Page 25 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Rowan

I pull him to me for a searing kiss. “That’s still the plan, boy.”

His expression brightens instantly.

“Now get dressed.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

We hurry to pull our trousers and socks back on. I change the costume top for the polo shirt I’d packed in my overnight bag. Rowan takes off the cum stained jumper. I toss the blanket over the Pride dildo.

We’re barely decent when the rumbling sound stops right behind us. I was right, it’s a snowplough. Or, at least, it’s a tractor with a scoop thing attached to the front. The farmer—I assume he’s a farmer—jumps out of the tractor and approaches the car, knocking on the window. I can’t roll it down without the engine being on, so I open the door instead.

“Have you been stuck here all night?” the farmer asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

“The snow hit earlier and harder than we were expecting,” Rowan chirps.

“Where are you trying to get to?”

Rowan tells him the hotel's name and address.

“Well, you can follow me as far as the village. These roads hardly ever get gritted.”

“We noticed.”

“Take it carefully, though. Wouldn’t want to have to pull your car out of a ditch.”

“Nope, we definitely wouldn’t want that.”

The farmer trudges back to the tractor.

“Nigel would kill me if I damaged the car,” Rowan whispers.

“He wouldn’t kill you.”

“Fire me, then, which is close enough.” He cups my cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me last night, Daddy.” He kisses me.

“You’re welcome, boy.”

He moves into the driver’s seat and, slowly, we follow the farmer as he uses the tractor to clear snow off the road, creating a single track for people to drive on.

It’s slow going, but at least we’re moving. I watch Rowan as he drives, running through the delicious events of last night in my mind. I don’t regret a second of it, but where do we go from here? We have a hotel room booked —what then? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Rowan is spending Christmas alone, as am I.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Day with me?” I ask.

Rowan glances at me via the rear-view mirror. “Don’t you have plans?”

“My only plan was to hide in my apartment and avoid the world.”

He laughs. “How very festive.”

“Christmas is overrated.”

“I like Christmas.”

“But you don’t have plans?”

“No…”