only.”
“Is that why things didn’t work out between you and Rex?”
“No.” He looks at the table. “I don’t want to talk about my ex when I’m with you.” Wren dips his gaze to his menu, his brow creasing the more he looks.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“There’s so much choice. I don’t know what to pick.”
“Would you like me to choose something for you?”
Wren looks almost relieved. “Yes, please.” He closes his menu, puts it down, and watches me as I choose something for us to eat.
I’m unsure if he can’t choose or if this is his way of testing me. On the other hand, he did say he wanted to be taken care of outside of the bedroom, and I’m more than happy to do that.
