Page 12 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

STONE

A s soon as Milo and I got home, I ran us a bath.

I washed him from head to toe and we talked about his life.

Well, more like I took advantage of how tired he was by asking questions.

He told me he had two brothers, a father, and a mother who passed.

I got the gist that his family is toxic, especially his older brother and father.

His younger brother is caught in the middle of everyone, often trying to keep the peace by not taking sides.

I can relate. My father was a son of a bitch and my only brother left the day he turned eighteen so he didn’t have to follow in his footsteps running this place.

The only thing Milo mentioned about his mother was that she passed away in an accident. The details were scarce, but it was better than being stonewalled like I had been before. Little by little, I’ll get to know my brat.

After drying off, I insisted he move his duffle bag into my room.

I refuse to have a hallway and walls separate us.

Milo belongs next to me at night, with his head right in the crook of my neck and his limbs tangled in mine.

Hell, even clothes were too much, so I pulled him into bed before we could dress.

Now I’m wide awake, watching him sleep sprawled out in the middle of our king-sized bed.

He’s on his stomach, his face buried in a pillow.

The way the blanket lays just below his lower back dimples shows off a tantalizing amount of his skin.

I’m so tempted to kiss and bite him, from neck to crack.

Then devour his ass just like I did last night.

He stretches out slowly, opening his eyes and immediately meeting mine. Maybe I was the first thing he thought of this morning, just like I couldn’t help but think of him.

“You’re such an obsessive old man, watching me sleep like a creeper.” He turns over, then plays with his nipples with a goofy look on his face. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I scoot closer to him, flattening him onto his back before leaning over and sucking his nipple into my mouth. I flick my tongue back and forth over the sensitive bud, his mouth dropping open.

“I'd rather experience it for myself than take a photo,” I growl between the kisses and bites I trail down his body. The further south I go, the more he squirms. I stop just as I reach his hard cock.

“You said you were interested in ropes last night. How about trying something fun?”

“Sure,” he responds, his eyes lighting up.

I go into my bedside table and pull out the length of rope I keep there. He raises an eyebrow at me as I put it on the bed.

“How many cute younger men have you plucked off the side of the road and brought to your bedroom?” he asks, half joking.

“You’re the only one. Actually you’re the only man I’ve ever had penetrative sex with,” I answer him honestly. “I keep rope up here to practice tying knots.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a cowboy. Are you going to use a fancy knot on me, Daddy?”

“Yes. Switch places with me.” I jostle us around so I’m laying on my back, with him on top of me. I arrange his hands in front of him, tying them together.

I take a moment to appreciate how truly beautiful Milo is—his wild morning hair and warm brown eyes.

The urge to stay naked together in bed for days hits hard.

Just the two of us, fucking over and over again until we pass out or need to eat something.

I wish I could say I’m partially joking, but I’m not.

My obsession for Milo is growing deeper and deeper by the day. I’m falling way too fast for this city boy, and I can’t stop myself.

“Turn around, brat. Back that ass up until your cock is right over my mouth.”

He isn’t shy or self conscious about my order, nor should he be. Milo may be smaller than I am, but his compact frame is packed with muscle. The kind you get from hitting the gym everyday, not hard manual labor. His ass is so firm and juicy it looks like a bubble.

One I want to pop until he begs me for a break.

“You can come whenever you want,” I tell him. “I just need to taste you before we start the day.”

I move him back a bit more, then take his cock into my mouth and suck it down. He follows suit, licking and sucking at my head. I work him over with deep pulls, taking him as far back in my throat as I can.

“Unghhh, Daddy,” he moans, trying to get me further into his mouth despite our height difference and his inability to use his hands.

Hearing him call me that makes me fucking feral.

I dig my fingers into the bruises I left on his ass last night, my pulse skyrockets when I hear him groan from the pain.

My city boy is such a masochist, and I’m not even sure he knows it.

I pull him down until he’s practically suffocating me, sucking his dick so hard I might swallow his soul.

“Fuck!” he shouts before coming down my throat. I swallow every drop.

I take a few seconds to catch my breath, and Milo is already shifting on top of me so he’s sitting on my thighs.

“It’s your turn,” he says in a low, scratchy voice.

He bends down, taking me deep into his mouth as he balances on his bound hands. Milo gazes up at me under his dark lashes, locking eyes with me as he licks up and down my shaft, pausing at the top to suck the head.

“You’re so beautiful,” I tell him, running my hand down his full cheek.

I can feel his face heating from the compliment.

I love seeing this gentler, more bashful side of my little brat.

His lips move further down, and I hit the back of his throat.

With every convulsion of his throat around me, I feel my finish coming closer, until it hits me full force.

It only takes a few minutes before I come.

Milo swallows my cum, but misses a few drops that dribble down his chin.

I pull him toward me and lick them off. He captures my lips in a filthy kiss, and I can taste us both.

My hand brushes over his cock, which is already hard again.

I take it in my hand, stroking him slowly as I explore every inch of his mouth with my tongue.

He pulls away, catching his breath. “I think we’ll be here a while, Daddy.”

“Me too, brat,” I agree as I think about where in the house I can find more rope.

Four hours later, Milo and I finally emerge from our room. I sit in the kitchen while he cooks us a late lunch.

“What do you think about an omelet and a side salad?” he asks me.

“As long as you include some steak and potatoes in it, I’m good.” I’m not sure about the side salad nonsense, but you can never go wrong with steak, eggs, and potatoes for any meal.

“We need to expand your palate,” he laughs as he cracks eggs into a bowl.

Watching him cook is like watching an artist. The way he chops ingredients and moves around the kitchen is mesmerizing. He takes a long, green thing out of the fridge, washing it in the sink before patting it dry with a paper towel. It’s not celery…

“What is that?” I ask him.

“It’s a green onion. Trust me, you’ll like it,” he assures me.

I’m about to ask him how the hell an onion is green, when my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Sunny.

Hey. There isn’t a Milo Miller from New York that matches your friend’s facial recognition. He’s either lying about where he’s from, or he gave you a fake name.

Milo may not be forthcoming about details of his life, but I can’t see him straight up lying. Maybe I misheard where he’s from?

Now that I think of it, he never actually said he was from New York City. I just assumed.

“Milo, where are you from?” I ask.

He stops chopping, his whole body momentarily tensing. “Um, New York,” he responds.

“Where in New York. I need to know for your hiring paperwork.” I push for more details.

“Actually, I was hoping to create an LLC you can tie the paperwork to, for tax purposes. For now, can I just pay myself via invoice or a cash app?”

Something is off. Why won’t he tell me where he’s from?

My train of thought is interrupted when I get an incoming call from Doc.

“What’s up?” I answer the phone, skipping pleasantries. Doc barely talks as it is, and he only calls me when it’s urgent.

“There’s a huge hole in the north fence in the second pasture. I don’t think we can patch it. I was hoping you can take a look at it at some point today.”

The herd is too close to the second pasture to put it off until the weekend is over.

“Yeah, I can. Drop me the coordinates so I know where to look.” I hang up, furrowing my brows as I think about what made a hole big enough to ruin an entire section of fencing.

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” Milo quips. “Rude.”

“Doc doesn’t say hello or goodbye.” In all the time we’ve been friends, I barely heard him say more than a few sentences at a time. “He’s a man of few words.”

“Actions speak louder,” Milo says with conviction. “Where are you going?”

“I need to ride out to the North side of the ranch. The fence is busted. May be late for dinner.”

He adds the chopped up steak pieces to the pan before putting a container of some leftover roasted potatoes from yesterday in the microwave. “Can I come?”

“If you don’t mind being crammed in an ATV with me. It’s a tight fit,” I warn him.

“Can’t possibly be tighter than this ass,” he sasses me, wiggling his ass while he seasons the steak with some spice blend from a mason jar.

“No, nothing is tighter than your ass,” I admit. “I’m going to get my boots and a hat. I’ll be back in a few.”

When I reach my closet, I take a couple of minutes browsing my boot collection before deciding on a pair of worn leather roper boots I’ve had since my twenties.

They’ve lasted for years, through some of the roughest ranch improvement projects to date.

I grab a simple cattleman hat for me and a baseball hat for Milo, then sit on my bed to put them on.

I should have asked Doc to send me a picture of the damage. If the whole row is worn out, I can order the panels in bulk at a cheaper cost. I go on my phone to research what the going price for fencing is, since I haven’t had to replace any in at least a few years. The browser isn’t blank.

The page contains search results for “Piero Joseph Romano New York City Obituary”.

I scan the results, not finding any links, but I do find an article about someone in NYC named Piero Joseph Romano.

The first few sentences tell me enough to know he isn’t a good person.

He was arrested as a suspect for arson of a small corner store in Brooklyn, but released a few days later due to a lack of evidence.

He has a rap sheet, including battery and distribution of controlled substances.

How does Milo know this guy? Is he an ex-boyfriend? Is he the guy who gave him all the fading bruises and cuts?

Maybe this information can help Sunny pinpoint exactly who Milo is.

He searched the phrase “Piero Joseph Romano New York City Obituary” on my phone the day I found him. Maybe it can help.

I also give him the license plate number from Milo’s car. He replies a minute later.

Thanks. Will be in touch.

I should just ask him who Piero is. Maybe he’ll open up to me and tell me what happened to him.

Or he’ll say you’re an overbearing freak and run…just like she did.

“Stone, food is done!” Milo shouts.

After I get something in my stomach, I’ll think about bringing it up…